
Book. ' S^^ 



GoipghtN?- 



csemiam defosk 



J 



SHAKESPEARE'S 
PRINCIPAL PLAYS 



SHAKESPEARE'S 
PRINCIPAL PLAYS 



EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
BY 

TUCKER BROOKE 

Assistant Professor of English, Yale University 

JOHN WILLIAM CUNLIFFE 

Professor of English and Associate Director of the School 

of Journalism, Columbia University 

AND 

HENRY NOBLE MacCRACKEN 

Professor of English, Smith College 




NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO. 

1914 



^Q 



?>''""' 
^ 



Copyright, 1914, by 
The Century Go. 



©JI,A;i79 489 



PREFATORY NOTE 

The restriction of this volume to the twenty plays most commonly read and most fre- 
quently acted has permitted the use of a type of comfortable size and the inclusion of in- 
^^troductory and explanatory matter without which the plays can hardly be understood by 
^ the ordinary reader. Since Shakespeare's time, words have fallen out of current use or 
taken on new meaning, customs and institutions have changed, and the methods of stage 
representation have been revolutionized. Without burdening the reader with superfluous 
antiquarianism, the editors have endeavored to supply such information as would be of 
help and interest. 

In the introduction to each play a somewhat fuller account of its stage history has 
been included than has hitherto been usual in editions of this scope, and particular atten- 
tion has been given to the important Shakespearean revivals, on both sides of the Atlan- 
tic, of the last hundred years. Information as to recent performances is not easy of 
access, and this is possibly the reason why editors in the past, while giving due space to 
nineteenth century criticism, have omitted or slighted performances which, often remark- 
able in themselves, are surely worthy of record as restoring Shakespeare to the stage free 
from the additions and corruptions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In this 
connection the editors wish to acknowledge with hearty thanks the kindness with which Pro- 
fessor Talcott Williams, Director of the School of Journalism of Columbia University, 
put at their disposal his unique collection of English and American newspaper clippings, 
which is specially rich in Shakespearean references. 

The text is in general based on that of the First Folio, with modernized spelling. 
The original stage directions have been, as far as possible, retained, and additions by later 
editors enclosed in square brackets; where the stage directions of the quartos appeared 
significant, they have been included, and their source indicated. 

The Globe line-numbering has been followed for the sake of convenience in reference. 

The proper scansion of metrical passages has been facilitated by two devices: (a) by 
the insertion of accent marks to guide the reader in the pronunciation of words stressed 
differently in Shakespeare's usage than at present; e.g., revenue, commune; (b) by retain- 
ing the differentiation which the original Folio makes between past tenses of verbs in 'J 
and in ed. Wherever the latter form appears in verse lines, the meter requires that it 
should be pronounced as a distinct syllable. 

The plays are arranged in the order, which, without violating the ascertained results 
of Shakespearean chronology, is thought most advantageous alike to the college student 
and to the general reader. 

In the preparation of the volume, there has been constant interchange of opinion be- 
tween the various editors, and Professor Cunliffe has been charged with the general super- 
vision of the proofs. It has not been thought desirable, however, to exclude individual 
judgment altogether, and an initial, affixed to each introduction, indicates the editor more 
particularly responsible for the treatment of the play in question. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 1 

ROMEO AND JULIET 37 

MERCHANT OF VENICE 87 

RICHARD II o . 129 

HENRY IV, PART ONE 175 

HENRY IV, PART TWO ^^21 

HENRY V 269 

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING . . 319 

AS YOU LIKE IT 359 

TWELFTH NIGHT 401 

JULIUS C^SAR • 441 

HAMLET o . o 483 

OTHELLO 547 

KING LEAR 601 

MACBETH 657 

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 699 

CORIOLANUS , 755 

CYMBELINE 813 

THE WINTER'S TALE 869 

THE TEMPEST 919 



M 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



SOURCES OF THE PLOT— While Shakespeare's 
use of his material in A Midsummer Night's Dream 
is profoundly original, the threads interwoven in the 
plot were already familiar to Elizabethan readers. 
Sir Thomas North's translation of Plutarch (first 
published in 1579) mentions in the Life of Theseus 
the marriage of that hero with the Amazon Queen 
Hippolyta and his love affairs with Perigouna, 
^gles, Ariadne, and Antiopa, referred to in II. i. 
78-80. Chaucer had made Duke Theseus a leading 
personage of his popular Knight's Tale, and had de- 
scribed how on a hunting expedition on a May morn 
Theseus had found two lovers fighting for the hand 
of a fair lady. The names ^geus, Lysander, and 
Demetrius are found in Plutarch, and Philostrate is 
the name assumed by Arcite in disguise in the 
Knight's Tale. As Chaucer made Theseus a hero of 
medieval chivalry, Shakespeare made him an Eliza- 
bethan nobleman, and his marriage is celebrated in 
the Elizabethan manner, "with pomp, with triumph, 
and with revelling," in which Bottom and his com- 
panions, obviously Shakespeare's contemporaries, fall 
into their appropriate places. The story of Pyramus 
and Thisbe, which forms the subject of their "very 
tragical mirth," w^as a commonplace of classical 
mythology, to be found in Shakespeare's favorite 
Ovid, in Chaucer, and in many other authors. 

The combination of these two groups of courtiers 
and clowns with the fairies was a master stroke of 
invention, though some hint had been given for it in 
the introduction of fairies by Lyly in his classical 
play Endymion (pr. 1591). Lyly's fairies dance and 
sing, but they take a subordinate part in the plot 
and are not individualized. Oberon indeed had been 
mentioned by name as "King of Fayries" in Greene's 
Scottish History of Jam.es IV, but he serves merely 
as presenter of the play and stays outside of the 
action. This play was entered in the Stationers' 
Registers for publication on May 14, 1594, and our 
earliest printed copy is dated 1598, but it must have 
been written before Greene's death in 1592, and it 
was probably acted about 1590. Oberon's literary 
genealogy is easily traced. He is the Alberich (elf- 
king) whom we know in German mythology as the 
guardian of the treasure of the Nibelungs, and passed 



under the name Alberon or Auberon into French 
romance, where he appears, first in verse and then in 
prose, as "the king of fairyland," situated somewhere 
in the far East. Lord Berners' English translation. 
The Book of Duke Huon of Bordeaux, first printed 
about 1534, gave the fairy king the name of Oberon, 
and doubtless formed the foundation of the play of 
Huon of Bordeaux, acted in 1593-4, and now lost. 
Spenser connects Oberon's name with Huon's at the 
beginning of Book II of The Faerie Queene (1590) 
and the fairy king unde;* the name of Auberon was 
a character in an entertainment offered to Queen 
Elizabeth at Elvetham in Hampshire in 1591. There 
are contemporary references to other fairy plays, but 
it is most likely that the suggestion came to Shake- 
speare by way of Lyly, whose device of mythological 
compliment to Queen Elizabeth is used in A Mid- 
summer Night's Dream, II. i. 155-164, and whose 
presentation of The Woman in the Moone as "a poet's 
dream" is recalled in the title of Shakespeare's play 
as well as in Puck's epilogue and other passages. 

Spenser gave his fairy queen the name of Tanaquil 
or Gloriana, and identified her with Queen Elizabeth. 
Shakespeare probably chose the name Titania because 
he liked it; it is a Latin adjective, meaning "titan- 
born," applied by Ovid to Diana, who was identified 
by Shakespeare's contemporaries with the queen of 
the fairies. Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, as he is in- 
differently called in the play, belongs to native folk- 
lore rather than to classical or romantic tradition. 
Puck is a general term rather than a proper name, 
and it is to be noted that in the final speech of the 
play Robin describes himself as "the Puck"; Shake- 
speare doubtless used the .word "Puck" in the stage 
directions to indicate Robin Goodfellow just as he 
used the word "Clown" to indicate Bottom. It is the 
same word as Devonshire "pixie" and Scottish 
"pauky," and has numerous analogues in European 
languages signifying a sprite or hobgoblin. Robin 
Goodfellow was the familiar English name for a mis- 
chievous but helpful fairy. Before Shakespeare, 
several writers had put on record the popular beliefs 
that Robin skimmed the cream from the milk bowls, 
threw down the pewter dishes if they were not well 
scoured, pinched maids in their sleep that swept not 



1 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



tlieir houses clean, ground malt and mustard, swept 
houses at midnight for a mess of white bread and 
milk, (lanced in rounds in green meadows, and led 
poor travelers out of their way notoriously. 

D^T^— All that is certainly known of the date of 
A Midsummer 2^^i[/ht's Dream is that it was in ex- 
istence in 1598, when Francis Meres included it in 
his published list of six comedies and six tragedies 
he ascribed to Shakespeare. A plausible conjecture 
has connected Titania's description of the results of 
her quarrel with Oberon (II. i. 88-117) with the ex- 
ceptionally bad weather which prevailed in England 
in 1594; and it is to this or the following year that 
the critics have been generally inclined to assign the 
])lay on grounds of versification, construction, char- 
acterization, and the like. In its exuberant lyrical 
note, of which the abundance of rhyme is merely the 
technical expression, the comedy is most closely con- 
nected with Romeo and Juliet, and the two plays, in 
subject as well as treatment, have more in common 
than appearj at first sight. Both deal with star- 
crossed lovers, and it can hardly be a mere coinci- 
dence that the "tedious brief scene of young Pyra- 
mus and his love Thisbe" treats the same theme in 
burlesque. There are curious echoes from one play 
to the other, as if Shakespeare had both in mind, or 
was actually engaged in writing both, at the same 
time. Lysander's lines (I. i. 134-149) are an admira- 
ble setting forth of the subject of Romeo and Juliet, 
and Juliet uses the very same metaphor in the lines: — 

"Too like the lightning which doth cease to be 
Ere one can say, it lightens." 
Mercutio's famous Queen Mab speech suggests that 
Sliakespeare's mind was still occupied with fairy 
pranks, and that the young poet could not resist the 
temptation to weave into the new product of his 
imagination a piece of the gorgeous web lying over 
from his last work. 

STAGE HISTORY— The varying fortunes of A 
Midsummer Night's Dream as a stage play cast curi- 
ous sjdelights not only on the history of the theatre 
and the variations of public taste, but upon changes 
of national importance. Allusions by Shakespeare's 
contemporaries and successors show that the play was 
exceedingly popular up to the time of the closing of 
the theatres by the Puritans. The interlude of Py ra- 
mus and Thisbe was imitated by the students of St. 
John's College, Oxford, in a burlesque entitled Nar- 
cissus, a Twelfth Nif/ht Merriment (1602) ; Ben 
Jonson took some hints from the fairy scenes for 
The Masque of Oberon the Fairy Prince (1611) and 



some from Bottom and his companions for the 
"Dance of Mechanics" in Love's Welcome: the King 
and Queen's Entertainment at Bolsover (1634). In 
1631 the ass's head became a political issue, and the 
actor of Bottom's part was condemned to wear it 
publicly in the stocks at the gate of the Bishop of 
Lincoln, who was accused by his Puritan enemies of 
having A Midsummer Night's Dream acted privately 
in his own house on a Sunday evening. The Com- 
monwealth banished the fairies of A Midsummer 
Night's Dream along with other superstitions, but the 
"humours" of Bottom the Weaver were still pre- 
sented "by stealth, under pretence of rope-dancing 
or the like." Meanwhile Peter Quince and his fel- 
lows had crossed the sea, no doubt in the repertory 
of the English traveling companies, and had given 
the German dramatist Andreas Gryphius material 
for a Schimpf spiel or Pasquinade entitled Absurda 
Comica oder Herr Peter Squentz, printed in 1663. 
This • may have been directly imitated from "The 
Merry conceited Humours of Bottom the Weaver, as 
it hath been often publikely acted by some of his 
Majesties Comedians, and lately privately presented 
by several apprentices for their harmless recreation, 
with great applause," which was published in 1661, 
immediately after the Restoration of Charles II, 
along with other pieces of the same character, as an 
appropriate means of expressing "the general mirth 
that is likely very suddenly to happen about the 
King's Coronation." Next year Pepys saw the whole 
play, and his verdict on it is characteristic of the 
taste of the time: — "To the King's Theatre, where we 
saw 'Midsummer-Night's Dream,' which I had never 
seen before, nor shall ever again, for it is the most 
insipid, ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life." 

Thirty years later, in 1692, A Midsummer Night's 
Dream, under the title The Fairy Queen, began a 
long and variegated career as an opera. Purcell, the 
greatest of English musicians, composed the instru- 
mental and vocal parts, there were elaborate dances, 
and the scenery and mechanical effects surpassed 
anything seen before. "The Court and Town were 
wonderfully satisfied with it; but the expenses in set- 
ting it out being so great, the company got very little 
by it." In the main, the action of the play is pre- 
served, but the interlude of Pyramus and Thisbe 
having been transferred to Act II, its place in Act 
V is taken by an elaborate masque, including a duet 
between a Chinese and a "Chinese-woman" and a 
dance by six monkeys. In other parts of the play 
additional attractions are introduced in the shape of 



INTRODUCTION 



three drunken poets, the Indian boy, two great drag- 
ons, two swans who turn into fairies and dance, four 
savages, a troop of fawns, dryads and naiads. 

"Pyramus and Thisbe" was the title of "a comic 
masque" presented in 1716, and of a "mock opera" 
performed in 1745 at Covent Garden. David Gar- 
rick was responsible for "The Fairies. An opera 
taken from A Midsummer Night's Dream. As it is 
performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. 
The songs from Shakespeare, Milton, Waller, Dryden, 
Lansdowne, Hammond, etc." (1755). In this version 
the "rude mechanicals" did not appear, and the play 
underwent further mutilation at the hands of Col- 
man a few years later. For the next half century 
Shakespeare's comedy held the stage only in the guise 
of a rude farce, from which "Theseus and all the 
serious characters" were omitted. F. Reynolds in 
1816 claimed the credit of "restoring to the stage the 
lost, the divine drama of A Midsummer Night's 
Dream" for a performance at the Theatre Royal, 
Covent Garden; but his version is still very far from 
following the original. Passages are transposed, 
omitted, inserted, new songs are introduced together 
with a dance during which the Indian Boy is brought 
forward, and the play closes with a recitative by 
Hermia, "Warriors ! March on ! March on !", fol- 
lowed by a grand pageant commemorative of the 
triumphs of Theseus and the chorus: — "His fame 
— Proclaim — And sound — Around — Great Theseus' 
Name !" 

Modern revivals must date from the performance 
of Tieck's Sommernachts-traum at the Berlin Royal 
Theatre in 1837 in the presence of King Frederic 
William IV and all the notabilities of the Prussian 
capital. Mendelssohn conducted the orchestra and 
his overture to A Midsummer Night's Dream was 
performed for the first time. Shakespeare finally 
came to his own again on the English stage soon 
after the middle of the nineteenth century. In 1856 
Charles Kean revived the play in its original form 
at the Princess Theatre in London. The part of Puck 
was assigned to "a blond roguish girl about ten years 
old, who under the name of Ellen Terry was 
to be a favorite interpreter of Shakespearean parts 
to English-speaking audiences for half a century. 
Bottom was played by Harley, one of the leading 
comic actors of the day, whose last words on his 
death-bed a few years later were a quotation from 
this part, "I have an exposition of sleep come upon 
me." Bottom was esteemed the greatest comic char- 
acter of Phelps, who conducted a notable series of 
Shakespearean revivals at the little theatre at Sad- 



ler's Wells, Islington, from 1844 to 1862. His pro- 
duction A Midsummer Night's Dream in 1853 was 
also remarkable for the use of gas for the first time 
as a stage illuminant and the introduction of a 
diaphanous blue net, the same size as the act-drop, 
without a seam, to give a "misty effect" to the fairy 
scenes. More recent productions have made further 
advances in scenic illusion, for which the modern 
developments of stage machinery, decoration, and 
lighting give ample opportunity. In the early nine- 
ties A Midsummer Night's Dream was one of the 
most successful plays in the repertoire of F. R. Ben- 
son's company, which acted at the Globe Theatre in 
London, and made extensive tours in the English 
provinces; a revival by Charles Calvert, at Man- 
chester, Eng., was also very successful. In 1901 
Beerbohm Tree gave a splendid performance in Lon- 
don with himself as Bottom and Lottie Freear as 
Puck, and he repeated the triumph ten years later 
with Arthur Bourchier in the great comic part. Puck 
being taken less successfully by a boy actor. An- 
other notable English Bottom of recent years was 
Oscar Ashe. Granville Barker's production at the 
Savoy in 1914 was a triumph of gorgeous decorative- 
ness — fairies all gold against a background of green 
and purple with Puck as a single patch of scarlet. 
The open air performances of Ben Greet's company 
are familiar to college students on both sides of the 
Atlantic. 

The first performance of A Midsummer Night's 
Dream, in America took place at the Park Theatre, 
New York, in 1826; it was revived at the same theatre 
in 1841 with Charlotte Cushman as Oberon. William 
E, Burton achieved a triumph in the character of 
Bottom' in a magnificent setting at his New York 
Theatre in 1854, and at the same time a rival repre- 
sentation of the comedy was given at the Broadway 
Theatre. A revival at Laura Keene's New York 
theatre in 1859, with William Rufus Blake as Bot- 
tom, was a failure; but Joseph Jefferson's production 
at the same theatre (then called the Olmypic) ran 
for a hundred nights in 1867-8. J. L. Fox gave a 
famous portrayal of Bottom and repeated it in Au- 
gustin Daly's production at the Grand Opera House, 
New York, in 1873. Daly's Theatre, New York, saw 
a revival of unprecedented splendor in 1888. Little 
of the original text was omitted, but there were some 
transpositions for the sake of stage effects, the most 
noteworthy being the gathering of fairies with glim- 
mering fireflies at the close of Act III, and the 
voyage of the barge of Theseus to Athens from the 
wood at the end of Act IV. The Astor Theatre in 



4 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



New York opened with A Midsummer Night's Dream 
in 1906 (Annie Russell as Puck) but the setting was 
adjudged less magnificent than that of eighteen years 
earlier. 

A Midsummer Night's Dream is a favorite play 
with German audiences, and the setting by Max 
Reinhardt in Berlin in 1905 is still remembered, 
though an attempt at Dusseldorf in 1911 to outvie 
it perhaps holds the record for general gorgeousness 
and ingenious stage effects. There were excellent 
performances at Vienna in 1905 and at Paris in 1910- 
11. The play has been translated into all the prin- 
cipal European languages and is often acted. 

CRITICAL C02I2IENT— Dr. Johnson remarked, 
"I know not why Shakespeare calls this play 'A Mid- 
summer Night's Dream,' when he so carefully informs 
us that it happened on the night preceding May 
day;" — to which the obvious answer is that the poet 
may Imagine events as happening at another season 
than that which he conceives as suitable for the dream 
itself to occur. Dr. Johnson further objected to the 
combination of "the loves of Theseus and Hippolyta 
with the gothic mythology of fairies" as an example 
of Shakespeare's practice of giving "to one age or 
nation, without scruple, the customs, institutions, and 
opinions of another, at the expense not only of like- 
lihood, but of possibility." But, on the whole, the 
judgment of the great eighteenth century critic was 
favorable. "Wild and fantastical as this play is, all 
the parts in their various modes are well written, and 
give the kind of pleasure which the author designed." 
The critics of the Romantic Movement naturally ap- 
proached the play with less condescension and more 
enthusiasm. Hazlitt (Characters of Shakespeare's 
Plays, 1817) carefully analyzes the personal charac- 
teristics of Bottom and his companions, commends the 
infinite delicacy and subtlety of the portrayal of the 
fairies, and draws attention to the various beauty of 
the lyrics and the blank verse. In his opinion "all 
that is finest in the play is lost in the representation," 
and this appears to have been the common view in 
the first half of the nineteenth century, before the 
period of the modern revivals. Edgar Allan Poe 
wrote: "When I am asked for a definition of poetry, 
I think of Titania and Oberon of the Midsummer 
Night's Dream." Hartley Coleridge said: "It is all 
poetry, and sweeter poetry was never written." All 
recent editors are enthusiastic in tlieir admiration. 

German appreciation dates from the translation by 
Wieland in 1762. Tieck in his notes on Schlegel's 



translation started the notion that the play was writ- 
ten in imitation of masque and anti-masque for the 
wedding of some nobleman, and this idea was after- 
wards elaborately developed by Elze, despite the fact 
that at the time the play was written the anti-masque 
was unknown, and the masque was merely a dance 
in costume, without any dramatic elements. Simrock 
in Shakespeare's Sources dived deep into fairy myth- 
ology. On the whole, German criticism has con- 
tributed less to the elucidation of A Midsummer 
Night's Dream than to that of almost any other 
Shakespearean play. 

T^XT— The text of this issue is founded on that 
of the collected edition of Shakespeare's plays pub- 
lished with the authority of his friends and fellow 
actors Heming and Condell in 1623, seven years after 
his death, and subsequently known as the First Folio. 
They appear to have given to the printers a stage 
copy of an edition of the play which had been pub- 
lished not long before with the title: "A Midsommcr 
nights dreame. As it hath been sundry times pub- 
likely acted, by the Right Honourable, the Lord 
Chamberlaine his servants. Written by William 
Shakespeare. Printed by James Roberts, 1600." Re- 
cent investigation tends to show that this date of 
1600 was intended to mislead, this edition being really 
issued in 1619; it was obviously reprinted from an 
earlier edition of 1600, which bears the title: "A 
Midsommer nights dreame. As it hath beene sundry 
times publickely acted, by the Right Honourable, the 
Lord Chamberlaine his servants. Written by Wiliam 
Shakespeare. Imprinted at London, for Thomas 
Fisher, and are to be soulde at his shoppe, at the- 
Signe of the White Hart, in Fleetestreete. 1600." 
Fisher obtained a license from the Stationers' Com- 
pany on Oct. 8, 1600, for the publication of "A 
mydsommer nightes Dreame/' and the falsification of 
the Roberts date is probably connected with some 
dispute about copyright, now lost beyond recall. The 
two quartos show some slight differences from the 
folio text, and are sometimes more correct; important 
variations from the first folio adopted in this issue 
on the authority of the quartos or suggested by later 
editors are recorded in the Notes at the end of the 
play, Qi signifying the Fisher quarto, and Q2 that of 
Roberts; F indicates the reading of the first folio; 
the later folios are reprints of the first, and their 
mistakes and corrections are alike disregarded. For 
the sake of convenience in reference, the Globe num- 
bering of lines is retained. 

C. 



4 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[Scene : Athens, and a wood near it. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 

Theseus, duke of Athens. 

Egeus, father to Hermia. 

Lysakder, ) 

un love with Hermia. 
Demetrius, ) 

PiiiLosTRATE, master of the revels to Theseus. 



QuixcE, a carpenter, 




r Prologue. 


Bottom, a weaver. 




Pyramus. 


Flute, a bellows-mender, 
SxouT, a tinker. 


^presenting. 


Thisbe. 
Wall. 


SxuG, a joiner, 




LlOJvT. 


STARVELi>rG, a tailor. 




MoosrsHiKE 


ACT FIRST 





HippOLYTA, queen of the Amazons, betrothed to 
Theseus. 



Hermia, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander. 

Helena, in love with Demetrius. 

Oberon, king of the fairies. 

TiTAKiA, queen of the fairies. 

Puck, or Robin Goodfellow. 

Peaseblossom, 

Cobweb, 

Moth, 

mustardseed, 

other fairies attending their King and Queen. 
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta.J 



'fairies. 



[Scene I. — Athens. The palace of Theseus.] 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, [Philostrate,] with 

others. 
The. NoW;, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 

Draws on apace. Four happy days bring in 

Another moon; but^ O^ methinks^ how slow 

This old moon wanes ! She lingers my de- 
sires, 

Like to a step-dame or a dowager 5 

Long withering out a young man's revenue. 
Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in 
night ; 

Four nights will quickly dream away the time; 

And then the moon, like to a silver bow 

New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night 10 

Of our solemnities. 
The, Go, Philostrate, 

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; 

Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; 

Turn melancholy forth to funerals; 

The pale companion is not for our pomp. 15 

[Emt Philostrate.] 



Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword. 
And won thy love, doing thee in j uries ; 
But I will wed thee in another key. 
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. 

Enter Egeus and his daughter Hermia, Lysan- 
der, and Demetrius. 

Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned Duke! 20 
The. Thanks, good Egeus ; what's the news with 

thee.?* 
Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. 
Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, 
This man hath my consent to marry her. 25 
Stand forth, Lysander: and, my gracious 

Duke, 
This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my 

child. 
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her 

rhymes. 
And interchang'd love-tokens with my child. 
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung 
With feigning voice verses of feigning love, 31 
And stolen the impression of her fantasy 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act I. sc. 



With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, con- 
ceits, 
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, — mes- 
sengers 
Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth. 35 
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's 

heart, 
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, 
To stubborn harshness and, my gracious Duke, 
Be it so she will not here before your Grace 
Consent to marry with Demetrius, 40 

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens. 
As she is mine, I may dispose of her ; 
Which shall be either to this gentleman. 
Or to her death, according to our law 
Immediately provided in that case. 45 

The. What say you, Hermia.'* Be advis'd, fair 
maid. 
To you your father should be as a god. 
One that compos'd your beauties, yea, and one 
To whom you are but as a form in wax 
By him imprinted, and within his power 50 
To leave the figure or disfigure it. 
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 

Her. So is Lj^^sander. 

The. In himself he is. 

But in this kind, wanting your father's voice. 
The other must be held the worthier. 55 

Ilej'. I would my father look'd but with my eyes. 

The. Rather your eyes must with his judgement 
look. 

Her. I do entreat your Grace to pardon me. 
I know not by what power I am made bold. 
Nor how it may concern my modesty, 60 

In such a presence here to plead my thoughts ; 
But I beseech your Grace that I may know 
The worst that may befall me in this case, 
If I refuse to wed Deme':rius. 

The. Either to die the death or to abjure 65 
For ever the society of men. 
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, 
Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
Whetlier, if you yield not to your father's 

choice. 
You can endure the livery of a nun, 70 

For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd. 
To live a barren sister all your life, 
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless 

moon. 
Thrice-blessed they that master so tlieir blood 
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage; 75 

But earthlicr happy is the rose distill'd 



Than that which, withering on the virgin 

thorn. 
Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness. 

He7\ So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, 
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 80 

Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 
My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 

The. Take time to pause; and by the next new 
moon — 
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me 
For everlasting bond of fellowship — 85 

Upon that day either prepare to die 
For disobedience to your father's will. 
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would, 
Or on Diana's altar to protest 
For aye austerity and single life. 90 

Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, 
yield 
Thy crazed title to my certain right. 

Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius, 
Let me have Hermia's ; do you marry him. 

Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love. 
And what is mine my love shall render him. 96 
And she is mine, and all my right of her 
I do estate unto Demetrius. 

Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he. 

As well possess'd; my love is more than his; 
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, loi 
If not with vantage, as Demetrius'; 
And, which is more than all these boasts can 

be, 
I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia. 
Why should not I then prosecute my right ? 105 
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head. 
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes. 
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry. 
Upon this spotted and inconstant man. no 

The. I must confess that I have heard so much, 
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke 

thereof; 
But, being over-full of self-afFairs, 
My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come; 
And come, Egeus; you shall go with me, ns 
I have some private schooling for you both. 
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
To fit your fancies to your father's will; 
Or else the law of Athens yields you up 
(Which by no means we may extenuate) 120 
To death, or to a vow of single life. 
Come, my Hippolyta; what cheer, my love? 
Demetrius and Egeus, go along; 



6 



ACT I. SC. 



I.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



I must employ you in some business 

Against our nuptial, and confer with you 125 

Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 

Ege. With duty and desire we follow you. 

Exeunt all hut Lysander and Hermia. 

Lys. How now, my love! why is your cheek so 
pale? 
How chance the roses there do fade so fast? 

Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could 
well ' 130 

Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. 

Lys. Ay me ! for aught that ever I could read, 
Could ever hear by tale or history, 
The course of true love never did run smooth ; 
But, either it was different in blood, — 135 

Her, O cross ! too high to be enthrall'd to low. 

Lys. Or else misgrafFed in respect of years, — 

Her. O spite ! too old to be engag'd to young. 

Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of 
friends, — 

Her. O hell! to choose love by another's eyes. 

Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 141 
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it. 
Making it momentary as a sound. 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, 
Brief as the lightning in the collied night, 145 
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and 

earth. 
And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold !' 
The jaws of darkness do devour it up; 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 

Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross 'd. 
It stands as an edict in destiny. 151 

Then let us teach our trial patience. 
Because it is a customary cross. 
As due to love as thoughts and dreams and 

sighs. 
Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers. 155 

Lys. A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, 
Hermia. 
I have a widow aunt, a dowager 
Of great revenue, and she hath no child. 
From Athens is her house remov'd seven 

leagues ; 
And she respects me as her only son. 160 

There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee; 
And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
Cannot pursue us. If thou lov'st me then. 
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow 

night; 
And in the wood, a league without the town. 
Where I did meet thee once with Helena 166 



To do observance for a morn of May, 
There will I stay for thee. 
Her. My good Lysander ! 

I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow. 
By his best arrow with the golden head, 170 
By the simplicity of Venus' doves. 
By that which knitteth souls and prospers 

loves. 
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage 

queen. 
When the false Troyan under sail was seen. 
By all the vows that ever men have broke, 17s 
(In number more than ever women spoke) 
In that same place thou hast appointed me 
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 
Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes 

Helena. 

Enter Helena. 

Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away ? 
Hel. Call you me fair? That fair again unsay. 
Demetrius loves you fair : O happy fair ! 182 
Your eyes are lode-stars, and your tongue's 

sweet air 
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear 
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds 
appear. 185 

Sickness is catching; O, were favour so. 
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; 
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your 

eye, 
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet 

melody. 
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated. 
The rest I'll give to be to you translated. 191 
O, teach me how you look, and with what art 
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 
Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 
Hel. O that your frowns would teach my smiles 
such skill! 195 

Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 
Hel. O that my prayers could such affection 

move I 
Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 
Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 
Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 200 
Hel. None but your beauty. Would that fault 

were mine ! 
Her. Take comfort. He no more shall see my 
face ; 
Lysander and myself will fly this place. 
Before the time I did Lysander see. 



8 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act I. SC. I. 



Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me; 205 

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell. 
That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell ! 

Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: 
To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold 
Her silver visage in the watery glass, 210 

Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
A time that lovers' fligiits doth still conceal. 
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to 
steal. 

Her, And in the wood, where often you and I 
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, 215 
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet. 
There my Lysander and myself shall meet. 
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes. 
To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
Farewell, sweet playfellow ! Pray thou for 

us; 
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! 221 
Keep word, Lysander; we must starve our 

sight 
From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight. 

Lys. I will, my Hermia. Exit Herm. 

Helena, adieu: 
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! 225 

Exit Lysande7\ 

Hel. How happy some o'er other some can be ! 
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; 
He will not know what all but he do know ; 
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, 230 
So I, admiring of his qualities. 
Things base and vile, holding no quantity. 
Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind. 
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgement taste; 
Wings and no eyes figure unlieedy haste; 237 
And therefore is Love said to be a child. 
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, 
So the boy Love is perjur'd every where: 241 
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne. 
He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine; 
And when this hail some heat from Hermia 

felt, 
So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. 
I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight; 246 
Then to the wood will he to-morrow night 
Pursue her; and for this intelligence 
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense. 



But herein mean I to enrich my pain, 250 

To have his sight thither and back again. 

Exit. 

[Scene II. — Quince's house.^ 

Enter Quince the Carpenter, Snug the Joiner, 
Bottom the Weaver, Flute the Bellows-mender, 
Snout the Tinker, and Starveling the Tailor. 

Quin. Is all our company here? 

Bot. You were best to call them generally, man 
by man, according to the scrip. 

Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, 
which is thought fit through all Athens to 
play in our interlude before the Duke and the 
Duchess, on his wedding-day at night. 7 

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play 
treats on, then read the names of the actors, 
and so grow on to a point. 10 

Quin. Marry, our play is. The most lamentable 
comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and 
Thisby. 

Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, 
and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call 
forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, 
spread yourselves. 17 

Quin. Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the 
weaver. 

Bot. Ready; name what part I am for, and pro- 
ceed. 21 

Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for 
Pyramus. 

Bot. What is Pyramus? A lover, or a tyrant? 

Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly 
for love. 26 

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true perform- 
ing of it. If I do it, let the audience look to 
their eyes. I will move storms ; I will condole 
in some measure. To the rest. Yet my chief 
humour is for a tyrant. I could play Ercles 
rarely^ or a part to tear a cat in, to make all 
split. 32 

'The raging rocks 
And shivering shocks 
Shall break the locks 35 

Of prison gates; 
And Phibbus' car 
Shall shine from far 
And make and mar 

The foolish Fates.* 40 



ACT I. SC. II.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



This was lofty! Now name the rest of the 
players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; 
a lover is more condoling. 

Quin. Francis Flute the bellows-mender. 

Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 45 

Quin. You must take Thisby on you. 

Flu. What is Thisby ? a wandering knight ? 

Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 

Flu. Nay, faith, let not me play a woman; I 
have a beard coming. 50 

Quin. That's all one ; you shall play it in a mask, 
and you may speak as sm'all as you will. 

Bot. And I may hide my face, let me play Thisby 
too. I'll speak in a monstrous little voice, 
'Thisne ! Thisne !' 'Ah Pyramus, my lover 
dear ! thy Thisby dear, and lady dear !' 56 

Quin. No, no, you must play Pyramus; and. 
Flute, you Thisby. 

Bot. Well, proceed. 

Quin. Robin Starveling the tailor. 60 

Star. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's 
mother. Tom Snout the tinker. 

Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You, Pyramus' father; myself, Thisby's 
father. Snug the joiner, you, the lion's part; 
and I hope here is a play fitted. 67 

Snug. Have you the lion's part written? Pray 
you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 

Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing 
but roaring. 71 

Bot. Let me play the lion too. I will roar 
that I will do any man's heart good to hear me. 
I will roar, that I will make the Duke say, 
'Let him roar again, let him roar again.' 75 

Quin. If you should do it too terribly, you 
would fright the Duchess and the ladies, that 
they would shriek; and that were enough to 
hang us all. 

All. That would hang us, every mother' son. 80 

Bot. I grant you, friends, if you should fright 
the ladies out of their wits, they would have no 
more discretion but to hang us; but I will 
aggravate my voice so that I will roar you as 
gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you 
and 't were any nightingale. 86 

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus, 
for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man, a proper 
man, as one shall see in a summer's day; a 
most lovely gentleman-like man: therefore 
you must needs play Pyramus. 91 



Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard 
were I best to play it in? 

Quin. Why, what you will. 

Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw- 
colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your 
purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown- 
coloured beard, your perfect yellow. 98 

Quin. Some of your French crowns have no 
hair at all, and then you will play barefaced. 
But, masters, here are your parts ; and I am to 
entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con 
them by to-morrow night; and meet me in the 
palace wood, a mile without the town, by 
moonlight. There will we rehearse ; for if we 
meet in the city, we shall be dogged with com- 
pany, and our devices known. In the mean- 
time, I will draw a bill of properties, such as 
our play wants. I pray you, fail me not. 109 

Bot. We will meet; and there we may rehearse 
more obscenely and courageously. Take 
pains, be perfect, adieu. 

Quin. At the Duke's oak we meet. 

Bot. Enough; hold or cut bow-strings. 114 

[^Ea;eunt.'\ 

ACT SECOND 

[Scene I. — The Palace wood a mile without the 
town.] 

Enter a Fairy at one door, and Robin Goodfellow 
at another. 

Robin. How now, spirit! whither wander you? 
Fai. Over hill, over dale. 

Thorough bush, thorough brier. 

Over park, over pale. 

Thorough flood, thorough flre, 5 

I do wander every where. 

Swifter than the moon's sphere; 

And I serve the fairy Queen, 

To dew her orbs upon the green. 

The cowslips tall her pensioners be; 10 

In their gold coats spots you see; 

Those be rubies, fairy favours. 

In those freckles live their savours. 

I must go seek some dewdrops here 

And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 15 

Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone. 

Our Queen and all her elves come here anon. 
Robin. The King doth keep his revels here to- 
night; 



10 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act II. SC. I. 



Take heed the Queen come not within his 

sight, 
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 20 

Because that she as her attendant hath 
A lovely boy stolen from an Indian king. 
She never had so sweet a changeling; 
And jealous Oberon would have the child 
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild. 
But she perforce withholds the loved boy, 26 
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all 

her joy; 
And now they never meet in grove or green. 
By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, 
But they do square, that all their elves for 

fear 30 

Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there. 
Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making 

quite. 
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite 
Call'd Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he 
That frights the maidens of the villagery, 35 
Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern. 
And bootless make the breathless housewife 

churn. 
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm. 
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their 

harm ? 
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet 

Puck, 40 

You do their work, and they shall have good 

luck. 
Are not you he.^ 
Robin. Thou speak'st aright; 

I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
I jest to Oberon and make him smile 
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 45 
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal; 
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, 
In very likeness of a roasted crab; 
And when she drinks, against her lips I 

bob 
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale. 50 
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale. 
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me. 
Then slip I from her bum, down topples she. 
And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough; 
And then the whole quire hold their hips and 

laugh, 55 

And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and 

swear 
A merrier hour was never wasted there. 
But room, fairy! here comes Oberon. 



Fai. And here my mistress. Would that he were 
gone! 

Enter the King of Fairies [Oberon^ at one door 
with his train; and the Queen [Titania~\ at 
another with hers. 

Obe. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. 60 

Tita. What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip 
hence ; 
I have forsworn his bed and company. 

Obe. Tarry, rash wanton! Am not I thy lord? 

Tita. Then I must be thy lady; but I know 
When thou hast stolen away from fairy land, 
And in the shape of Corin sat all day, 66 

Playing on pipes of corn and versing love 
To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, 
Come from the farthest steep of India? 
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 70 
Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love. 
To Theseus must be wedded, and you come 
To give their bed joy and prosperity. 

Obe. How canst thou thus for shame, Titania, 
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 75 

Knowing I know thy love to Theseus? 
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmer- 
ing night 
From Perigenia, whom he ravished? 
And make him with fair iEgle break his faith. 
With Ariadne, and Antiopa? 80 

Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy; 

And never, since the middle summer's spring. 
Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead. 
By paved fountain or by rushy brook. 
Or in the beached margent of the sea, 85 

To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind. 
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our 

sport. 
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain. 
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
Contagious fogs, which, falling in the land, 90 
Hath every petty river made so proud 
That they have overborne their continents. 
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in 

vain. 
The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green 

corn 
Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard. 95 
The fold stands empty in the drowned field, 
And crows are fatted with the murrion flock, 
The nine men's morris is fiU'd up with mud. 
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green. 
For lack of tread, are undistinguishable. 100 



10 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



11 



The human mortals want their winter here. 
No night is now with hymn or carol blest. 
Therefore the moon^ the governess of floods, 
Pale in her anger, washes all the air. 
That rheumatic diseases do abound. 105 

4nd thorough this distemperature we see 
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts 
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose. 
And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown 
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds no 
Is, as in mockery, set; the spring, the summer. 
The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world. 
By their increase, now knows not which is 

which. 
And this same progeny of evils comes 115 

From our debate, from our dissension; 
We are their parents and original. 
Obe. Do you amend it then; it lies in you. 
Why should Titania cross her Oberon? 
I do but beg a little changeling boy 120 

To be my henchman. 
Tita. Set your heart at rest; 

The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
His mother was a votaress of my order. 
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night. 
Full often hath she gossip'd by my side, 125 
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands. 
Marking the embarked traders on the flood. 
When we have laugh'd to see the sails con- 
ceive 
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind; 
Which she with pretty and with swimming 
gait 130 

Following, (her womb then rich with my 

young squire,) 
Would imitate, and sail upon the land 
To fetch me trifles, and return again. 
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. 
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; 135 
And for her sake I do rear up her boy. 
And for her sake I 'will not part with him. 
Obe. How long within this wood intend you 

stay } 

Tita. Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day. 

If you will patiently dance in our round, 140 

And see our moonlight revels, go with us; 

If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 

■ Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 

Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies away ! 

We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 145 

Exit [Titania with her train']. 



Obe. Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this 

grove 
Till I torment thee for this injury. 
My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou remem- 

b'rest 
Since once I sat upon a promontory. 
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back 150 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song. 
And certain stars shot madly from their 

spheres. 
To hear the sea-maid's music? 
Puck. I remember. 

Obe. That very time I saw, but thou couldst not. 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all arm'd. A certain aim he took 157 
At a fair vestal throned by the west. 
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his 

bow. 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts ; 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 161 
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery 

moon. 
And the imperial votaress passed on 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell. 165 
It fell upon a little western flower, 
Before milk-white, now purple with love's 

wound. 
And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
Fetch me that flower, the herb I shew'd thee 

once. 
The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid 170 
Will make or man or woman madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again 
Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 
Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 175 
In forty minutes. [Exit] 

Obe. Having once this juice, 

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, 
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes. 
The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, 180 

On meddling monkey, or on busy ape, 
She shall pursue it with the soul of love; 
And ere I take this charm off from her sight, 
As I can take it with another herb, 
I'll make her render up her page to me. 185 
But who comes here? I am invisible; 
And I will overhear their conference. 
Enter Demetrius, Helena following him^ 



11 



12 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act II. sc. 



Dem. I love thee not^ therefore pursue me not. 
Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? 
The one I'll stay, the other stayeth me. 190 
Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this 

wood ; 
And here am I, and wood within this wood. 
Because I cannot meet my Hermia. 
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 

Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; 
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 196 
Is true as steel. Leave you your power to 

draw. 
And I shall have no power to follow you. 

Dem. Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair? 
Or rather do I not in plainest truth 200 

Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you? 

Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. 
I am your spaniel, and, Demetrius, 
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you. 
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike 
me, 205 

Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave. 
Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
What worser place can I beg in your love, — 
And yet a j^lace of high respect with me, — 
Than to be used as you use your dog? 210 

Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my 
spirit. 
For I am sick when I do look on thee. 

Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. 

Dem. You do impeach your modesty too much. 
To leave the city and commit yourself 215 

Into the hands of one that loves you not; 
To trust the opportunity of night 
And the ill counsel of a desert place 
With the rich worth of your virginity. 

Hel. Your virtue is my privilege, For that 220 
It is not night when I do see your face. 
Therefore I think I am not in the night. 
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company. 
For you in my respect are all the world. 
Then how can it be said I am alone, 225 

When all the world is here to look on me? 

Dem. I'll run from thee and hide me in the 
brakes. 
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 



Hel. 



The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 



Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd: 
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; 231 
The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind 
ISIakes speed to catch the tiger ; bootless speed, 
When cowardice pursues and valour flies. 



Dem. I will not stay thy questions; let me go; 235 
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 

\_Exit Dem.^ 

Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, 
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius ! 
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex. 240 
We cannot fight for love, as men may do. 
W^e should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. 
I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell. 
To die upon the hand I love so well. Exit. 

Ohe. Fare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave 
this grove, 245 

Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love. 

Enter Puck. 

Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wan- 
derer. 

Puck. Ay, there it is. 

Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows. 
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, 250 
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, 
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine. 
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, 
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight ; 
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin. 
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in; 256 

And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes. 
And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
Take thou some of it, and seek through this 

grove, 
A sweet Athenian lady is in love 260 

With a disdainful youth. Anoint his eyes. 
But do it when the next thing he espies 
May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man 
By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
Effect it with some care, that he may prove 265 
More fond on her than she upon her love; 
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 

Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall 
do so. 

Exeunt. 

[Scene II. — A bank of thyme, oxlips, and 
other tvild flowers in the wood.^ 

Enter Titania, with her train. 

Tita. Come, now a roundel and a fairy song; 
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence, 
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds- 



12 



ACT II. SC. II.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



IS 



Some war with rere-mice for their leathern 

wings 
To make my small elves coats^ and some keep 

back 5 

The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and 

wonders 
At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ; 
Then to your offices^ and let me rest. 

Fairies sing. 

[i. Fairy.] 'You spotted snakes with double 
tongue. 
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; lo 

Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong. 
Come not near our fairy queen.' 

[Cho.] 'Philomel, with melody 
Sing in our sweet lullaby; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby. is 
Never harm. 
Nor spell nor charm. 
Come our lovely lady nigh. 
So, good night, with lullaby.' 

2. Fairy. 'Weaving spiders, come not here ; 20 
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence! 
Beetles black, approach not near; 
Worm nor snail, do no offence.' 

[Cho.~\ 'Philomel, with melody,' etc. 

2. Fairy. Hence, away ! now all is well. 25 

One aloof stand sentinel. 

[Exeunt Fairies.] Titania sleeps. 

Enter Oberon [and squeezes the flower on Ti- 
tania' s eyelids]. 

Ohe. What thou seest when thou dost wake, 
Do it for thy true-love take. 
Love and languish for his sake. 
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 30 

Pard, or boar with bristled hair. 
In thy eye that shall appear 
When thou wak'st, it is thy dear. 
Wake when some vile thing is near. 

[Exit.] 

Enter Lysander and Hermia. 

Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the 
wood; 35 

And to speak troth, I have forgot our way. 
We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good. 
And tarry for the comfort of the day. 



Her. Be it so, Lysander. Find you out a bed; 
For I upon this bank will rest my head. 40 

Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; 
One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth. 

Her. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my 
dear. 
Lie further off yet; do not lie so near. 

Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence ! 
Love takes the meaning in love's conference. 46 
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit 
So that but one heart can you make of it; 
Two bosoms interchanged with an oath; 
So then two bosoms and a single trotli. 50 

Then by your side no bed-room me deny; 
For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. 

Her. Lysander riddles very prettily. 

Now much beshrew my manners and my pride. 
If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. 55 

But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
Lie further off, in human modesty; 
Such separation as may well be said 
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid. 
So far be distant; and, good night, sweet 
friend. 60 

Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end! 

Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I ; 
And then end life when I end loyalty ! 
Here is my bed ; sleep give thee all his rest ! 

Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be 
press'd ! 65 

They sleep. 

Enter Piich. 

Puck. Through the forest have I gone. 
But Athenian find I none. 
On whose eyes I might approve 
This flower's force in stirring love. 
Night and silence — Who is here.^ 70 

Weeds of Athens he doth wear ! 
This is he, my master said. 
Despised the Athenian maid ; 
And here the maiden, sleeping sound. 
On the dank and dirty ground. 75 

Pretty soul! she durst not lie 
Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy. 
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
All the power this charm doth owe. 
When thou wak'st, let love forbid 80 

Sleep his seat on thy eyelid. 
So awake when I am gone. 
For I must now to Oberon. Exit. 



13 



14 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act II. SC. II. 



Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 

Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 

Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me 
thus. 8s 

Hel. O, wilt tliou darkling leave me? Do not 
so. 

Dem. StaVj, on thy peril; I alone will go. Exit. 

Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase ! 
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies, 90 

For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
How came her eyes so bright.^ Not with salt 

tears ; 
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear. 
For beasts that meet me run away for fear. 95 
Therefore no marvel though Demetrius 
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne? 
But who is here } Lysander ! on the ground ! 
Dead.^ or asleep? I see no blood, no wound. 
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 102 

Lys. [Awaking.] And run through fire I will 
for thy sweet sake. 
Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art, 
That through thy bosom makes me see thy 
heart. 105 

Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word 
Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! 

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander, say not so. 

What though he love your Hermia? Lord, 

what though ? 
Yet Hermia still loves you; then be content, no 

Lys. Content with Hermia! No; I do repent 
The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
Not Hermia but Helena now I love. 
Who will not change a raven for a dove? 
The will of man is by his reason sway'd; 115 
And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
Things growing are not ripe until their season ; 
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason, 
And touching now the point of human skill. 
Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 120 
And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook 
Love's stories, written in love's richest book. 

Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery 

born? 

When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? 

Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man. 

That I did never, no, nor never can, 126 



Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 

But you must flout my insufficiency? 

Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth you 

do. 
In such disdainful manner me to woo. 130 

But fare you well; perforce I must confess 
I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
O, that a lady, of one man refus'd. 
Should of another therefore be abus'd! 

Exit. 
Lys. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou 

there, 135 

And never mayst thou come Lysander near ! 
For as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings. 
Or as the heresies that men do leave 
Are hated most of those they did deceive, 140 
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy. 
Of all be hated, but the most of me! 
And, all my powers, address your love and 

might 
To honour Helen and to be her knight. 

Exit. 
Her. [^Awaking.] Help me, Lysander, help me! 

do thy best 145 

To pluck this crawling serpent from my 

breast! 
Ay me, for pity ! what a dream was here ! 
Lysander, look how I do quake with fear. 
Methought a serpent eat my heart away. 
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. 150 

Lysander ! what, remov'd ? Lysander ! lord ! 
What, out of hearing? Gone? No sound, 

no word? 
Alack, where are you? Speak, and if you 

hear; 
Speak, of all loves ! I swoon almost with fear. 
No? then I well perceive you are not nigh. 155 
Either death or you I'll find immediately. 

Exit, 

ACT THIRD 

[Scene I. — As in the last scene, Titania lying 
asleep.] 

Enter the Clowns [Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute ^ 
Snout, and Starveling]. 

Bot. Are we all met? 

Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous con- 
venient place for our rehearsal. This green 
plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn-brake 



14 



ACT III. SC. 



^] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



15 



our tiring-house ; and we will do it in action as 
we will do it before the Duke. 6 

Bot. Peter Quince! 

Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom? 

Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyra- 
mus and Thisby that will never please. First, 
Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself, 
which the ladies cannot abide. How answer 
you that.f^ 13 

Snout. By'r lakin, a parlous fear. 

Star. I believe we must leave the killing out, 
when all is done. 16 

Bot. Not a whit! I have a device to make all 
well. Write me a prologue; and let the pro- 
logue seem to say, we will do no harm with our 
swords and that Pyramus is not killed indeed; 
and, for the more better assurance, tell them 
that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom 
the weaver. This will put them out of fear. 23 

Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue; and 
it shall be written in ei^ht and six. 

Bot. No, make it two more; let it be written in 
eight and eight. 

Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion? 

Star. I fear it, I promise you. 29 

Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your 



selves. To bring in — God shield us 



lion 



among ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for 
there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your 
lion living; and we ought to look to it. 

Snout. Therefore another prologue must tell he 
is not a lion. 36 

Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his 
face must be seen through the lion's neck; and 
he himself must speak through, saying thus, 
or to the same defect, 'Ladies,' or 'Fair ladies, 
I would wish you,' or 'I would request you,' 
or 'I would entreat you, not to fear, not to 
tremble: my life for yours. If you think I 
come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life. 
No, I am no such thing ; I am a man as other 
men are;' and there indeed let him name his 
name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the 
joiner. 47 

Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two 
hard things: that is, to bring the moonlight 
into a chamber; for, you know, Pyramus and 
Thisby meet by moonlight. 51 

Snout. Doth the moon shine that night we play 
our play? 

Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! Look in the alma- 
nac ! Find out moonshine, find out moonshine. 



Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. 56 

Bot. Why, then may you leave a casement of the 
great chamber window, where we play, open, 
and the moon may shine in at the casement. 

Quin. Ay, or else one must come in with a bush 
of thorns and a lantern, and say he comes to 
disfigure, or to present, the person of Moon- 
shine. Then, there is another thing : we must 
have a wall in the great chamber ; for Pyramus 
and Thisby, says the story, did talk through, 
the chink of a wall. 66 

Snout. You can never bring in a wall. What 
say you. Bottom? 

Bot. Some man or other must present Wall ; and 
let him have some plaster, or some loam, or 
some rough-cast about him, to signify wall; or 
let him hold his fingers thus, and through that 
cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper. 73 

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, 
sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse 
your parts. Pyramus, you begin. When you 
have spoken your speech, enter into that brake. 
And so every one according to his cue. 78 

Enter Robin [Goodfellow, behind]. 

Robin. What hempen home-spuns have we swag- 
gering here. 
So near the cradle of the fairy queen? 80 

What, a play toward? I'll be an auditor; 
An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. 
Quin. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth. 
Bot. 'Thisby, the flowers of odious savours 

sweet,' — 
Quin. Odours, odours. 85 

Bot. 'odours savours sweet. 

So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. 
But hark, a voice ! Stay thou but here a while. 
And by and by I will to thee appear.' 

Exit. 

Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd 
here. [Ejcit.] 90 

Flu. Must I speak now? 

Quin. Ay, marry, must you ; for you must under- 
stand he goes but to see a noise that he 
heard, and is to come again. 
Flu. 'Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of 
hue, 95 

Of colour like the red rose on triumphant 
brier. 
Most brisky Juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew, 



15 



16 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act III. sc. 



As true as truest horse that vet would never 
tire, 

I'll meet thee, Pvramus, at Ninny's tomb.' 
Quin. 'Ninus' tomb/ man. Why, you must not 

speak that yet; that you answer to Pyramus. 

You speak all your part at once, cues and all. 

Pyramus, enter. Your cue is past; it is, 

'never tire.' 
Ftu. O, — 'As true as truest horse, that yet 

w^ould never tire.' 105 

[Re-enter Puck, and Bottom, with an ass's head.] 



Bot. 'If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine. 
Quin. O monstrous ! O strange ! 
haunted. Pray, masters ! fly, masters 



we are 
! Help! 



Exeunt [Quince, Snug, Flute, Snout, and 
Starveling] . 

Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, 

Through bog, through bush, through brake, 

through brier. no 

Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, 

A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire; 
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, 

and burn. 
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire at every turn. 

Exit. 

Bot. Why do they run away? This is a knavery 

of them to make me afeard. 116 

Enter Snout. 

Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed! What do 

I see on thee? 
Bot. What do you see? You see an ass-head of 

your own, do you? [Exit Snout.] 120 

Enter Peter Quince. 

Quin. Bless thee. Bottom ! bless thee ! thou art 
translated. Exit. 

Bot. I see their knavery; this is to make an ass 
of me, to fright me, if they could. But I will 
not stir from this place, do what they can. I 
will walk up and down here, and I will sing, 
that they shall hear I am not afraid. 127 

[Sings.] 

*The ousel cock so black of hue, 

With orange-tawny bill. 
The throstle with his note so true, 130 

The wren with little quill.' — 



Tita. [Awaking.] What angel wakes me from 

my flowery bed? 
Bot. [Sings.] 

'The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, 

The plain-song cuckoo grey. 
Whose note full many a man doth mark, 135 
And dares not answer nay.' — 

For, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish 
a bird ? Who would give a bird the lie, though 
he cry 'cuckoo' never so? 

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. 140 
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note; 
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
And thy fair virtues, force perforce, doth 

move me 
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee. 

Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little 
reason for that ; and yet, to say the truth, rea- 
son and love keep little company together now- 
a-days ; the more the pity that some honest 
neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, 
I can gleek upon occasion. 150 

Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 

Bot. Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to 
get out of this wood, I have enough to serve 
mine own turn. 

Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go; 155 
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or 

no. 
I am a spirit of no common rate ; 
The summer still doth tend upon my state ; 
And I do love thee; therefore, go with me. 
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee, 160 

And they shall fetch thee jewels from the 

deep. 
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost 

sleep. 
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so 
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. 
Peaseblossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard- 
seed ! 165 

Enter Peaseblossom, Cohtveh, Moth [and] Mus- 
tardseed. 

Peas, Ready. 
Cob, And I. 

Moth. And I. 

Mus. And I. 

All. Where shall we go? 

Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman. 
Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes; 



16 



ACT III. SC. I.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



17 



I 



I Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, 
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulber- 
ries ; I/O 
The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, 
And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs, 
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes. 
To have my love to bed and to arise; 
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies 
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes. 
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 177 

Peas. Hail, mortal ! 

Cob. Hail! 

Moth. Hail! 180 

Mus. Hail! 

Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. I 
beseech your worship's name. 

Cob. Cobweb. 

Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, 
good Master Cobweb. If I cut my finger, I 
shall make bold with you. Your name, honest 
gentleman ? 188 

Peas. Peaseblossom. 

Bot. I pray you commend me to Mistress Squash, 
your mother, and to Master Peascod, your 
father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall 
desire you of more acquaintance too. Your 
name, I beseech you, sir? 

Mus. Mustardseed. 195 

Bot. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your 
patience well. That same cowardly, giant-like 
ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of 
your house. I promise you your kindred hath 
made my eyes water ere now. I desire you 
more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed. 

Tita. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my 

bower. 

The moon methinks looks with a watery eye, 

And when she weeps, weeps every little flower. 

Lamenting some enforced chastity. 205 

Tie up m}^ love's tongue, bring him silently. 

Eojeunt. 

[Scene II. — The palace wood.] 

Enter Oberon. 

Obe. I wonder if Titania be awak'd; 

Then, what it was that next came in her eye. 
Which she must dote on in extremity. 
Here comes my messenger. 

Enter Puck. 

How now, mad spirit? 



What night-rule now about this haunted 
grove ? 5 

Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
Near to her close and consecrated bower. 
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals. 
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, 10 
Were met together to rehearse a play 
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial-day. 
The shallowest thickskin of that barren sort. 
Who Pyramus presented in their sport, 
Forsook his scene and enter'd in a brake. 15 
When I did him at this advantage take. 
An ass's nole I fixed on his head. 
Anon his Thisby must be answered. 
And forth my mimic comes. W^hen they him 

spy. 

As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, 20 
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort. 
Rising and cawing at the gun's report. 
Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky. 
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly; 
And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls ; 
He 'murder' cries, and help from Athens calls. 
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears 

thus strong, 27 

Made senseless things begin to do them wrong; 
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch ; 
Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all 

things catch. 30 

I led them on in this distracted fear. 
And left sweet Pyramus translated there; 
When in that moment, so it came to pass, 
Titania wak'd and straightway lov'd an ass. 
Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. 35 
But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes 
With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do? 
Puck. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd 

too, — 
And the Athenian woman by his side ; 
That, when he wak'd, of force she must be 

ey'd. 40 

Enter Demetrius and Hermia. 

Obe. Stand close; this is the same Athenian. 
Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. 
Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so? 

Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 
Her. Now I but chide; but I should use thee 
worse, 45 

For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 



17 



18 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act III. SC. II. 



If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, 
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, 
And kill me too. 

The sun was not so true unto the day 50 

As he to me; would he have stolen away 
From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon 
This whole earth may be bor'd and that the 

moon 
]May through the centre creep and so displease 
Her brother's noontide w^ith the Antipodes. 55 
It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him; 
So should a murderer look, so dread, so grim. 
Dem. So should the murderer look, and so 
should I, 
Pierc'd through the heart with your stern 

cruelty ; 
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, 
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 61 
Her, What's this to my Lysander ? Where is he ? 

Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? 

Dem. I'd rather give his carcass to my hounds. 

Her. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past 

the bounds 65 

Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, 

then? 
Henceforth be never number'd among men! 
O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake! 
Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake. 
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave 
touch ! 70 

Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? 
An adder did it; for with doubler tongue 
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 
Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd 
mood. 
I am not guilty of Lysander's blood; 75 

Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 
Her. X pray thee, tell me then that he is well. 
Dem. And if I could, what should I get there- 
fore? 
Her. A privilege never to see me more. 

And from thy hated presence part I so : 80 

See me no more, whether he be dead or no. 

Exit. 
Dem. There is no following her in this fierce 
vein; 
Here therefore for a vhile I will remain. 
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe, 
Which now in some slight measure it will pay. 
If for his tender here I make some stay. 87 

Lies down \^and sleeps^. 



Ohe. What hast thou done? Thou hast mis- 
taken quite 
And laid the love-juice on some true-love's 

sight. 
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 90 

Some true love turn'd and not a false turn'd 
true. 
Puck. Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man hold- 
ing troth, 
A million fail, confounding oath on oath. 
Ohe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, 
And Helena of Athens look thou find. 95 

All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer 
With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood 

dear. 
By some illusion see thou bring her here. 
I'll charm his eyes against she do appear. 
Puck. I go, I go; look how I go, 100 

Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. 

Exit. 
Ohe. Flower of this purple dye 
Hit with Cupid's archery. 
Sink in apple of his eye. 
When his love he doth espy, 105 

Let her shine as gloriously 
As the Venus of the sky. 
When thou wak'st, if she be by. 
Beg of her for remedy. 

Enter Puck. 

Puck. Captain of our fairy band, no 

Helena is here at hand. 

And the youth, mistook by me. 

Pleading for a lover's fee. 

Shall we their fond pageant see? 

Lord, what fools these mortals be! ns 

Ohe. Stand aside. The noise they make 

Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
Puck. Then will two at once woo one; 

That must needs be sport alone. 

And those things do best please me 120 

That befall preposterously. 

[They stand aside.'] Enter Lysander and 
Helena. 

Lys. Why should you think that I should woo in 
scorn ? 
Scorn and derision never come in tears. 
Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born. 
In their nativity all truth appears. 125 



18 



ACT III. SC. II,] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



19 



How can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them 
true? 
Hel. You do advance your cunning more and 
more. 
When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy 
fray! 
These vows are Hermia's; will you give her 
o'er ? 130 

Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing 
weigh. 
Your vows to her and me, put in two scales. 
Will even weigh, and both as light as tales. 
Lys. I had no judgement when to her I swore. 
Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her 
o'er. 135 

Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 
Dem. [Awaking.'] O Helen, goddess, nymph, 
perfect, divine! 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? 
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting 
grow ! 140 

That pure congealed white, high Taurus' 

snow, 
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow 
When thou hold'st up thy hand. O, let me 

kiss 
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 
Hel. O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent 
To set against me for your merriment. 146 

If you were civil and knew courtesy, 
You would not do me thus much injury. 
Can you not hate me, as I know you do, 
But you must join in souls to mock me too? 150 
If you were men, as men you are in show. 
You would not use a gentle lady so; — 
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts. 
When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. 
You both are rivals, and love Hermia ; 155 

And now both rivals, to mock Helena. 
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise. 
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes 
With your derision! None of noble sort 
Would so offend a virgin, and extort 160 

A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 
Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so; 
For you love Hermia; this you know I know. 
And here, with all good will, with all my heart. 
In Hermia's love I yield you up my part; 165 
And yours of Helena to me bequeath. 
Whom I do love and will do till my death. 



Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 
Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none. 
If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. 170 
My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd, 
And now to Helen it is home return'd, 
There to remain. 
Lys. Helen, it is not so. 

Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not 
know. 
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. 175 

Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy 
dear. 

Enter Hermia. 

Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function 
takes. 
The ear more quick of apprehension makes. 
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense. 
It pays the hearing double recompense. 180 

Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found; 
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to that sound. 
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so? 
Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press 

to go? 
Her. What love could press Lysander from my 
side ? 1S5 

Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him 
bide. 
Fair Helena, who more engilds the night 
Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. 
Why seek'st thou me? Could not this make 
thee know, 189 

The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so? 
Her. You speak not as you think. It cannot be. 
Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy; 

Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three 
To fashion this false sport, in spite of me. 
Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid! 195 
Have you conspir'd, have you with these con- 

triv'd 
To bait me with this foul derision? 
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd. 
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have 

spent. 
When we have chid the hasty-footed time 200 
For parting us, — O, is all forgot? 
All school-days' friendship, childhood inno- 
cence ? 
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods. 
Have with our needles created both one flower. 
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion. 
Both warbling of one song, both in one key. 



19 



20 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act III. SC. II. 



As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds. 
Had been incorporate. So ^ve grew together, 
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, 
But yet a union in partition ; 210 

Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; 
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart; 
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry. 
Due but to one and crowned with one crest. 
And will you rend our ancient love asunder, 215 
To join with men in scorning your poor 

friend ? 
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly ; 
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it. 
Though I alone do feel the injury. 

Her. I am amazed at your passionate words. 220 
I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me. 

Ilel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn. 
To follow me and praise my eyes and face? 
And made your other love, Demetrius, 
Who even but now did spurn me with his foot. 
To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare. 
Precious, celestial.'^ Wherefore speaks he this 
To her he hates .^ And wherefore doth 

Lysander 
Deny j^our love, so rich within his soul. 
And tender me, forsooth, affection, 230 

But by your setting on, by your consent? 
What though I be not so in grace as you, 
So hung upon with love, so fortunate. 
But miserable most, to love unlov'd? 
This you should pity rather than despise. 235 

Her. I understand not what you mean by this. 

Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks. 
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back, 
Wink each at other, hold the sweet jest up; 
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
If you have any pity, grace, or manners, 241 
You would not make me such an argument. 
But fare ye well; 'tis partly mine own fault. 
Which death or absence soon shall remedy. 

Lys. Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse, 245 
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 

Hel. O excellent! 

Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 

Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 

Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she en- 
treat. 
Thy threats have no more strength than her 
weak prayers. 250 

Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do! 
I swear by that which I will lose for thee. 
To prove him false that says I love thee not. 



Dem. I say I love thee more than he can do. 
Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. 
Dem. Quick, come ! 

Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this? 

[^clinging to him.^ 
Lys. Away, you Ethiope! 
Dem. No, no, sir; 

Seem to break loose. Take on as you would 

follow. 
But yet come not. You are a tame man, go ! 
Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr ! Vile thing, 
let loose, 260 

Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent ! 
Her. Why are you grown so rude? What 
change is this? 
Sweet love, — 
Lys. Thy love ! Out, tawny Tartar, out ! 

Out, loathed medicine ! O hated poison, 
hence ! 264 

Her. Do you not jest? 

Hel. Yes, sooth; and so do you. 

Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. 
Dem. I would I had your bond, for I perceive 
A weak bond holds you. I'll not trust your 
word. 
Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill 
her dead? 
Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. 270 
Her. [releasing Lysander.] What, can you do 
me greater harm than hate? 
Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my 

love! 
Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander? 
I am as fair now as I was erewhile. 
Since night you lov'd me; yet since night you 
left me: 275 

Why, then you left me — O, the gods forbid! — 
In earnest, shall I say? 
Lys. Ay, by my life; 

And never did desire to see thee more. 
Therefore be out of hope, of question, doubt; 
Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest 280 

That I do hate thee and love Helena. 
Her. O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom! 
You thief of love! What, have you come by 

night 
And stolen my love's heart from him? 
Hel. Fine, i' faith I 

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, 285 
No touch of bashfulness? What, will you 
tear 



20 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



21 



Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? 
Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet, you ! 
Her. Puppet.^ Why so.^ Ay, that way goes 
the game. 
Now I perceive that she hath made compare 290 
Between our statures; she hath urg'd her 

height. 
And with her personage, her tall personage. 
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with 

him. 
And are you grown so high in his esteem. 
Because I am so dwarfish and so low } 295 

How low am I, thou painted maypole? 

Speak, 
How low am I? I am not yet so low 
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 
Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentle- 
men. 
Let her not hurt me. I was never curst; 300 
I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; 
I am a right maid for my cowardice. 
Let her not strike me. You perhaps may 

think. 
Because she is something lower than myself. 
That I can match her. 
Her. Lower ! hark again. 305 

Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd 

you. 
Save that, in love unto Demetrius, 
I told him of your stealth unto this wood. 310 
He followed you ; for love I followed him ; 
But he hath chid me hence and threaten'd me 
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too. 
And now, so you will let me quiet go. 
To Athens will I bear my folly back 315 

And follow you no further. Let me go. 
You see how simple and how fond I am. 
Her. Why, get you gone; who is't that hinders 

you? 
Hel. A foolish heart that I leave here behind. 
Her. What, with Lysander ? 

Hel. With Demetrius. 320 

Lys. Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, 

Helena. 
Dem. No, sir, she shall not, though you take 

her part. 
Hel. O, when she's angry, she is keen and 
shrewd ! 
She was a vixen when she went to school; 
And though she be but little, she is fierce. 325 



Her. Little again! Nothing but low and little! 

Why will you suffer her to flout me thus ? 

Let me come to her. 
Li/s. Get you gone, you dwarf. 

You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made; 

You bead, you acorn. 
Dem. You are too officious 330 

In her behalf that scorns your services. 

Let her alone; speak not of Helena; 

Take not her part; for, if thou dost intend 

Never so little show of love to her. 

Thou shalt aby it. 
Lys. Now she holds me not. 335 

Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, 

Of thine or mine, is most in Helena. 
Dem. Follow ! Nay, I'll go with • thee, cheek 
by jowl. 

Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius. 

Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you. 

Nay, go not back. 
Hel. I will not trust you, I, 340 

Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray; 
My legs are long;er though, to run away. 

[Exit.'] 
Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. 

[Exit.'] 
Oheron and Puck [step forth']. 

Ohe. This is thy negligence. Still thou mis- 
tak'st, 345 

Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully. 

Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. 
Did not you tell me I should know the man 
By the Athenian garments he hath on? 
And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 350 
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes; 
And so far am I glad it so did sort. 
As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 

Ohe. Thou see'st these lovers seek a place to 
fight; 
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night ; 355 
The starry welkin cover thou anon 
With drooping fog as black as Acheron, 
And lead these testy rivals so astray 
As one come not within another's way. 
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue ; 
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; 361 
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius; 
And from each other look thou lead them thus. 
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting 
sleep 



21 



22 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act III. SC. II. 



With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep. 
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye, 366 
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, 
To take from thence all error with his might, 
And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. 
When they next wake,. all this derision 370 

Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision; 
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend. 
With league whose date till death shall never 

end. 
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, 
I'll to my queen and beg her Indian boy; 375 
And then I will her charmed eye release 
From monster's view, and all things shall be 

peace. 
Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with 

haste. 
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full 

fast. 
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger, ' 380 
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here 

and there. 
Troop home to churchyards. Damned spirits 

all. 
That in crossways and floods have burial. 
Already to their wormy beds are gone. 
For fear lest day should look their shames 

upon, 385 

They wilfully themselves exile from light 
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd 

night. 
Obe. But we are spirits of another sort. 

I with the morning's love have oft made sport, 
And, like a forester, the groves may tread, 390 
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red. 
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, 
Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams. 
But, notwithstandmg, haste, make no delay. 
We may effect this business yet ere day. 395 

[Exit.] 
Puck. Up and down, up and down, 

I will lead them up and down. 

I am fear'd in field and town. 

Goblin, lead them up and down. 
Here comes one. 400 

Enter Lysander. 

Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius.^ Speak 

thou now. 
Puck. Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where 

art thou? 
Lys. I will be with thee straight. 



Puck. Follow me, then, 

To plainer ground. 

\_Ea:it Lysander, as following the voice.] 

Enter Demetrius. 

Dem. Lysander, speak again! 

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled.^ 405 
Speak! In some bush.^ Where dost thou 
hide thy head.^ 
Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the 
stars. 
Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars. 
And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, 

thou child, 
I'll whip thee with a rod. He is defil'd 410 
That draws a sword on thee. 
Dem. Yea, art thou there? 

Puck. Follow my voice. We'll try no manhood 
here. 

Exeunt. 
Re-enter Lysander. 

Lys. He goes before me and still dares me on. 
When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
The villain is much lighter-heel'd than I; 415 
I followed fast, but faster he did fly. 

Shifting places 
That fallen am I in dark uneven w^ay. 
And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle 
day! 

Lies down. 
For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
I'll find Demetrius and revenge this spite. 420 

[Sleeps.] 

Enter Robin and Demetrius. 

Robin. Ho, ho, ho ! Coward, why com'st thou 

not? 
Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot 
Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place. 
And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. 
Where art thou now? 
Robin. Come hither; I am here. 

Dem. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt 
buy this dear, 426 

If ever I thy face by daylight see. 
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth 

me 
To measure out my length on this cold bed. 
By day's approach look to be visited. 430 

[Lies down and sleeps.] 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



23 



Enter Helena. 

Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night, 
Abate thy hours ! Shine comforts from the 
east. 
That I may back to Athens by daylight. 

From these that my poor company detest. 
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's 
eye, 435 

Steal me a while from mine own company. 

Slee'ps. 
Robin. Yet but three? Come one more; 
Two of both kinds makes up four. 
Here she comes, curst and sad. 
Cupid is a knavish lad, 440 

Thus to make poor females mad. 

Enter Hermia. 

Her. Never so weary, never so in woe. 

Bedabbled with the dew and torn with 
briers, 
I can no further crawl, no further go; 

My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 

Here will I rest me till the break of day. 446 

Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! 

[Lies down and sleeps.] 

Robin. On the ground 

Sleep sound. 

I'll apply 450 

To your eye. 
Gentle lover, remedy. 

[Squeezing the juice on Lysander's eyes.] 
When thou wak'st. 
Thou tak'st 

True delight 455 

In the sight 
Of thy former lady's eye; 
And the country proverb known. 
That every man should take his own. 
In your waking shall be shown. 460 

Jack shall have Jill; 
Nought shall go ill; 
The man shall have his mare again, and all 
shall be well. 

[Exit, leaving the lovers asleep.] 

ACT FOURTH 

[Scene I. — The same. Lysander, Demetrius, 
Helena, and Hermia still lying asleep.] 

Enter Titania, and Bottom, and Fairies, and 
Oberon behind them. 



Tita, Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed. 
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy. 
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head. 
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 

Bot. Where's Peaseblossom .^ s 

Peas, Ready. 

Bot, Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where's 
Mounsieur Cobweb.^ 

Cob, Ready. 9 

Bot. Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get 
your weapons in your hand, and kill me a 
red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; 
and, good mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag. 
Do not fret yourself too much in the action, 
mounsieur; and, good mounsieur, have a care 
the honey-bag break not; I would be loath to 
have you overflown with a honey-bag, sig:nior. 
Where's Mounsieur Mustardseed .^ 18 

Mus, Ready. 

Bot. Give me your neaf, M,ounsieur Mustard- 
seed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good 
mounsieur. 22 

Mus, What's your will? 

Bot. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Caval- 
ery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, 
mounsieur; for methinks I am marvellous 
hairy about the face, and I am such a tender ass, 
if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. 

Tita, What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet 
love ? 29 

Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music. 
Let us have the tongs and the bones. 

Music, Tongs. Rural music. 

Tita, Or say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to 
eat. 

Bot, Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch 
your good dry oats. Methinks I have a great 
desire to a bottle of hay ; good hay, sweet hay, 
hath no fellow. z^ 

Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 

Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of dried 
peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people 
stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come 
upon me. 42 

Tita, Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my 
arms. 
Fairies, be gone, and be always away. 

[Exeunt fairies.] 
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle 45 
Gently entwist; the female ivy so 



23 



24 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act IV. sc. 



Enrings the barky fingers of the ehn. 
O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! 

[They sleep.] 

Enter Robin Goodfellow. 

Ohe. [Advancing.] Welcome, good Robin. 

See'st thou this sweet sight? 
Her dotage now I do begin to pity ; 50 

For, meeting her of late behind the wood. 
Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool, 
I did upbraid her and fall out with her. 
For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 55 
And that same dew, which sometime on the 

buds 
Was wont to swell like round and orient 

pearls, 
Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes 
Lilve tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 
When I had at my pleasure taunted her 60 
And she in mild terms begg'd my patience, 
I then did ask of her her changeling child; 
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy 

sent 
To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 
And, now I have the boy, I will undo 65 

This hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
From off the head of this Athenian swain, 
That, he awaking when the other do. 
May all to Athens back again repair, 70 

And think no more of this night's accidents 
But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
But first I will release the fairy queen. 

[Touching her eyes.] 

Be as thou wast wont to be; 
See as thou wast wont to see. 75 

Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
Hath such force and blessed power. 
Now, my Titania ! wake you, my sweet queen ! 
Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 

Methought I was enamour'd of an ass. 80 

Obe. There lies your love. 
I'ita. How came these things to pass .^ 

O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now ! 
Obe. Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head. 
Titania, music call; and strike more dead 
Than common sleep of all these five the sense. 
Tita, Music, ho ! music, such as charmeth sleep ! 

Music, still. 



Robin. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own 

fool's eyes peep. 
Obe. Sound, music! Come, my queen, take 
hands with me. 
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers 
be. 90 

Now thou and I are new in amity, 
And will to-morrow midnight solemnly 
Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
And bless it to all fair prosperity. 
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 95 
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 
Robin. Fairy king, attend, and mark; 

I do hear the morning lark. 
Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad 

Trip we after the night's shade. 100 

We the globe can compass soon. 
Swifter than the wandering moon. 
Tita. Come, my lord, and in our flight 
Tell me how it came this night 
That I sleeping here was found 105 

With these mortals on the ground. 

Sleepers lie still. Exeunt [Oberon, Titania, and 
Robin Goodfellow]. Horns winded [with- 
in]. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and all hi& 
train. 

The. Go, one of you, find out the forester. 
For now our observation is perform'd, 
And since we have the vaward of ^he daj, 
My love shall hear the music of my hounds, no 
Uncouple in the western valley, let them go. 
Despatch, I say, and find the forester. 

[Exit an attendant.] 

We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top^ 

And mark the musical confusion 

Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 115 

Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once. 
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
With hounds of Sparta. Never did I hear 
Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves. 
The skies, the fountains, every region near 120 
Seem'd all one mutual cry. I never heard 
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 

The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan 

kind. 

So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung 

With ears that sweep away the morning dew; 

Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian 

bulls ; 126 



24 



ACT IV. SC. 



I.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



25 



Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like 

bells, 
Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly. 130 

Judge when you hear. But, soft! what 

nymphs are these? 
Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep. 
And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is; 
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena. 
I wonder of their being here together. 135 

The. No doubt they rose up early to observe 
The rite of May, and, hearing our intent. 
Came here in grace of our solemnity. 
But speak, Egeus; is not this the day 
That Hermia should give answer of her 

choice ? 140 

Ege. It is, my lord. 
The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their 

horns. 

Horns and they waTce. Shout within; they all 
start up. 

Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is 

past; 
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now.^ 

Lys. Pardon, my lord. 

The. . I pray you all, stand up. 

I know you two are rival enemies; 146 

How comes this gentle concord in the world. 
That hatred is so far from jealousy. 
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity.^ 

Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, 150 

Half sleep, half waking; but as yet, I swear, 
I cannot truly say how I came here. 
But, as I think, — for truly would I speak. 
And now I do bethink me, so it is, — 
I came with Hermia hither. Our intent 155 
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might 

be 
Without the peril of the Athenian law. 

Ege. Enough, enough, my lord : you have enough. 
I beg the law, the law, upon his head. 
They would have stolen away; they would, 
Demetrius, 160 

Thereby to have defeated you and me. 
You of your wife, and me of my consent. 
Of my consent that she should be your wife. 

Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their 
stealth. 
Of this their purpose hither to this wood; 165 
And I in fury hither followed them; 



Fair Helena in fancy followed me. 
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, — 
But by some power it is, — my love to Hermia, 
Melted as is the snow, seems to me now 170 
As the remembrance of an idle gawd 
Which in my childhood I did dote upon; 
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart. 
The object and the pleasure of mine eye. 
Is only Helena. To her, my lord, 175 

Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia; 
But like a sickness did I loathe this food; 
But, as in health, come to my natural taste. 
Now I do wish it, love it, long for it. 
And will for evermore be true to it. 180 

The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met; 
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. 
Egeus, I will overbear your will. 
For in the temple, by and by, with us 
These couples shall eternally be knit. 185 

And, for the morning now is something worn. 
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. 
Away with us to Athens; three and three. 
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. 
Come, Hippolyta. 190 

Exeunt DuJce and Lords. 

Dem. These things seem small and undistin- 
guishable. 
Like far-ofF mountains turned into clouds. 
Her. Methinks I see these things with parted 
eye. 
When every thing seems double. 
Hel. So methinks; 

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, 195 
Mine own, and not mine own. 
Dem. It seems to me 

That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you 

think 
The Duke was here, and bid us follow him.^ 
Her. Yea; and my father. 

Hel. And Hippolyta. 200 

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 
Dem. Why, then, we are awake. Let's follow 
him; 
And by the way let us recount our dreams. 

Bottom wakes. Exeunt lovers. 

Bot. When my cue comes, call me, 
and I will answer. My next is, 'Most 
fair Pyramus.' Heigh-ho ! Peter Quince ! 
Flute, the bellows-mender ! Snout, the tinker ! 
Starveling! God's my life, stolen hence, and 



25 



26 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act IV. SC. I. 



left me asleep ! I have had a most rare vision. 
I had a dream, past the wit of man to say 
what dream it was. Man is but an ass, if he 
go about to expound this dream. Methought 
I was — there is no man can tell what. Me- 
thought I was, — and methought I had, — 
but man is but a patched fool, if he will offer 
to say what methought I had. The eye of 
man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not 
seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue 
to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my 
dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write 
a ballad of this dream. It shall be called 
Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom; 
and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, be- 
fore the Duke; peradventure, to make it the 
more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. 224 

Exit. 
[Scene II. — Quince's house.l 

Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. 

Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house? Is he 

come home yet.^ 
Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is 

transported. 
Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred. It 

goes not forward, doth it? 6 

Quin. It is not possible; you have not a man in 

all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he. 
Flu. No, he hath simply the best wit of any 

handicraft man in Athens. 10 

Snout. Yea, and the best person too ; and he is a 

very paramour for a sweet voice. 
Flu. You must say 'paragon'; a paramour is, 

God bless us, a thing of naught. 

Enter Snug the Joiner. 

Snug. Masters, the Duke is coming from the 
temple, and there is two or three lords and 
ladies more married. If our sport had gone 
forward, we had all been made men. 18 

Flu. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost 
sixpence a day during his life; he could not 
have 'scaped sixpence a day. And the Duke had 
not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyra- 
mus, I'll be hanged. He would have deserved 
it. Sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing. 24 
Enter Bottom. 

Bot. Where are these lads? Where are these 
hearts ? 26 

Quin. Bottom ! O most courageous day ! O 
most happy hour! 



Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders ; but ask 
me not what; for if I tell you, I am no true 
Athenian. I will tell you everything, right 
as it fell out. 32 

Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 

Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you 
is, that the Duke hath dined. Get your apparel 
together, good strings to your beards, new 
ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the 
palace; every man look o'er his part; for the 
short and the long is, our play is preferred. 
In any case, let Thisby have clean linen; 
and let not him that plays the lion pare his 
nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's 
claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions 
nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath; 
and I do not doubt but to hear them say, it is 
a sweet comedy. No more words. Away ! 
go ! away ! 46 

Ea;eunt. 

ACT FIFTH 

[Scene I. — The palace of Theseus.~\ 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords 
[and Attendants]. 

Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers 

speak of. 
The. More strange than true ; I never may be- 
lieve 
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains. 
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 5 

More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet 
Are of imagination all compact. 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold; 
That is the madman. The lover, all as fran- 
tic, 10 
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt. 
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth 

to heaven; 
And as imagination bodies forth 
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy noth- 
ing 16 
A local habitation and a name. 
Such tricks hath strong imagination. 
That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
It comprehends some bringer of that joy; 20 



26 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



27 



Or in the nighty imagining some fear. 
How easy is a bush supposed a bear ! 
Hip. But all the story of the night told over, 
And all their minds transfigur'd so together. 
More witnesseth than fancy's images, 25 

And grows to something of great constancy; 
But, howsoever, strange and admirable. 

Enter lovers, Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and 
Helejia. 

The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. 
Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of 

love 
Accompany your hearts ! 

Lys. More than to us 30 

Wait in your royal walks, your board, your 
bed! 

The. Come now; what masques, what dances 
shall we have. 
To wear away this long age of three hours 
Between our after-supper and bed-time? 
Where is our usual manager of mirth .^ 35 

W^hat revels are in hand.^* Is there no play 
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour ? 
Call Philostrate. 

Phil. Here, mighty Theseus. 

The. Say, what abridgement 'have you for this 
evening ? 
What masque.^ what music? How shall we 
beguile 40 

The lazy time, if not with some delight? 

Phil. There is a brief how many sports are ripe. 

Make choice of which your Highness will see 

first. [Giving a paper.] 

The. [Reads.] 'The battle with the Centaurs, 
to be sung 
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.' 45 

W^e'll none of that: that have I told my love. 
In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
'The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.' 
That is an old device; and it was play'd 50 
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
'The thrice three Muses mourning for the 

death 
Of Learning, late deceas'd in beggary.' 
That is some satire, keen and critical. 
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 55 

'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus 
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.' 
Merry and tragical! Tedious and brief! 
That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow. 



How shall we find the concord of this dis- 
cord ? 60 

Phil. A play there is, my lord, some ten words 
long, 
Which is as brief as I have known a play; 
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long. 
Which makes it tedious; for in all the play 
There is not one word apt, one player fitted. 
And tragical, my noble lord, it is; 66 

For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess. 
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears 
The passion of loud laughter never shed. 70 

The. What are they that do play it? 

Phil. Hard-handed men that work in Athens 
here. 
Which never labour'd in their minds til] now. 
And now have toil'd their unbreath'd mem- 
ories 
With this same play, against your nuptial. 75 

The. And we will hear it. 

Phil. No, my noble lord; 

It is not for you. I have heard it over. 
And it is nothing, nothing in the world; 
Unless you can find sport in their intents,' 
Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel 
pain, 80 

To do you service. 

The. I will hear that play; 

For never anything can be amiss. 
When simpleness and duty tender it. 
Go, bring them in; and take your places, la- 
dies. [Exit Philostrate.] 

Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged. 
And duty in his service perishing. 86 

The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such 
thing. 

Hip. He says they can do nothing in this kind. 

The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for 
nothing. 
Our sport shall be to take what they mistake; 
And what poor duty cannot do, [yet would,] 
Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 92 
Where I have come, great clerks have pur- 
posed 
To greet me with premeditated welcomes; 
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale. 
Make periods in the midst of sentences, 96 
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears, 
And in conclusion dumbly have broke off, 
Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet. 
Out of this silence yet I pick'd a welcome; 100 



27 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act 



And ill the modesty of fearful duty 

I read as much as from the rattling tongue 

Of saucy and audacious eloquence. 

Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity 

In least speak most, to my capacity. 105 

Re-enter Philostrate. 

Phil. So please your Grace, the Prologue is 

address'd. 
The. Let him approach. Flourish of trumpets. 

Enter the Prologue, Quince. 

Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will. 

That you should think, we come not to of- 
fend, 
But with good will. To show our simple skill. 
That is the true beginning of our end. m 
Consider then we come but in despite. 

We do not come as minding to content you. 
Our true intent is. All for your delight 
We are not here. That you should here re- 
pent you, 115 
The actors are at hand ; and by their show 
You shall know all that you are like to know. 
The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. 
Lys.He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he 
knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: 
it is not enough to speak, but to speak true. 121 
Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue like 
a child on a recorder; a sound, but not in 
government. 
The. His speech was like a tangled chain: noth- 
ing impaired, but all disordered. Who is 
next ? 127 

Tawyer with a trumpet before them. Enter 
Pyramus and Thishe, Wall, Moonshine, and 
Lion. 

Pro. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this 
show; 
But wonder on, till truth make all things 
plain. 
This man is Pyramus, if you would know ; 130 

This beauteous lady Thisby is certain. 
This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth pre- 
sent 
Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers 
sunder; 
And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are 
content 
To whisper. At the which let no man won- 
der. 135 



This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of 
thorn, 
Presenteth Moonshine; for, if you will 
know. 
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn 
To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to 
woo. 
This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name, 
The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 141 
Did scare away, or rather did affright; 
And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall. 
Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did 
stain. 
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall, 145 
And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain; 
Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful 
blade. 
He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody 
breast; 
And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade, 
His dagger drew, and died. For all the 
rest, 150 

Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain 
At large discourse, while here they do remain. 

Exeunt all hut Wall. 

The. I wonder if -the lion be to speak. 

Dem. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when 

many asses do. 15s 

Wall. In this same interlude it doth befall 

That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; 

And such a wall, as I would have you think, 

That had in it a crannied hole or chink. 

Through which the lovers, Pyramus and 
Thisby, 160 

Did whisper often very secretly. 

This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone doth 
show 

That I am that same wall; the truth is so; 

And this the cranny is, right and sinister. 

Through which the fearful lovers are to whis- 
per. 165 
Thd. Would you desire lime and hair to speak 

better ? 
Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I 

heard discourse, my lord. 

Enter Pyramus. 

The. Pyramus draws near the wall. Silence ! 
Pyr. O grim-look'd night ! O night with hue so 
black ! 171 

O night, which ever art when day is not ! 



28 



ACT V. SC. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



29 



O night, O night! alack, alack, alack, 

I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot! 
And thou, O wall, thou sweet and lovely wall, 
That stand'st between her father's ground 
and mine ! 176 

Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall. 
Show me thy chink, to blink through with 
mine eyne ! 

[Wall holds up his fingers.^ 
Thanks, courteous wall; Jove shield thee well 
for this ! 
But what see I? No Thisby do I see. 180 
O wicked wall through whom I see no bliss ! 
Curs'd be thy stones for thus deceiving me ! 
The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should 
curse again. 184 

Pi/7\ No, in truth, sir, he should not. 'Deceiv- 
ing me' is Thisby's cue. She is to enter now, 
and I am to spy her through the wall. You 
shall see it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder 
she comes. 

Enter Thisbe. 

This. O wall, full often hast thou heard my 
moans, 190 

For parting my fair Pyramus and me ! 
My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones. 
Thy stones v/ith lime and hair knit up in 
thee. 
Pyr. I see a voice ! Now will I to the chink. 

To spy and I can hear my Thisby's face. 195 
Thisby ! 
This. My love thou art, my love I think. 

Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's 
grace, 
And^ like Limander, am I trusty still. 
This. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill. 
Pyr. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. 200 
This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. 
Pyr. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile 

wall ! 
This. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all. 
Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me 

straightway ? 
This. 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without de- 
lay. 205 

[Ea;eunt Pyramus and Thisbe.] 

Wall. Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so ; 
And, being done, thus Wall away doth go. 

Ea:it. 



The. Now is the mural down between the 

two neighbours. 
Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so 

wilful, to hear without warning, 211 

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
The. The best in this kind are but shadows, and 

the worst are no worse, if imagination amend 

them. 215 

Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not 

theirs. 
The. If we imagine no worse of them than they of 

themselves, they may pass for excellent men. 

Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a 

lion. 221 

Enter Lion and Moonshine. 

Lion. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do 
fear 
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps 
on floor. 
May now perchance both quake and tremble 
here. 
When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am 
A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam; 227 

For, if I should as lion come in strife 
Into this place, 'twere pity of my life. 
The. A very gentle beast, and of a good con- 
science. 231 
Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er 

I saw. 
Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. 
The. True; and a goose for his discretion. 235 
Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot 
carry his discretion, and the fox carries the 
goose. 
The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his 
valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It 
is well; leave it to his discretion, and let us 
hearken to the moon. 
Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon pre- 
sent; — 
Dem. He should have worn the horns on his 
head. 245 

The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invis- 
ible, within the circumference. 
Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon pre- 
sent; 
Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be. 
The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: 
the man should be put into the lantern. 
How is it else the man i' the moon.^ 252 



29 



30 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act v. SC. I. 



Dem. He dares not come there for the candle; 

for, you see, it is already in snuff. 
Hip. I am weary of this moon. Would he would 

change ! 256 

The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, 

that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, 

in all reason, we must stay the time. 
Lys. Proceed, Moon. 260 

Moon.All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the 

lantern is the moon; I, the man i' the moon; 

this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, 

my dog. 264 

Devi. Why, all these should be in the lantern; 

for they are in the moon. But, silence ! 

here comes Thisbe. 267 

Enter Thisbe. 

This. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my 
love ? 

Lion. Oh 

The Lion roars. Thisbe runs off. 

Dem. Well roared. Lion. 270 

The. Well run, Thisbe. 

Hip. Well shone. Moon. Truly, the moon shines 
with a good grace. 

[The Lion shakes Thisbe's mantle. Exit.] 
The. Well moused. Lion. 

Dem. And then came Pyramus. 275 

Lys. And so the lion vanished. 

Enter Pyramus. 

Pyr. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 
beams ; 

I thank thee. Moon, for shining now so 
bright ; 
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams, 

I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight. 280 

But stay, O spite! 

But mark, poor knight. 
What dreadful dole is here ! 

Eyes, do you see.'' 

How can it be.^* 28s 

O dainty duck! O dear! 

Thy mantle good. 

What, stain'd with blood! 
Approach, you Furies fell! 

O Fates, come, come, 290 

Cut thread and thrum; 
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! 
The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, 
would go near to make a man look sad* 



Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 295 

Pyr. O wherefore. Nature, didst thou lions' 

frame ? 

Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear ; 

Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame 

That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd 

with cheer. 

Come, tears, confound; 300 

Out, sword, and wound 
The pap of Pyramus; 
Ay, that left pap. 

Where heart doth hop. [Stabs himself.^ 
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 305 

Now am I dead. 
Now am I fled. 
My soul is in the sky. 
Tongue, lose thy light. 
Moon, take thy flight, [Exit Moonshine.'] 
Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies.] 

Dem. No die but an ace, for him; for he is but 

one. 
Lys. Less than an ace, man, for he is dead ; he is 
nothing. 315 

The. With the help of a surgeon he might yet re- 
cover, and yet prove an ass. 
Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone before 
Thisbe comes back and finds her lover .^ 

Enter Thisbe. 

The. She will find him by starlight. Here she 

comes, and her passion ends the play. 321 

Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one for 

such a Pyramus. I hope she will be brief. 
Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyra- 
mus, which Thisbe, is the better ; he for a man, 
God warrant us; she for a woman, God 
bless us. 227 

Lys. She hath spied him already with those 

sweet eyes. 
Dem. And thus she means, videlicet: — 330 

This. Asleep, my love? 

What, dead, my love.^ 
O Pyramus, arise ! 

Speak, speak ! Quite dumb ? 
Dead, dead.^ A tomb 33s 

Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
These lily lips. 
This cherry nose. 
These yellow cowslip cheeks. 

Are ^one, are gone ! 340 

Lovers, make moan. 
His eyes were green as leeks. 



30 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



31 



O Sisters Three, 

Come, come to me, 
With hands as pale as milk; 

Lay them in gore. 

Since you have shore 
With shears his thread of silk. 

Tongue, not a word! 

Come, trusty sword; 
Come, blade, my breast imbrue; 



350 



[Draws the dagger of Pyramus and stabs 
herself.'] 

And, farewell, friends; 
Thus Thisby ends. 

Adieu ! adieu ! adieu ! [Dies.'] 

The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the 
dead. 356 

Dem. Ay, and Wall too. 

Bot. [Starting up.] No, I assure you; the wall 
is down that parted their fathers. Will it 
please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a 
Bergomask dance between two of our com- 



pany t 



361 



The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play 
needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the 
players are all dead, there need none to be 
blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played 
Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe's gar- 
ter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and 
so it is, truly, and very notably discharged. 
But, come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue 
alone. [A dance.] 

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve. 
Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. 371 

I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn 
As much as we this night have overwatch'd. 
This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd 
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to 
bed. 375 

A fortnight hold we this solemnity 
In nightly revels and new jollity. 

Exeunt. 
Enter Puck. 

Puck. Now the hungry lion roars. 

And the wolf behowls the moon; 
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 380 

All with weary task fordone. 
Now the wasted brands do glow. 

Whilst the soreech-owl, screeching loud, 
Puts the wretch that lies in woe 

In remembrance of a shroud. 385 



390 



395 



Now it is the time of night 

That the graves all gaping wide. 
Every one lets forth his sprite 

In the church-way paths to glide. 
And we fairies, that do run 

By the triple Hecate's team 
From the presence of the sun. 

Following darkness like a dream, 
Now are frolic. Not a mouse 
Shall disturb this hallow'd house. 
I am sent with broom before. 
To sweep the dust behind the door. 

Enter Oheron and Titania with their train. 



Obe. Through the house give glimmering light 
By the dead and drowsy fire. 
Every elf and fairy sprite 400 

Hop as light as bird from brier; 
And this ditty, after me. 
Sing, and dance it trippingly. 

[Song and dance.] 
Titao First, rehearse your song by rote. 

To each word a warbling note. 405 

Hand in hand, with fairy grace. 
Will we sing, and bless this place. 

Song [and dance]. 

Obe. Now, until the break of day. 

Through this house each fairy stray. 

To the best bride-bed will we. 

Which by us shall blessed be; 

And the issue there create 

Ever shall be fortunate. 

So shall all the couples three 

Ever true in loving be. 

And the blots of nature's hancl 

Shall not in their issue stand; 

Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar. 

Nor mark prodigious, such as are 

Despised in nativity. 

Shall upon their children be. 

With this field-dew consecrate. 

Every fairy take his gait. 

And each several chamber bless. 

Through this palace, with sweet peace; 

And the owner of it blest 

Ever shall in safety rest. 

Trip away; make no stay; 

Meet me all by break of day. 



410 



41S 



420 



425 



[Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and train.] 
Robin. If we shadows have offended, 430 



31 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



[act 



V. SC. I 



■i 



Think but this (and all is mended), 
That you have but slumber'd here 
While these visions did appear. 
And this weak and idle theme, 
No more yielding but a dream, 
Gentles, do not reprehend. 
If you pardon, we will mend. 
And, as I am an honest Puck, 



435 



If we have unearned luck 

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue. 

We will make amends ere long. 

Else the Puck a liar call. 

So, good night unto you all. 

Give me your hands, if we be friends. 

And Robin shall restore amends. 



445 



Finis 



NOTES 



The 'Names of the characters,' omitted in Q (the 
quartos) and F (the first folio), were supplied by 
later editors, who also made the divisions into scenes, 
and amplified the stage-directions. These later addi- 
tions are enclosed in square brackets. 

ACT I 

i. 1-11 The four days and four nights here said to 
separate the noble lovers from their marriage are 
not borne out by the conduct of the action, which 
seems to require only three days, or at most four 
days and three nights. Ingenious attempts have 
been made to interpolate a day, which Furness 
would place at the end of Act II and Fleay at the 
end of Act III, where the folio stage direction 
reads: 'They sleepe all the act.' But it seems 
simpler to suppose that Shakespeare was no more 
precise about the time in this play than in others. 
5 dowager, a widow whose dower or annuity is a 
charge upon the revenue from an estate. 

10 New-bent] Rowe; Now bent Q F. 

15 companion, fellow (used to express contempt). 

33 gawds, trinkets, toys. 

54 In this case lacking your father's support. 

70 livery, any distinctive dress. Cf. 11. i. 113. 

71 mew'd, confined, shut in. 

80 patent, privilege. 

81 lordship, control; whose, unto whose. 
98 estate, grant. 

100 possess'd, endowed with possessions. 

106 to his head, to his face. 

110 spotted, corrupt, the opposite of 'spotless. 

113 self -affairs, my own private affairs. 

131 beteem, allow, or, perhaps, pour forth. 

132 Ay me!] Q; om. F. 

134-149 For parellelism with Borneo and Juliet, see 
Introduction. 

136 low] Theobald; loue Q F. 

137 misgraffed, ill grafted, ill matched. 
139 friends] Q; merit F. 

145 collied, coal-black. 

146 spleen, fit of passion. 



155 fancy, love. 

160 respects, regards. 

167 observance, Chaucer's term for the English cus-. 
tom of celebrating May Day by gathering flowers 
and branches of trees, ascribed by him to the Athe- 
nian characters of the Knight's Tale. 

173 the Carthage queen, the Carthaginian queen, 
Dido, deserted by the 'false Trojan,' ^neas. 

183 lode-stars, stars to steer by, like the pole-star. 

186 favour, countenance, features. 

190 bated, excepted. 

191 translated, transformed. Cf. III. i. 122, ii. 32. 
200 no fault] Qi; none Q. F. 

209 Phoebe, Diana, the moon. 

216 sweet] Theobald; sweld Q F. 

219 Strang r companies] Theobald; strange com- 
panions Q F. 

232 holding no quantity, of no intrinsic value. 

242 eyne, eyes. 

249 a dear expense, a great sacrifice with very little 
return, a bad bargain. 

ii. 3 scrip, list. 
31 Ercles, Hercules, a favorite ranting character of 
the early English stage, perhaps taken over from 
Seneca's Hercules Furens. 

37 Phibbus' car, the chariot of Phoebus, the sun. 
67 here] Q; there F. 

69 if it] Q; om. F. 
85 you] Q; om. F. 
114 hold or cut bow-strings, in any event. 

ACT II 

i. 9 orbs, the circles of darker grass once called 
'fairy-rings,' but now ascribed to fungi. 
26 perforce, by force. 
30 square, quarrel. 

34-59 For the traditional tricks of Robin Good- 
fellow, see Introduction. 
36 quern, hand-mill for grinding corn. 

38 barm, yeast. 

48 crab, crab-apple. 



3^ 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



33 



50 dewlap, loose skin about the throat. Cf. IV. i. 
1:26. 

51 aunt, old woman. 

55 quire, company. 

56 neeze, sneeze. 

61 Fairies] Theobald; Fairy Q F. 

66-68 Corin and Phillida (or Phillis) were the tra- 
ditional lovers of pastoral poetry. 

79-80 Perig-enia (or Perigouna), 2Egle (or ^gles, 
the early texts here all reading Eagles), Ariadne 
and Antiopa are all mentioned in Plutarch's Life 
of Theseus a& translated by North. See Introduc- 
tion. 

82 spring-, beginning. 

92 continents, containing banks. 

94 corn, wheat. 

97 murrion, afflicted with murrain, or plague. 

98 nine men's morris, a game similar to 'fox and 
geese,' played with holes made in the turf, the 'men' 
consisting of stones or pegs. 

106 thorough] Q^; through Q^ F. So above 3, 5. 

112 childing, productive. 

113 liveries. See note on I. i. 70. 
145 chide, quarrel. 

148-168 There has been a super-abundance of discus- 
sion about these lines, in which many critics dis- 
cern an elaborate court allegory, after the man- 
ner of Lyly. Undoubtedly a compliment to Queen 
Elizabeth is intended in lines 161-164, and it is 
possible that particular reference is made to an 
attack upon her affections by the Earl of Leicester 
at the entertainment he offered her at Kenilworth 
Castle in 1575. During the festivities Triton ap- 
peared 'in the likeness of a mermaid,' and on the 
water there were fireworks and a dolphin arti- 
ficially constructed with musical instruments con- 
cealed inside. The language of the text bears some 
striking resemblances to contemporary accounts of 
the festivities; Kenilworth is so near Stratford 
that Shakespeare must have heard of them, though 
he was only eleven years old at the time, and it is 
not improbable that he saw them, as the celebration 
and the Queen's presence naturally drew spectators 
from all the country-side. 

168 love-in-idleness, the viola tricolor, or pansy. 

175 round] Q^; om. Q2 F. 

192 wood, mad. Punning was in fashion, and Shake- 
speare often indulged in it in his early plays. 

195 adamant, loadstone, magnet. 

202 you] Qi; thee Q2 F. 

210 use] Q; doe F. 

224 respect, regard. 

238 the field] Q^; and field Q^ F. 

243 I'll] Q; I F. 

256 weed, garment. 

li. 1 roundel, a dance in a ring. 

3 cankers, worms. Cf. III. ii. 282. 

4 rere-mice, bats. 
7 offices, duties. 

11 newts, small water lizards found in English 
brooks and ponds. 
14 our] Qi; your Q, F. 
30 ounce, lynx. 



31 pard, leopard. 

71 weeds, garments. 

79 owe, own, possess. 

86 darkling (adv.), in the dark. 
104 here] Rowe; her F; om. Q. 
140 they] Q; that F. 
150 you] Q; yet F. 

154 of all loves, a pretty oath used elsewhere in 
Shakespeare. 

ACT III 

i. 5 tiring-house, dressing-room. 

14 lakin, Ladykin, the Virgin, parlous, perilous. 

25 eight and six. A line of fourteen syllables is 
frequently used in early drama. 

46 them] Q; him F. 

55-59 This moonlight, as well as that by which Quince 
at the end of Act I proposes to rehearse, is not 
altogether consistent with the waning moon of the 
opening lines of the play; but see note on I. i. 1- 
11. 

97 juvenal, an affected word meaning 'a young man.' 
122 translated. See note on I. i. 191. 

128 ousel, blackbird. 
131 with] Q; and F. 

134 plain-song, air without contrapuntal variations, 
which were called 'descant.' The English cuckoo 
has only two notes, usually a minor third sung 
downwards. It was popularly supposed in Eliza- 
'beth's time to cast opprobrium on husbands for 
their wives' infidelity. 

142 This line is misplaced after 144 in Q, F. 

150 gleek, jest. 

165 F omits this line, adding 'and four Fairies' to the 
stage direction printed in our text. 

190 squash, a soft, unripe peascod. 

205 enforced, violated. 

206 loves] Pope; lovers Q F. 

ii. 5 night-rule, frolic. 

9 patches, fools or tatterdemalions, 
mechanicals, mechanics. 

13 barren sort, dull company. Cf. 21. 

17 nole, head. 

19 mimic, actor. 

21 russet, gray or brown, choughs, jackdaws. 

32 translated. See note on I. i. 191. 

36 latch'd, anointed, charmed. 

71 worm, serpent, adder, viper. 

74 mispris'd mood, mistaken fancy. 

80 so] Pope; om. Q F. 

90 misprision, mistake. 

96 cheer, countenance. 
119 alone, in itself. 

122-135 The balanced rhymes of these speeches, fol- 
lowed by rhymed couplets, and afterwards by blank 
verse, should be compared with the sonnet Romeo 
and Juliet interchange at their first meeting and 
the blank verse that closes the first act of that play. 

129 devilish-holy. For a more elaborate example of 
the same kind of rhetorical antithesis, see Romeo 
and Juliet, I. i. 180-186. 

167 till] Qi; to Q2 F. 



34. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



173 Helen] Q^; om. Q2 F. 

175 aby, pay for. F misprints abide. 

188 oes, circles, spangles. 

195 injurious, insulting. 

203 artificial gods, divine artificers. 

204 needles, pronounced as one syllable and perhaps 
written by Shakespeare 'neelds.' 

213 the first, i. e., bodies, 
like] Theobald; life Q F. 

214 In heraldry the shield bearing the coats of arms 
of two married i3ersons is surmounted by the hus- 
band's crest. 

250 prayers] Theobald; praise Q F. 

268 A weak bond. Hermia's arms still encircle Ly- 
sander. 

279 doubt] Pope; of doubt Q F. 

282 canker-blossom. See note on II. ii. 3. 

286-305 Evidently Hermia is short of stature, dark 
of complexion (line 257) and shrewish in disposi- 
tion; Helena is tall and fair (line 296) and timid. 

300 curst, shrewish, ill-tempered. 

302 right, true, absolute. 

•317 fond, foolish. 

329 knot-grass, supposed to retard growth. 

332 intend, profess. 

334 aby. See note on III. ii. 175. 

339 coil, confusion, turmoil. 

344 F omits this line. 

346 wilfully] Q; willingly F. 

352 sort, fall out, happen. 

380 Aurora's harbinger, the morning star. 

383 crossways. Suicides were buried at crossroads, 
flood. People drowned at sea also lacked the 
protecting power of the last rites and burial in con- 
secrated ground. 

425 now] Qj; om. Q. F. 

461-3 Proverbial expressions of the time. 

The final stage direction of this act in the Folio 
reads, 'They sleepe all the Act.' See note on I. i. 
1-11. Some transition was needed from the dark- 
ness of this scene to the morning light of the next 
act. 

ACT IV 



i. In the first part of this scene Bottom is called 

'Clown' in all the early texts. 

2 amiable, lovely, coy, fondle. 
20 neaf, fist. 
25 Cavalery Cobweb is evidently here confused with 

Peaseblossom; but the confusion may be intention- 
ally ascribed to Bottom. 
35 bottle, a small bundle, weighing from 21/2 to 5 

lbs. Cf. 'to look for a needle in a bottle of hay.' 
41 stir, disturb. 
45 woodbine, bindweed or convolvulus; also, and 

more usually, honeysuckle. 
74 Be] Q; Be thou F. 
76 Dian's bud, the agnus castus. 

Cupid's flower. See II. i. 168 and note. 
83 this] Q; his F. 
99 sad, serious, solemn. 
108 observation, the May observance, again referred 

to in 1. 137. 

34 



109 vaward, forepart, vanguard. 

116-118 The chronology, geography, and natural his- 
tory of this passage are all at fault — probably ow- 
ing to Shakespeare's confused recollection of pas- 
sages describing the hunting of Cadmus, and 
commending the hounds of Crete and Sparta, in 
Ovid's Metamorphoses, with which he combined his 
own knowledge of English kennels. It was the 
practice of English country gentlemen to match 
the notes of their hounds. See Spectator No. 116. 

123 flew'd, with deep hanging chaps, 
sanded, with sandy markings. 

126 dew-lapp'd. See note on II. i. 50. 

135 their] Q^; this Qo F. 

138 solemnity, the May observance. 

143 St. Valentine's Day is in February. It was a 
pretty fancy of the Middle Ages that the birds 
chose their mates on that day. See Chaucer's ?ar- 
lement of Foules. 

157 peril, jurisdiction. 

167 fancy. See note on I. i. 155. 

170 is] Steevens; om. Q F. 

171 gawd. See note on I. i. 33. 
176 saw] Steevens; see Q F. 

197-8 The charm has been removed from Ly Sander's 
eyes, but not from those of Demetrius. 

214 patched, clad in the motley of the professional 
j ester. 

225 at her, i. e., Thisbe's; Theobald proposed to read 
'after,' which has been very generally accepted, 
thus transferring the allusion to Pyramus. But 
Bottom says 'a play,' not 'our play,' and it is a fu- 
tile undertaking to reduce his nonsense to flat com- 
mon-sense. 

ii. 21 sixpence a day. It is on record that Queen 
Elizabeth granted a pension to a university actor 
who pleased her, and though this was in 1564, such 
generosity was so unusual that it may have been 
remembered. 

31 right] Q; om. F. 

39 preferred, accepted. 



ACT V 

i. Except in line 76, the Folio substitutes Egeus for 

Philostrate throughout this scene, doubtless because 

the parts were then played by the same actor. 

8 compact, made up, composed. 
11 Egypt, an Egyptian, a gypsy. The Elizabethans 

admired blondes. 
26 constancy, consistency. 
32 masques, dances in costume, at this period of a 

comparatively simple character. 
34 after-supper, dessert, often served after rising 

from table, in another room. 
39 abridgement, pastime. 
42 brief, summary, list. 
44-60 This is the quarto arrangement of these lines; 

the Folio gives the reading of the brief to Ly- 

sander, the comments only to Theseus. 
47 Hercules is referred to in North's Plutarch as 

the kinsman of Theseus. Both took part in the 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



35 



fight agajinst the Centaurs described in Ovid Metor- 
morphoses XII, where the story of Orpheus (149- 
50) is also to be found. 

52-53 This is possibly a reference to Spenser's poem 
The Teares of the Muses, which was published in 
1591 and is a satire on the contemporaneous neg- 
lect of learning and literature, put into the mouths 
of each of the Nine Muses in turn. 

56-57 Cf. I. ii. 11-12, where the wording is some- 
what different. Such incongruous titles were not 
uncommon in the early drama, as in Preston's 'la- 
mentable tragedy, mixed full 'of pleasant mirth, 
containing the life of Cambyses,' to which the 
Pyramus interlude bears some striking resem- 
blances in detail. 

74 unbreath'd, unpractised, inexperienced. 

91 yet would] Coleridge; om. Q F. 

105 to my capacity, as I understand it. 

106 dress'd, ready. 

108-117 The device of producing nonsense by mis- 
placed punctuation is used in the first regular Eng- 
lish comedy that has come down to us, Ralph Rois- 
ter Doister. 

123 recorder, a musical instrument resembling a flute. 
Tawyer . . . them. This part of the stage direction 
is found only in F. It is part of the evidence that 
the first folio was printed from an acting copy. 
Tawyer was an actor in Shakespeare's company. 

140 hight, is called. 

146 trusty] Q; om. F. 

147-150 The excessive use of alliteration which char- 
acterized the early drama is here ridiculed, possi- 
bly with special reference to the work of the court 
dramatist Edwards, whose Damon and Pythias was 
acted in 1564. 

164 sinister, left. 'Wall' apparently holds up one 
hand for Pyramus and the other for Thisbe. 

183 sensible, conscious, capable of feeling. 

186 now] Q; om. F. 

198-200 Leander and Hero, Cephalus and Procris are 
the classical lovers intended. 

199 I] Q; om. F. 

204 Ninny's tomb. Cf. III. i. 99-100. The lines of 
the interlude rehearsed in that scene are not the 
same as those recited before Theseus, but this par- 
ticular jest was thought worthy of repetition. It 
occurs again below (1. 268). 



208 mural down] Pope; moon used Q; morall down 
F. Pope's emendation seems to be the best that 
can be done with this hopelessly corrupt passage. 

227 fell, fierce, angry, as in II. i. 20; or perhaps we 
should read 'lion- fell,' i. e., lion's skin; but see note 
on IV. i. 225. 

243 lantern, Lanthorne F, which gives more excuse 
for the pun which follows. 

249 do] Q; doth F. 

254 in snuff, in a bad temper — a favorite Shake- 
spearean play upon words. 

261-264 The man in the moon was identified with the 
profane gatherer of sticks on the Sabbath. See 
Numbers XV. 32-36. 

279 g'leams] Staunton; beames Q F. 

283 dole, sorrow. 

291 thrum, the tufted part beyond the tie, at the 
end of the warp, in weaving. Cf. Barrie's 'A Win- 
dow in Thrums.' 

292 quell, slay. 

325-327 he . . . bless us. These lines, found in both 
quartos, are omitted in F, no doubt in submission 
to the statute of 1605 which forbad the use of pro- 
fane language on the stage. 

330 means, laments. Shakespeare uses the word 
elsewhere in the same sense; the correction to 
'moans' is unnecessary. 

360 Bergomask. 'A rustic dance as performed by 
the peasants of Bergomasco, a Venetian province, 
whose clownish manners were imitated by all the 
Italian buffoons.' — Nares. 

366 hanged] Q; hung F. 

379 behowls] Warburton; beholds Q F. 

381 fordone, worn out, exhausted. 

391 triple Hecate. The goddess with whom the 
queen of the fairies was identified had three forms 
— 'Luna or Cynthia in heaven, Diana on earth, and 
Hecate in hell. 

404 your] Q^; this Qo F. 

408-429 F prints these lines in italics, under the 
heading 'The Song.' The quartos, with obvious 
correctness, make it a speech by Oberon, and mark 
'exeunt' at the end of it. A song after Oberon's 
preceding speech and one after Titania's have ap- 
parently been lost. 

440 the serpent's tongue, hisses. 

444 hands, applause. 



APPENDIX— THE KENILWORTH FESTIVITIES (1575). 



Halpin's theory (or rather Boaden's, to give credit 
to the true originator) that a well-known passage in 
A Midsummer Night's Dream (II. i. 148-168) refers 
to the Kenilworth festivities has been generally ac- 
cepted, though the suggestion that Shakespeare de- 
scribed the incidents from his recollection of a visit 
made as a boy of eleven seems fanciful. He is more 
likely to have come across the account of the festivities 
in the contemporary pamphlet. The Princely Pleasures 
at Kenilworth Castle, or in the reprint of it in Gas- 
coigne's collected works of 1587, which seem to have 
had a large circulation, if one may judge from the 
numerous copies surviving in various libraries. In 



Gascoigne's account we have the 'fireworks showed 
upon the water'; 'Triton in likeness of a mermaid 
. . . commanding . . . the waves to be calm'; and 
'Proteus . . . sitting on a dolphin's back . . . within 
the which dolphin a concert of music was secretly 
placed' — presumably the originals of the 

'mermaid, on a dolphin's back, 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song, 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
Tq hear the se^^niaid's music' 

{A Midsumm,er JSfight's Dream II. i. 150-154.) 



S5 



36 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 



The 'fair vestal throned by the west,' can only be 
Elizabeth, and Gascoigne himself describes the attack 
upon her heart which he had planned on Leicester's 
behalf. There was prepared a 'shew' to have been 
presented before her Majesty in the forest, the argu- 
ment of which was Diana's concern over the loss of 
one of her best-beloved nymphs called Zabeta, sus- 
pected of having been won to the train of Juno. 

'Tlie nymphs return one afcer another in quest of 
Zabeta: at last Diana herself returning and hearing 
no news of her, invoketh the help of her father Jupi- 
ter. Mercury cometh down in a cloud sent by Jupiter 
to comfort Diana, and bringeth her unto Zabeta: 
Diana rejoiceth, and after' much friendly discourse 
departeth: aflPying herself in Zabeta's prudence and 
policy. She and JMercury being departed. Iris cometh 
down from the rainbow sent by Juno: persuading the 
Queen's Majesty that she be not carried away with 
Mercury's filed speech, nor Diana's fair words, but 
that she consider all things by proof, and then she 
shall find much greater cause to follow Juno than 
Diana.' 

It would be no Avonder if the Queen refused to give 
ear to the uncommonly direct hint contained in the 
concluding words of Iris: 

Then give consent, O Queen, 

to Juno's just desire 
Who for your wealth would have you wed, 

and for your farther hire 
Some Empress will you make, 

she bade me tell you thus: 
Forgive me (Queen) the words are hers, 

I come not to discuss. 
I am but Messenger, 

but sure she bade me say. 
That where you now in princely port, 

have passed one pleasant day: 
A world of wealth at will, 

you henceforth shall enjoy 
In wedded state, and therewithal, 

hold up from great annoy 
The staff of your estate: 

O Queen, O worthy Queen, 
Yet never wight felt perfect bliss, 

but such as wedded been. 

'This show was devised and penned by M. Gas- 
coigne, and being prejoarcd and ready (every actor 
in his garment) two or three days together, yet never 
came to execution. The cause whereof I cannot at- 



tribute to any other thing than to lack of opportunity 
and seasonable weatlier.' 

The weather was evidently wet, and the Queen 
hastened her departure, in spite of the lamentations 
of 'Deep desire' from the holly bush. 

'The imperial votaress passed on. 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free.' 

'Deep desire' was long ago identified by NichoUs as 
the representative of Leicester's aspirations and re- 
grets, but 'Due desert,' the other of the 'two sworn 
brethren which long time served her,' up to a few 
years ago had not been satisfactorily interpreted. Yet 
it is obvious that some personal reference was in- 
tended by Gascoigne's mysterious phrases: 

'She did long since convert Due Desert into 
yonder same laurel tree. The which may very well 
be so, considering the etymology of his name, for we 
see that the laurel branch is a token of triumph in all 
trophies, and given as a reward to all victors, a dig- 
nity for all degrees, consecrated and dedicate to 
Apollo and the Muses as a worthy flower, leaf or 
branch, for their due deserts. Of him I will hold no 
longer discourse, because he was metamorphosed be- 
fore my time, for your Majesty must understand that 
I have not long held this charge.' 

Professor Cunliffe suggested, and the conjecture 
was confirmed by Professor Littledale, that by 'Due 
desert' was intended Walter Devereux, Earl of Essex, 
whose name came from 'd'Evreux,' but was resolved 
by Elizabethan etymologists through the spelling 
'Deureux' into 'd'(h)eureux' with suggestions of 
'success,' 'victory,' 'good hap,' etc. In the previous 
March he had been appointed Earl Marshall of Ire- 
land, and he was away campaigning at the time of the 
Kenilworth festivities. He had some reputation, not 
only as a general, but as a man of letters; he was 
said to be particularly interested in the study of 
history, and there are extant certain poems which 
are ascribed to him. His house, Chartley Castle, was 
the next great estate Elizabeth visited on this 
progress. There she was entertained by Lettice, 
Countess of Essex, who had been present at Kenil- 
worth, and who, according to the received interpreta- 
tion of the passage in A Midsummer Night's Dream, 
was the 'little western flower,' upon whom 'the bolt 
of Cupid fell.' It is certain that Leicester's atten- 
tions to her had by this time already begun to excite 
remark, and that he was secretly married to her 
within two years of her husband's death. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



SOURCES — For his first essay in true tragedy 
Shakespeare appropriated a story already widely 
known. Its essential device was the heroine's es- 
cape from an unwelcome match by a feigned death 
due to the effects of a sleeping potion. Perhaps the 
earliest of the many tales in which it appears is a 
third century Greek romance by Xenophon of 
Ephesus, the EiJhesiaca, or Habrocomes and Anthea. 
Numerous Italian and Spanish versions of the same 
story in poetry, fiction, and drama appeared during 
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The direct line 
of development can be traced, however, from the time 
when the theme first took shape in a form resembling 
the plot of Romeo and Juliet. 

1. Masuccio of Salerno (14T6) published at Naples 
fifty little novels, one of which is the ultimate source 
of the story. Here a friar aids lovers to a secret 
wedding; the husband flees after killing a man; the 
wife escapes another marriage by the use of the 
sleeping potion; her message goes astray; the hus- 
band receives a false report of her death; he breaks 
open her tomb, is captured, and put to death. 

2. Luigi da Porto, about 1530, wrote a tale with the 
title Istoria novellamente ritrovata di due nobili 
amanti. He altered the scene from Siena to Verona; 
named the lovers Romeo and Giulietta; created the 
feud as background; and brought about the death of 
the lovers at the tomb, in each other's arms. 

3. The Novelle of Bandello were published at Lucca 
in 1554. In his version of the story Romeo's earlier 
affair is related; the County Paris appears; and the 
nurse serves as a go-between for the lovers. 

4. Pierre Boisteau (perhaps more correctly Boais- 
tuau) in 1559, with Jacques Belief orest, translated 
Bandello into French prose under the name of 
Histoires Tragiques. He altered the catastrophe; 
Juliet awakes only after the death of Romeo, and 
thereupon kills herself with his dagger. 

5. Arthur Brooke, in 1562, published a poem of 
3000 lines, Bomeus and Juliet, which is the chief 
immediate source of Shakespeare's play. The char- 
acter of Mercutio now joined the plot, though only 
in a single absurd episode as the possible rival of 
Romeo. Brooke developed also the comic possibili- 



ties in the Nurse. Apart from this, however, the 
poem is without a spark of originality. The story 
covers several months; the plot is rambling and 
vague at times; and the euphuistic tediousness of the 
style makes the work almost unreadable. Thus, for 
example, Romeo speaks to Juliet in the source of. 
the balcony scene: — 

" 'Fair lady mine, dame Juliet, my life,' quod he, 
'Even from my birth committed was to fatal sisters 

three. 
They may in spite of foes draw forth my lively 

thread ; 
And they also, whoso saith nay, asunder may it shred. 
But who to reave my life, his rage and force would 

bend, 
Perhaps should try unto his pain how I it could 

defend, 
Ne yet I love it so, but always for your sake 
A sacrifice to death I would my wounded corpse be- 
take. 
If my mishap were such, that here before your sight, 
I should restore again to death, of life, my borrowed 

light. 
This one thing and no more my parting sprite would 

rue, 
That part he should before that you by certain trial 

knew 
The love I owe to you, the thrall I languish in, 
And how I dread to lose the gain which I do hope 

to win; 
And how I wish for life, not for my proper ease, 
But that in it you might I love, you honour, serve 

and please. 
Till deadly pangs the sprite out of the corpse shall 

send ;' 
And thereupon he sware an oath, and so his tale 

had end." 

6. Arthur Brooke evidently refers to another Eng- 
lish version in the following sentence quoted from 
his preface: "Though I saw the same argument 
lately set forth on stage with more commendation 
than I can look for — being there much better set 
forth than I have or can do — yet the same matter 



37 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



penned as it is may serve to good effect." This lost 
play, known only through this reference, has roused 
much speculation. Professor Cunliffe has shown 
that Brooke was interested in a play at the Inns of 
Court in 1561, but nothing is known as to its sub- 
ject. 

7. Two important incidents in Shakespeare's play, 
the killing of Mercutio by Tybalt, and the meet- 
ing of the lovers on the night following, appear 
with minor details in a play Romeo en Juliette, 
written about 1630 by Jacob Struijs. The fact that 
these points are found elsewhere only in Shake- 
speare's play has led Dr. H. de W. Fuller to be- 
lieve that an English play earlier than Shake- 
speare's was Struijs's source, possibly the very play 
mentioned by Brooke (6). There is apparently no 
borrowing from Shakespeare in Struijs; his Borneo 
is a crude and formless thing, and contains ele- 
ments of the older forms of the tale which Shake- 
speare did not use. Dr. Fuller's theory has not re- 
ceived wide acceptance; but it is evident that 
Shakespeare developed several elements in his plot 
from some source other than Brooke. 

8. Boisteau was translated almost literally by 
William Painter in his prose collection, The Palace 
of Pleasure (1567). The great dramatist used other 
tales in this book as sources for plays, and a few 
verl)al similarities seem to indicate his knowledge 
and use of Painter's Romeo. 

Shakespeare's adoption of a story thus consecrated 
by long tradition and the revision of many hands 
is a matter for congratulation. Constructive skill 
is often the last faculty of a playwright to come to 
maturity. Tliis vigorous, stirring narrative, full of 
action and emotion, was exactly fitted to carry along 
the lyrical outpouring of a young poet. Yet his 
original contributions to the plot prove his own 
mastery of play craft. His condensation of the 
action gives the play its almost breathless sweep of 
movement. Coleridge calls this precipitancy "the 
character of the play." The fine opening scene, a 
masterpiece of exposition, rises superbly to the 
great theme of the play like the swift movement 
of a symphony. But most of all Shakespeare's back- 
ground of poetry and passion has made Romeo and 
Juliet the supreme tragedy of romance. This lyric 
atmosphere is a dramatic conception of the highest 
quality; and it may be doubted whether Shakespeare 
himself ever equaled it elsewhere. 

The use of certain metrical forms and poetic con- 
ventions carries out the poet's intention of emphasiz- 
ing the lyric quality of the play. The sonnets 



spoken by the chorus as prologues at the beginning 
of Act I and Act II may perhajDS be due to the son- 
net of strict Italian form which Arthur Brooke pre- 
fixed as argument to his Romeus and Juliet. But 
the quatrains and sestet (I. ii and V. iii) ; the son- 
net (I. iii) in which Romeo declares his love, play- 
ing on the meaning of Romeo ("pilgrim") ; the 
"Queen Mab" digression of Mercutio; the bridal 
hymn of Juliet (III. ii) ; the dawn song of III. v.— 
all these were pointed out by C. G. Gervinus in 
1850 as definite essays in lyrical convention. The 
frequent rhyme elsewhere lends poetic color to 
dialogue which would often seem too artificial as 
blank verse. Perhaps the greatest speech of pure 
lyric passion in all Shakespeare is the lover's fare- 
well to Juliet and to life. (V. iii. 88-120.) 

CRITICAL COMMENT— Commentary upon 
Romeo and Juliet has been chiefly eulogistic. The 
lovers of Verona have given the classic theme of 
youth, passion, and death. The great actresses of 
every age, such as Mrs. Bellamy, Fanny Kemble, 
Lady Martin (Helen Faucit), and Mrs. Kendal, have 
all recorded their delight in playing Juliet, the 
greatest part suited to the abilities of a youthful 
actress. But stricter criticism has dealt often less 
leniently with the style and the minor details of the 
play. Dryden voiced an opinion, natural in Charles 
II.'s day, that Mercutio should not have been killed 
so early; modern acting versions actually follow his 
advice, placing the scene of his death in Act IV. 
Johnson considered the play "one of the most pleas- 
ing of our author's performances,'' and the "catas- 
trophe irresistibly affecting"; but he objected to 
the "miserable conceits" of the style. Hallam 
thought the faults were "in prodigious number." 
William Winter objects to "Romeo's inordinate ad- 
diction to rhetoric." Goethe in Germany, and Duels 
in France, recast the play to give it greater con- 
centration; their changes held the stage for years, 
but are now forgotten. Other critics have seen a 
vicious anticlimax in the crisis of Juliet's fate (III. 
V.) following so closely upon the killing of Tybalt; 
and the dependence upon chance has been called 
a blemish of the denouement. Some have sought, 
like Kreyssig, to show the moral faults in the "man- 
nish woman" Juliet, and the "womanish-man" Romeo, 
as the essential cause of their disaster. Hazlitt 
called Romeo "Hamlet in love." Ulrici and Tieck, 
however, have rightly emphasized the feud as the one 
moral cause. Shakespeare, it is certain, has en- 
forced in the opening scene, at the crisis, and at 
the end the iniquity of this civic hate; and Mer- 
38 



INTRODUCTION 



cutio's last word gives the great reason for the 
catastrophe : "Your houses !" 

STAGE HISTORY— The play was evidently 
highly popular in Shakespeare's day. The first 
quarto (1597) speaks of its being acted often "with 
great applause"; and a reference in Marston's 
Scourge of Villainy (1598) points to its continued 
success upon the stage. The third quarto speaks of 
performances at the Globe (1609). The play was 
one of the first revived after the reopening of the 
theatres. Samuel Pepys saw it March 1, 1662, and 
thought it "the worst that ever I heard." In this per- 
formance Miss Saunderson was the first of a long line 
of distinguished actresses who took the part of Juliet. 
She afterwards married Thos. Betterton, the Mercutio 
of the play, and one of the greatest of all actors. 
Shortly afterward James Howard, for D'Avenant's 
company, gave the play a happy ending; this version 
(never printed) is said to have been given in Lin- 
coln's Inn Fields on alternate nights with Shake- 
speare's tragedy. In 1680 Thomas Otway, author of 
Venice Preserved, adapted i^omeo atJ-tZ Juliet as the 
History and Fall of Caius Marius, retaining the 
love story, but in a classic setting, in deference to 
the taste of the time. This version held the stage 
until 1744, Mrs. Barry and Mrs. Bracegirdle taking 
the heroine's part. In that year Theophilus Gibber 
restored the Shakespearean tragedy, with slight al- 
terations. Juliet was made to wake before Romeo's 
death, and an affecting scene of parting took place. 
Spranger Barry and Mrs. Gibber gave this in 1749 at 
Drury Lane, and later in 1750 at Govent Garden. 
In the latter year Garrick and Miss Bellamy gave 
rival performances at Drury Lane. This gave rise to 
the jest: 

"Well, what's tonight?" says angry Ned, 

As up from bed he rouses; 
"Romeo again !" he shakes his head ; 

"A plague on both your houses !" 

Garrick's Romeo was not his best part; and he 
insisted upon the retention of the altered ending. 

Mrs. Siddons played the part, but was thought too 
old in it; she was then thirty-five. Miss O'Neill's 
performance in 1814 with Gharles Kemble won the 
praise of Hazlitt, although he objected to her 
screams. Fanny Kemble in 1829, Helen Faucit in 
1833, (and later with Macready), and Mrs. Mowatt 
in 1845, were famous Juliets of their day. Charlotte 
Cushman, playing Romeo to her sister's Juliet, gave 
a performance that so good a critic as Sheridan 
Knowles thought worthy of standing comparison with 



Kean's Othello. Miss Adelaide Neilson was one of 
the most famous Juliets of the later century. In 
1882 Sir Henry Irving with Miss Ellen Terry gave 
the amplest version yet seen of the play in Shake- 
speare's form, with twenty-two scenes, and unparal- 
leled splendor of setting and costume. Two years 
later Miss Mary Anderson gave a similarly gorgeous 
revival with scenery "taken from sketches made in 
Verona"; these spectacular productions have now 
become the necessary method of presentation. The 
season of 1895 in London was noted for the success 
of Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson and Mrs. Patrick 
Campbell at the Lyceum Theater. In 1908 occurred 
a similarly popular revival of the play at the same 
house. 

In America the play was performed in the first 
tour of an English company in the Colonies (1752) ; 
and it has remained perhaps the most universally 
popular of Shakespeare's tragedies. Mme. Mod- 
jeska, Ada Rehan, Mary Anderson, and Julia Mar- 
lowe (the last acting with Robt. Taber and E. H. 
Sothern as Romeo), have been the most successful 
of the innumerable American actresses who have es- 
sayed the role of Juliet. In 1903 a Yiddish version 
was played in New York City. 

On the continent the play has been scarcely less 
successful. An English dramatic company took the 
play to Germany in 1626; but it remained for the 
romantic movement at the end of the eighteenth cen- 
tury to place it among the most popular works of 
the theatrical repertory in Germany and France. 
Byron says that Juliet's (fictitious) tomb was visited 
yearly by thousands of pilgrims. Goethe adopted the 
play for Weimar (1811), and Duels for the Paris 
stage (1771). Both versions took great liberties 
with the test, and though applauded in their day, 
no longer hold the stage. A notable modern pre- 
sentation was the prose version of Louis de Gramont 
produced by the famous Paris manager Antoine, at 
the Odeon in 1910. 

France has also contributed two famous musical 
adaptations of the theme, the symphony by Hector 
Berlioz, about 1835, and the opera by Gounod, in 
1867. Extracts from the former now form the in- 
cidental music of the play; Patti, Melba, Calve, 
Sembrich, and many other great singers have sung 
the Juliet of Gounod. Less known, though of high 
merit, is the symphonic poem of Tchaikovski. 

DATE — ^The title page of the first quarto, given 
below, referred to the play "as it hath been often 
(with great applause) plaid publiquely, by the right 
Honourable the L. of Hunsdon his servants." The 



39 



4 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



first Lord Hunsdon, patron of the players, was 
Lord Chamberlain; and the company was known as 
the Lord Chamberlain's servants until his death, 
July 22, 1596. His son, the second Lord Hunsdon, 
who was also patron of the players, succeeded his 
father as Lord Chamberlain, April 17, 1597. Dur- 
ing this interval of nearly nine months, then, the 
play was often performed; and this is the only cer- 
tain date we have which aids us in determining the 
date of composition. The Nurse (I. ii. 23, 35) 
dated her recollections of Juliet from "the earth- 
quake," eleven years since; a reference to the earth- 
quake of 1580 in England has been sought here. 
But the Nurse's character does not fit her to find 
credit as the sole support for a theory that the play 
was written so early as 1591, and the retention of 
the remark in the acting version of 1597 shows that 
any topical reference was already forgotten. Most 
readers of the play, however, have not failed to 
notice two styles; the one an artificial, conventional 
euphuism, full of rhymes, conceits, and over-wrought 
metaphor; the other a style of the highest and sin- 
ce rest lyrical intensity. It has been usual to as- 
cribe this difference to the revision about 1596 of an 
early composition. But this inequality may be due 
only to the nature of the play and the greater pains 
spent upon the larger values of action and character- 
ization. Something of the same kind may be seen 
in the various characters of Richard II. 

TEXT— 1597. First Quarto: "An excellent con- 
ceited tragedie of Romeo and Juliet, as it hath been 
often (with great applause) plaid publiquely, by the 
right Honourable the L. of Hunsdon his servants. 
London, Printed by John Danter, 1597." This edi- 



tion was apparently made from copy taken down at 
the theatre by a reporter, probably in shorthand, and 
set up in haste by a piratical publisher. The text 
is therefore corrupt, often giving only the sense of 
a passage, like a student's notes of a lecture. It 
is of value, however, in correction of errors in later 
editions, and especially in its stage directions, which 
appear to be the notes of an eye-witness as to what 
actually took place on the stage. These are incor- 
porated in the present text, wherever of interest, with 
a dagger (f) prefixed. 

1599. Second Quarto: "The most excellent and 
lamentable tragedie, of Romeo and Juliet, newly 
corrected, augmented, and amended; as it hftth been 
sundry times publiquely acted, by the right Honour- 
able the Lord Chamberlaine his servants. London, 
Printed by Thomas Creede, etc., for Cuthbert Burby, 
and are to be sold at his shop near the Exchange, 
1599." This is evidently an authentic edition; and 
Mr. P. A. Daniel has shown that Q 2 represents also 
a revision by Shakespeare of the text of which a 
garbled form exists in Q 1. 

On the title page of the third quarto (1609) ap- 
pears the changed name of Shakespeare's company, 
"The Kings Majesties Servants." On that of the 
fourth quarto (undated) appeared for the first time 
Shakespeare's name as author. A fifth quarto was 
printed in 1637. 

The folio text of 1623 is based on the third quarto, 
which in turn is a reprint of the second quarto, with 
some useful corrections. The present edition fol- 
lows the folio, important variations from its text 
being indicated in the notes. 

M. 



40 



THE TRAGEDY OF 
ROMEO AND JULIET 



[Scene: Verona, Mantua. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 



EscALus, prince of Verona. 

Paris, a young nobleman, kinsman to the prince. 

MoKTAGUE, 1 heads of two houses at variance with 

Capulet, J each other. 

An old man, cousin to Capulet. 

Romeo, son to Montague. 

Mercutio, kinsman to the prince, and friend to 

Romeo. 
Bexvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo. 
Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. 

Friar Laurence, 1 ^^ 

^ -. Ll^ranciscans. 

Jtriar John, J 

Balthasar, servant to Romeo. 
^ ' Lservants to Capulet. 

(jrREGORY, J 



Peter, servant to Juliet's nurse. 

Abraham, servant to Montague. 

An Apothecary. 

Three Musicians. 

Page to Paris; another Page; an Officer. 

Lady Montague, wife to Montague. 

Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. 

Juliet, daughter to Capulet. 

Nurse to Juliet. 

Citizens — officers of Verona; several Men and 

Women, kinsfolk of both houses; Maskers, Guards, 

Watchmen, and Attendants. 

Chorus.] 



t THE PROLOGUE 
Chorus. 

Two households, both alike in dignity, 

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, 
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny. 

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 5 

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; 
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows 

Doth with their death bury their parents' 
strife. 
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love. 

And the continuance of their parents' rage, 10 
V/hich, but their children's end, nought could 
remove. 

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; 
The w^hich if you with patient ears attend. 
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to 
mend. 



• ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [Ferowa. A public place.'] 

Enter Sampson and Gregory, \_of the House of 
Capulet,] with swords and bucklers. 

Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry 

coals. 
Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. 
Sam. I mean, if we be in choler, we'll draw. 
Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o* 

the collar. 6 

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 
Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 
Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves 

me. 10 

Gre. To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to 

stand; therefore, if thou art moved, thou 

run'st away. 



41 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act I. SC. I. 



Saiti. A dog of that house shall move me to 
stand. I will take the wall of any man or 
maid of Montague's. i6 

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave, for the 
weakest goes to the wall. 

Sam. True, and therefore women, being the 
weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: 
therefore I will push Montague's men from the 
wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. 22 

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters; and 
us their men. 

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant; 
when I have fought with the men, I will 
be cruel with the maids, and cut off their 
heads. 

Gre. The heads of the maids? 29 

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their 
maidenheads ; take it in what sense thou wilt. 

Gre. They must take it in sense that feel it. 

Sam. ^le they shall feel while I am able to 
stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of 
flesh. 35 

Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, 
thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; 
here comes two of the house of the Montagues. 

Enter two other servingmen [Abraham and 
Balthasar']. 

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will 

back thee. 40 

Gre. How ? turn thy back and run ? 
Sam. Fear me not. 
Gre. No, marry ! I fear thee ! 
Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them 

begin. 45 

Gre. I will frown as I pass by, and let them 

take it as they list. 
Sam-. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb 

at them, which is a disgrace to them, if they 

bear it. 50 

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. 
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
Sam. [Aside to Gre.'\ Is the law of our side, if 

I say 'ay'? 55 

Gre. [Aside.] No. 
Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, 

sir; but I bite my thumb, sir. 
Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? 

Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir! 60 

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as 

good a man as you. 



Abr, No better? 
Sam, Well, sir — 

Enter BenvoUo. 

Gre. Say 'better'; here comes one of my mas- 
ter's kinsmen. 66, 

Sam. Yes, better. 

Abr. You lie. 

Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remem- 
ber thy swashing blow. They fight. 70^ 

Ben. Part, fools ! 

Put up your swords; you know not what you. 
do. [Beats down their swords.'\\ 

Enter Tybalt. 

Tyb. What, art thou drawn, among these heart- 
less hinds? 
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. 
Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy 
sword, 75 

Or manage it to part these men with me. 
Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate 
the word 
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee; 
Have at thee, coward! [They] fight. 

Enter three or four Citizens, with clubs. 

Off. Clubs, bills, and partisans ! strike ! beat 
them down! 80 

Down with the Capulets ! down with the Mon- 
tagues ! 

Enter old Capulet in his gown, and his wife. 

Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long 

sword, ho ! 
La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch ! why call you for 

a sword? 
Cap. My sword, I say ! Old Montague is come. 
And flourishes his blade in spite of me. 85 

Enter old Montague, and his wife. 

Mon. Thou villain Capulet, — Hold me not, let 

me go. 
La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a 

foe. 

Enter Prince Escalus, with his train. 



Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, 
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steeV 



42 



ACT I. SC. I.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



Will they not hear ? What^ ho ! you men, you 

beasts, 90 

That quench the fire of your pernicious rage 

With purple fountains issuing from your 

veins. 
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands 
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the 

ground, 
And hear the sentence of your moved prince. 
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word, 96 
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, 
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets. 
And made Verona's ancient citizens 
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, 100 
To wield old partisans, in hands as old, 
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd 

hate. 
If ever you disturb our streets again. 
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. 
For this time, all the rest depart away; 105 
You, Capulet, shall go along with me; 
And, Montague, come you this afternoon, 
To know our further pleasure in this case. 
To old Free-town, our common judgment- 
place. 109 
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 
Exeunt [all but Montague, Lady Mon- 
tague, and Benvolio]. 
Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach ? 
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began? 
Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary. 
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach; 
I drew to part them; in the instant came us 
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd. 
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears. 
He swung about his head, and cut the winds. 
Who nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn. 
While we were interchanging thrusts and 
blows, 120 
Came more and more and fought on part and 

part. 
Till the prince came, who parted either part. 
La. Mon. O, where is Romeo? saw you him to- 
day? 
Right glad am I, he was not at this fray. 
Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd 
sun 125 

Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, 
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; 
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore 
That westward rooteth from this city side. 
So early walking did I see your son. 130 



Towards him I made, but he was ware of me, 
And stole into the covert of the wood; 
I, measuring his affections by my own. 
Which then most sought, where most might 

not be found. 
Being one too many by my weary self. 
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his, 135 

And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. 

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen. 
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's 

dew. 
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep 

sighs ; 
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 140 

Should in the farthest east begin to draw 
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed. 
Away from light steals home my heavy son. 
And private in his chamber pens himself. 
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out 
And makes himself an artificial night; 146 

Black and portentous must this humour prove. 
Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 

Ben. My noble uncle, do- you know the cause? 

Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. 150 

Ben, Have you importun'd him by any means? 

Mon. Both by myself and many other friends; 
But he, his own affections' counsellor. 
Is to himself (I will not say how true) 
But to himself so secret and so close, 155 

So far from sounding and discovery. 
As is the bud bit with an envious worm. 
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, 
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows 
grow, 160 

We would as willingly give cure, as know. 

Enter Romeo. 

Ben. See, where he comes; so please you, step 
aside; 
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. 
Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay. 
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's 
away. 165 

Exeunt {^Montague and Lady]. 
Ben, Good morrow, cousin. 

Rom. Is the day so young? 

Ben. But new struck nine. 

Rom. Ay me! sad hours seem long. 

Was that my father that went hence so fast? 
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's 
hours ? 



43 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act I. SC. I 



Rom. Not having that, which;, having, makes 
them short. 170 

Ben. In love? 
Horn. Out — 
Ben. Of love? 

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. 
Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, 175 

Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof ! 
Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, 

Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will ! 

Where shall we dine? O me! What fray 
was here? 

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 180 

Here's much to do with hate, but more with 
love. 

Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! 

O anything, of nothing first create ! 

O heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! 

Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms ! 185 

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick 
health ! 

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is ! 

This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 

Dost thou not laugh? 
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. 189 

Rom. Good heart, at what? 

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 

Ro'm. Why, such is love's transgression. 

Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast. 

Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest 

With more of thine: this love that thou hast 
shown 

Doth add more grief, to too much of mine 
own. 

Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of 
sighs ; 196 

Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes ; 

Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with loving tears ; 

What is it else? a madness most discreet, 

A choking gall and a preserving sweet. 200 

Farewell, my coz. 
Ben. Soft! I will go along; 

And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 
Rom,. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; 

This is not Romeo, he's some other where. 
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. 
Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee? 
Be7i. Groan ! why, no ; 

But sadly tell me who. 
Rom, Bid a sick man in sadness make his will, 

Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill. 

In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 210 



Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you 

loved. 
Rom. A right good mark-man ! And she's fair 

I love. 
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 
Rom. Well, in that hit you miss; she'll not be 
hit 
With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; 215 
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd. 
From love's weak childish bow she lives un- 

harm'd. 
She will not stay the siege of loving terms. 
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes. 
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold; 220 
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, 
That when she dies, with beauty dies her 
store. 
Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still 

live chaste? 
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge 
waste. 
For beauty starv'd with her severity 225 

Cuts beauty off from all posterity. 
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair. 
To merit bliss by making me despair : 
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow 
Do I live dead that live to tell it now. 230 
Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. 
Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think. 
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ; 

Examine other beauties. 
Rom. 'Tis the way 

To call hers, exquisite, in question more; 235 
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' 

brows 
Being black puts us in mind they hide the 

fair ; 
He that is strucken blind cannot forget 
The precious treasure t)f his eyesight lost; 
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, 240 
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note 
Where I may read who pass'd that passing 

fair? 
Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget. 
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. 

Exeunt. 

[Scene II. — A street.'] 

Enter Cayulet, County, Paris, and the Clown, 
[servant to Capulet]. 

Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I, 



44 



ACT I. SC. II. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



I 



In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard^ I think, 
For men so old as we to keep the peace. 
Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; 
And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long. 5 

But now, my lord, what say you to my suit ? 
Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before; 
My child is yet a stranger in the world; 
She hath not seen the change of fourteen 

years ; 
Let two more summers wither in their pride, 
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. u 
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers 

made. 
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early 

made. 
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but 

she. 
She is the hopeful lady of my earth; 15 

But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, 
]^Jy will to her consent is but a part; 
And she agree, within her scope of choice 
Lies my consent and fair according voice. 
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, 20 
Whereto I have invited many a guest 
Such as I love; and you among the store; 
One more, most welcome, makes my number 

more. 
At my poor house look to behold this night 
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven 

light. 25 

Such comfort as do lusty young men feel 
When well-apparell'd April on the heel 
Of limping Winter treads, even such delight 
Among fresh female buds shall you this night 
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, 30 

And like her most whose merit most shall be; 
Which on more view of many, mine, being 

one. 
May stand in number, though in reckoning 

none. 
Come, go with me. [Gives Servant paper. ^ 

Go, sirrah, trudge about 
Through fair Verona ; find those persons out 35 
Whose names are written there, and to them 

say. 
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. 
Exeunt Capulet and Paris. 
Serv. Find them out whose names are written 
here ! It is written, that the shoemaker 
should meddle with his yard, and the tailor 
with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and 
the painter with his nets ; but I am sent to find 



those persons whose names are here writ, and 
can never find what names the writing person 
hath here writ. I must to the learned. — In 
good time! 45 

Enter Benvolio and Romeo. 

Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's 
burning. 
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; 
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turn- 
ing; 
One desperate grief cures with another's 
languish : 
Take thou some new infection to thy eye, 50 
And the rank poison of the old will die. 
Rom. Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. 
Ben. For what, I pray thee } 

Rom. For your broken shin. 

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad.^ 
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman 

is; 55 

Shut up in prison, kept without my food^ 
Whipp'd and tormented and — God-den, good 
fellow. 

Serv. God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you 
read } 

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 60 

Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without 
book: but, I pray, can you read any thing 
you see.^ 

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the lan- 
guage. 

Serv. Ye say honestly; rest you merry! 65 

Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. 

He reads the letter. 
'Signior Martino and his wife and daugh- 
ter ; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters ; 
the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio 
and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his 
brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his 
wife, and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; 
Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt; 
Lucio and the lively Helena.' 
A fair assembly; whither should they come.^ 75 

Serv. Up. 

Rom. Whither? 

Serv. To supper; to our house. 

Rom-. Whose house? 

Serv. My master's. 80 

Rom. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that 
before. 



45 



10 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act I. SC. II. 



Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: my 
master is the great rich Capulet; and if you 
be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, 
come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you 
merry ! Exit. 86 

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's 
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so loves, 
With all the admired beauties of Verona: 
Go thither ; and, with unattainted eye, 90 

Compare her face w^ith some that I shall 

show. 
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. 
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye 

Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears 
to fires; 
And these, who often drown'd could never 
die, 95 

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars ! 
One fairer than my love ! the all-seeing sun 
Ne'er saw her match since first the world 
begun. 
Ben. Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, 
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye; 100 
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd 
Your lady's love against some other maid 
That I will show you shining at this feast. 
And she shall scant show well that now shows 
best. 
Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, 105 
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. 

\_Ea:eunt.^^ 

[Scene III. — A room in Capulefs house.'] 
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 

La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her 

forth to me. 
Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year 
old, 
I bade her come. What, lamb ! what, lady- 
bird ! 
God forbid, where's this girl.? What, Juliet! 

Enter Juliet. 

Jul. How now! who calls? 
Nurse. Your mother. 

Jul. Madam, I am here. 

What is your will? 6 

La. Cap. This is the matter: — Nurse, give leave 
awhile. 



We 



talk 



secret: — nurse, come back 



must 
again ; 

I have remember'd me, thou's hear our coun- 
sel. 
Thou know'st ray daughter's of a pretty age. 
Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour, n 
La. Cap. She's not fourteen. 

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, — - 

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but 

four, — 
She is not fourteen.' How long is it now 
To Lammas-tide? 
La. Cap. A fortnight and odd daj'-s. 15 

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year. 
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be four- 
teen. 
Susan and she — God rest all Christian 

souls ! — 
Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; 
She was too good for me: but, as I said, 20 
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen ; 
That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ; 
And she was wean'd, — I never shall forget 

it — 
Of all the days of the J^'car, upon that day; 25 
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, 
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; 
My lord and jou were then at ]\Iantua ; — 
'NsLj, I do bear a brain: — but, as I said. 
When it did taste the wormwood on the nip- 
ple 30 
Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool. 
To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! 
'Shake' quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, 

I trow. 
To bid me trudge; — 

And since that time it is a 'leven years; 35 
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the 

rood, 
She could have run and waddled all about; 
For even the day before, she broke her brow; 
And then my husband — God be with his soul, 
A' was a merry man — took up the child; 40 
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? 
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more 

wit; 
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame. 
The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.' 
To see, now, how a jest shall come about! 45 



warrant, and 

years. 



I should live a thousand 



46 



ACT I. SC. 



IIL] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



11 



I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' 

quoth he; 
And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said, 'Ay.' 
La. Cap, Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy 

peace. 
Nurse. Yes, madam; yet I cannot choose but 
laugh, 50 

To think it should leave crying and say, 'Ay.' 
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow 
A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone; 
A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly: 
'Yea,' quoth my husband, 'fall'st upon thy 
face ? 55 

Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest 

to age; 
"Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said, 'Ay.' 
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, 

say I. 
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to 
his grace! 
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I 
nurs'd : 60 

And I might live to see thee married once, 
I have my wish. 
La. Cap. Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme 
I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
How stands your disposition to be married? 65 
,Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. 
Nurse. An honour ! were not I thine only nurse, 
I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from 
thy teat. 
La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger 
than you. 
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, 70 

Are made already mothers ; by my count, 
I was your mother much upon these years 
That you are now a maid. Thus then in 

brief: 
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 
Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man 75 

As all the world — why, he's a man of wax. 
La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a 

flower. 
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very 

flower. 
La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gen- 
tleman ? 
This night you shall behold him at our feast; 
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face 81 
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen ; 
Examine every married lineament 
And see how one another lends content, 



And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies 85 
Find written in the margent of his eyes. 
This precious book of love, this unbound 

lover. 
To beautify him, only lacks a cover; 
The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride 
For fair without the fair within to hide; 90 
That book in many's eyes doth share the 

glory. 
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; 
So shall you share all that he doth possess. 
By having him, making yourself no less. 
Nurse. No less ! nay, bigger ; women grow by 

men. 95 

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' 

love ? 
JuL I'll look to like, if looking liking move; 
But no more deep will I endart mine eye 
Than your consent gives strength to make it 

fly- 

Enter a Servingman. 

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper 

served up, you called, my young lady asked 

for, the nurse curst in the pantry, and every 

thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I 

beseech you, follow straight. Exit. 

La. Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the County 

stays. 105 

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy 

days. Exeunt. 

[Scene IV. — A street.'] 

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or 
six other Mashers, Torch-hearers. 

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our 
excuse ? 
Or shall we on without apology ? 

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: 

We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf. 

Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, s 

Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; 

Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 

After the prompter, for our entrance; 

But let them measure us by what they will: 

We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. 10 

Rom. Give me a torch ; I am not for this 
ambling ; 
Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 



47 



12 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act 



[. SC. IV. 



Mer. ^a.y, gentle Romeo^ we must have you 

dance. 
Rom. Not \, believe me: you have dancing shoes 
With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead 15 
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. 
Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, 

And soar with them above a common bound. 
Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft 
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, 
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe ; 21 

Under love's heavy burden do I sink. 
Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love ; 

Too great oppression for a tender thing. 
Rom. Is love a tender thing .^ it is too rough, 25 
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like 
thorn. 
Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with 
love; 
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love 

down. 
Give me a case to put my visage in; 

\_mashing.^ 

A visor for a visor ! what care I 30 

What curious eye doth quote deformities? 

Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. 

Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in. 

But every man betake him to his legs. 
Rom. A torch for me: let wantons light of 
heart 35 

Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, 
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase ; 
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. 
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. 
Mer. Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own 
word ; 40 

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the 

mire 
Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou 

stick'st 
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho ! 
Rom. Nay, that's not so. 

Mer. I mean, sir, in delay 

We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by 

day. 45 

Take our good meaning, for our judgment 

sits 
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. 
Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask; 

But 'tis no wit to go. 
Mer. Why, may one ask ? 

Rom. I dream'd a dream to-night. 
Mer. And so did I. 50 



Rom. Well, what was yours .^ 

Mer. That dreamers often lie. 

Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things 

true. 
Mer. O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with 

you. 
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes 
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 55 

On the fore-finger of an alderman. 
Drawn with a team of little atomies 
Over men's noses as they lie asleep; 
Tier waggon-spokes made of long spinners' 

legs. 
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, 60 
Her traces of the smallest spider's web, 
Her collars of the moonshine's watery beams. 
Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film. 
Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat. 
Not half so big as a round little worm 65 

Prick'd from the lazy-finger of a maid; 
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut 
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, 
Time out 0' mind the fairies' coachmakers. 
And in this state she gallops night by night 70 
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream 

of love; 
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies 

straight. 
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on 

fees. 
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses 

dream. 
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters 

plagues, 75 

Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted 

are. 
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose. 
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; 
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's 

tail 
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, 80 
Then dreams he of another benefice. 
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck. 
And then dreams he of cutting foreign 

throats. 
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades. 
Of healths five-fathom deep ; and then anon 85 
Drums in his ears, at which he starts and 

wakes. 
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or 

two. 
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab 



48 



ACT I. SC. IV.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



13 



That plats the manes of horses in the nighty 
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs. 
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes ; 
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, 
That presses them and learns them first to 
bear, 93 

Making them women of good carriage; 
This is she — 

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ! 95 

Thou talk'st of nothing. 

Mer. True, I talk of dreams. 

Which are the children of an idle brain. 
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy. 
Which is as thin of substance as the air 
And more inconstant than the wind, who 
wooes 100 

Even now the frozen bosom of the north. 
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence. 
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 

Ben, This wind you talk of blows us from our- 
selves ; 
Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 105 

Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind misgives 
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars 
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 
With this night's revels and expire the term 
Of a despised life clos'd in my breast no 

By some vile forfeit of untimely death. 
But He, that hath the steerage of my course. 
Direct my sail ! On, lusty gentlemen ! 

Ben. Strike, drum. 

They march about the stage, and serving- 
men come forth with their napkins. 



[Scene V. — A hall in Capulefs house. Mu- 
sicians waiting. 1 

Enter Servants. 

First Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not 
to take away? He shift a trencher? he 
scrape a trencher ? 

Sec. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in 
one or two men's hands and they unwashed 
too, 'tis a foul thing. • 6 

First Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove 
the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good 
thou, save me a piece of marchpane ; and, as 
thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan 
Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan ! 

Sec. Serv. Ay, boy, ready. 12 



First Serv. You are looked for and called for, 
asked for and sought for, in the great cham- 
ber. 

Sec. Serv. We cannot be here and there too. 
Cheerly, boys ; be brisk awhile, and the longer 
liver take all. 17 

Enter [Capulet, with Juliet], all the guests and 
gentlewomen to the Maskers. 

Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have 
their toes 
Unplagued with corns will have a bout with 

you. 
Ah ha, my mistresses ! which of you all 20 
Will now deny to dance? she that makes 

dainty. 
She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near 

ye now? 
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day 
That I have worn a visor and could tell 
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, 25 

Such as would please; 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis 

gone: 
You are welcome, gentlemen ! Come, musi- 
cians, play. 

Music plays, and they dance. 
A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. 
More light, you knaves; and turn the tables 

up. 
And quench the fire, the room is grown too 
hot. 30 

Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. 
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; 
For you and I are past our dancing days ; 
How long is't now since last yourself and I 
Were in a mask? 
Sec. Cap. By'r lady, thirty years. 35 

Cap, What, man ! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so 
much : 
'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, 
Come pentecost as quickly as it will. 
Some five and twenty years; and then we 
mask'd. 
Sec. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more; his son is elder, 
sir ; 40 

His son is thirty. 
Cap. Will you tell me that? 

His son was but a ward two years ago. 
Rom. [To a Servingman.] What lady is that, 
which doth enrich the hand 
Of yonder knight ? 
Serv. I know not, sir. 45 



49 



u 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act I. SC. V. 



Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn 

bright ! 
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night 
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; 
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ! 
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, 
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 51 

The measure done, I'll watch her place of 

stand. 
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude 

hand. 
Did my heart love till now? forswear it. 



sight ! 



Eor I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. 55 

Ti/h. This, by his voice, should be a Montague. 
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the 

slave 
Come hither, cover 'd with an antic face. 
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? 
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, 60 
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 

Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ! wherefore storm 
you so? 

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, 
A villain that is hither come in spite. 
To scorn at our solemnity this night. 65 

Cap. Young Romeo is it? 

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; 
A' bears him like a portly gentleman; 
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him 
To be a virtuous and well govern'd youth; 70 
I would not for the wealth of all the town 
Here in my house do him disparagement: 
Therefore be patient, take no note of him; 
It is my will, the which if thou respect. 
Show a fair presence and put off these 
frowns, 75 

An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; 
I'll not endure him. 

Cap. He shall be endur'd; 

What, goodman boy! I say, he shall! go 

to; 
Am I the master here, or you? go to. 80 

You'll not endure him ! God shall mend my 

soul! 
You'll make a mutiny among my guests ! 
You will set cock-a-hoop ! you'll be the man ! 

Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. 

Cap. Go to, go to ! 

You are a saucy boy; is't so, indeed? 85 



This trick may chance to scathe you, I know 

what; 
You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. 
Well said, my hearts ! You are a princox ; 

go! 
Be quiet, or — More light, more light! For 

shame ! 
I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my 
hearts ! 90 

Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meet- 
ing 
Makes my flesh tremble in their diff'erent 

greeting. 
I will withdraw : but this intrusion shall 
Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. 

Ej:it. 
Rom. [To Juliet.] If I profane with my un- 
worthiest hand 95 

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this; 
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 
To smooth that rough touch with a tender 
kiss. 
Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand 
too much. 
Which mannerly devotion shows in this; 100 
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands 
do touch. 
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. 
Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers 

too? 
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in 

prayer. 

Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands 

do ; 105 

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to 

despair. 

Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for 

prayers' sake. 
Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect 
I take. 
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd.. 
Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have 
took. 1 10' 

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly 
urg'd ! 
Give me my sin again. 
Jul. You kiss by the book. 

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with 

you. 
Rom. What is her mother? 
Nurse. Marry, bachelor^ 

Her mother is the lady of the house, us 



50 



ACT I. SC. v.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



15 



And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous; 
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal; 
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her 
Shall have the chinks. 
Rom. Is she a Capulet? 

dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 120 
Ben. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best. 
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. 
Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; 

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. 

f They whisper in his ear. 

Is it e'en so.^ why, then, I thank you all; 125 

1 thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. 
]More torches here ! Come on then, let's to 

bed. 

Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late; 

I'll to my rest. [^Going.^ 

Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gen- 
tleman .? 130 
Nurse. The son and "heir of old Tiberio. 
Jul. What's he that now is going out of door.^ 
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petru- 

chio. 
Jul. What's he that follows there, that would 

not dance .^ 
Nurse. I know not. 135 

Jul. Go, ask his name; — if he be married. 

My grave is like to be my wedding bed. 
Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; 

The only son of your great enemy. 
Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate ! 

Too early seen unknown, and known too late ! 

Prodigious birth of love it is to me, 142 

That I must love a loathed enemy. 
Nurse. What's this? what's this? 
Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now 

Of one I danc'd withal. 

One calls within 'Juliet.' 
Nurse. Anon, anon! 145 

Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. 

Exeunt. 

[ACT SECOND 
PROLOGUE 

Enter] Chorus. 

Chor. Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, 
And young affection gapes .to be his heir ; 
That fair for which love groan'd for and 
would die. 



With tender Juliet match'd, is now not 
fair. 
Now Romeo is belov'd and loves again, 5 

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks, 
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain. 
And she steal love's sweet bait from fear- 
ful hooks : 
Being held a foe, he may not have access 
To breathe such vows as lovers use to 
swear ; 10 

And she as much in love, her means much, 
less 
To meet her new-beloved anywhere; 
But passion lends them power^ time means, 

to meet, 
Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. 

[Exit.] 



[Scene I. — Capulet's orchard; a lane hy the 

wall.] 

Enter Romeo, alone. 

Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here? 
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre 
out. 
[He climbs the wall, and leaps down within the 
orchard.] 

Enter Benvolio with Mercutio. 

Ben. Romeo ! my cousin Romeo ! 

Mer. He is wise;; 

And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. 

Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard 

wall ; 5 

Call, good Mercutio. 
Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too. 

Romeo ! Humours ! Madman ! Passion ! Lover ! 

Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh; 

Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; 

Cry but 'Ay me !' pronounce but love' and 
'dove ;' 10 

Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, 

One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, 

Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim. 

When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid ! 

He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth 
not; 15 

The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. 

I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes. 

By her high forehead and her scarlet lip^ 
1 



16 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act II. sc. 



By her fine foot^ straight leg and quivering 

thigh 
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, 20 
Tliat in thy likeness thou appear to us ! 

Ben. And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger liim. 

Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger 
him 
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle 
Of some strange nature, letting it there 
stand 25 

Till she had laid it and conjur'd it down; 
That were some spite: my invocation 
Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name 
I conjure only but to raise up him. 

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these 
trees, 30 

To be consorted with the humorous night; 
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. 

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. 
Now will he sit under a medlar tree. 
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit 
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. 
O, Romeo, that she were, O, that she were 2,7 
An open et cetera, thou a poperin pear ! 
Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; 
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep; 40 
Come, shall we go? 

Ben. Go, then; for 'tis in vain 

To seek him here that means not to be found. 

Exeunt. 

[Scene II. — Capulet's orchard. 
Romeo comes forward.] 

Rom. He jests at scars that never felt a wound. 

[Juliet appears above at a window.] 

But, soft! what light through yonder window 

breaks ? 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. 
Arise, fair S'Un, and kill the envious moon, 
Wlio is already sick and pale with grief 5 

That thou her maid art far more fair than 

she. 
Be not her maid, since she is envious; 
Her vestal livery is but sick and green 
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. 
It is my lady, O, it is my love ! 10 

O, that she knew she were ! 
She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of 

that? 
Her eye discourses; I will answer it. 
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks : 
Two of tlie fairest stars in all the heaven, 15 



Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
What if her eyes were there, they in her 

head? 
The brightness of her cheek would shame 

those stars. 

As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven 

Would through the airy region stream so 

bright 21 

That birds would sing and think it were not 

night. 
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! 
O, that I were a glove upon that hand. 
That I might touch that cheek! 

Jul. Ay me ! 

Rom. She speaks ! 25 

O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head. 
As is a winged messenger of heaven 
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes 
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him 30 
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds 
And sails upon the bosom of the air. 

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou 
Romeo? 
Deny thy father and refuse thy name; 
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 35 
And I'll no longer be a Capulet. 

Rom. [Aside.] Shall I hear more, or shall I 
speak at this? 

Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; 
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. 
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, 40 
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ! 
What's in a name? that which we call a rose 
By any other name would smell as sweet; 
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, 45 
Retain that dear perfection which he owes 
Without that title. Romeo, dofF thy name. 
And for thy name which is no part of thee 
Take all myself. 

Rom. I take thee at thy word: 

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd; 50 
Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 

Jul. What man art thou that thus bescreen'd 
in night 
So stumblest on my counsel? 

Rom: By a name 

I know not how to tell thee who I am; 
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, 55 
Because it is an enemy to thee; 



52 



ACT II. SC. 



11.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



17 



Had I it written, I would tear the word. 
Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred 
words 
Of thy tongue's uttering, yet I know the 

sound ; 
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ? 60 

Rom. Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike. 
Jul. How camest thou hither, tell me, and where- 
fore } 
The orchard walls are high and hard to 

climb. 
And the place death, considering who thou 

art. 
If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 65 

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch 
these walls. 
For stony limits cannot hold love out; 
And what love can do, that dares love at- 
tempt ; 
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me. 
Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. 
Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye 71 
Than twenty of their swords; look thou but 

sweet. 
And I am proof against their enmity. 
Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee 

here. 

Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their 

eyes ; 75 

And but thou love me, let them find me here; 

My life were better ended by their hate. 

Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. 

Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this 

place ? 
Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to in- 
quire ; 80 
He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. 
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far 
As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest 

sea, 
I would adventure for such merchandise. 
Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my 
face, 85 

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek 
For that which thou hast heard me speak to- 
night. 
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 
What I have spoke: but farewell compli- 

Iment ! 
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 
'Ay,' ^ 90 

And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swear'st. 



Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries. 
They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, 
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully; 
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, 95 
I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay. 
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. 
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond. 
And therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour 

light; 
But trust me, gentleman^ I'll prove more 
true 100 

Than those that have more cunning to be 

strange. 
I should have been more strange, I must con- 
fess. 
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, 
My true love's passion; therefore pardon me. 
And not impute this yielding to light love, 105 
Which the dark night hath so discovered. 
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear 
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree 
tops — 
Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant 
moon. 
That monthly changes in her circled orb, no 
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 
Rom. What shall I swear by? 
Jul. Do not swear at all; 

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self. 
Which is the god of my idolatry. 
And I'll believe thee. 
Rom. If my heart's dear love — ns 

Jul. Well, do not swear; although I joy in 
thee, 
I have no joy of this contract to-night; 
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden. 
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to 

be 

Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good 

night ! 120 

This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath. 

May prove a beauteous flower when next we 

meet. 
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and 

rest 

Come to thy heart as that within my breast! 

Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? 125 

Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? 

Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow 

for mine. 
Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request 
it; 



5S 



18 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act II. SC. II. 



And yet I would it were to give again. 
Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it.^ for what pur- 
pose, love.'* 130 
Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. 

And yet 1 wish but for the thing I have; 

My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 

My love as deejD; the more I give to thee. 

The more I have, for both are infinite. 135 
[Nurse^ calls within. 

I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! 

Anon, good nurse ! Sweet Montague, be true. 

Stay but a little, I will come again. 

\_Exit, above.^ 
Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. 

Being in night, all this is but a dream, 140 

Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. 

[Re-enter Juliet, above.'] 

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night 
indeed, 
i-f that thy bent of love be honourable. 
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-mor- 
row. 
By one that I'll procure to come to tliee, 145 
Where and what time thou wilt perform the 

rite ; 
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay 
And follow thee my lord throughout the 
world. 
[Nurse.] (Within.) Madam! 
Jul. I come, anon. — But if thou mean'st not 
well, ISO 

I do beseech thee — 
[Nurse.] (Within.) Madam! 
Jul. By and by, I come ! — 

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: 
To-morrow will I send. 
Rom. So thrive my soul — 

Jul. A thousand times good night! 155 

Ea:it [above.] 
Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy 
light. 
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from 

their books. 
But love from love, toward school with heavy 
■ looks. [Retiring.] 

Enter Juliet, again. 

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's 



voice. 
To lure this tassel-gentle back again ! 



160 



Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; 
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies. 
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than 

mine. 
With repetition of my Romeo's name. 
Romeo ! 
Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name: 
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues 



165 

by 



jht. 



Like softest music to attending ears ! 
Jul. Romeo ! 
Rom. My dear.^* 

Jul. What o'clock to-morrow 

Shall I send to thee.^ 
Rom. By the hour of nine. 

Jul. I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. 

I have forgot why I did call thee back. 171 

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. 
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there. 

Remembering how I love thy company. 
Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still for- 
get, 175 

Forgetting any other home but this. 
Jul. 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee 
gone; 

And yet no further than a wanton's bird. 

Who lets it hop a little from her hand. 

Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, 180 

And with a silk thread plucks it back again, 

So loving-jealous of his liberty. 
Rom. I would I were thy bird, 
Jul. Sweet, so would I: 

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 

Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet 
sorrow, 185 

That I shall say good night till it be morrow. 

[Exit, above.] 
Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in 
thy breast! 

Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to 
rest ! 

Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, 

His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. 190 

Exit. 



[Scene III. — Friar Laurence's cell.] 
Enter Friar [Laurence] alone, with a basket. 

Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frown- 
ing night. 



54 



ACT II. SC. 



III.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



19 



Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks 

of light. 
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
Erom forth day's path and Titan's fiery 

wheels. 
Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, 5 
The day to cheer and night's dank dew to 

dry, 
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours 
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flow- 
ers. 
The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; 
What is her burying grave, that is her womb; 
And from her womb children of divers kind n 
We sucking on her natural bosom find; 
Many for many virtues excellent. 
None but for some, and yet all diiFerent. 
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies 15 
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qual- 
ities : 
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live 
But to the earth some special good doth give; 
Nor aught so good, but strain'd from that 

fair use 
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: 
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; 21 
And vice sometimes by action dignified. 

Enter Romeo, [behind~\. 

Within the infant rind of this weak flower 
Poison hath residence, and medicine power: 
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers 

each part; 25 

Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
Two such opposed kings encamp them still 
In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; 
And where the worser is predominant, 
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. 
Rom. [Advances.^ Good morrow, father. 
Fri. Benedicite ! 31 

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? 
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head 
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed; 
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, 35 
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; 
But where unbruised youth with unstuiF'd 

brain 
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth 

reign : 
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure 
Thou art up-rous'd with some distempera- 

ture ; 40 



Or if not so, then here I hit it right. 
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 
Rom. That last is true; the sweeter rest was 

mine. 
Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosa- 
line? 
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; 45 
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. 
Fri. That's my good son: but where hast thou 

been, then? 
Uom: I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 
I have been feasting with mine enemy. 
Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, 50 
That's by me wounded; both our remedies 
Within thy help and holy physic lies. 
I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo. 
My intercession likewise steads my foe. 
Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy 
drift; 55 

Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. 
Rom. Then plainly know my heart's dear love 
is set 
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet. 
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; 
And all combin'd, save what thou must com- 
bine 60 
By holy marriage; when and where and how 
We met, we woo'd and made exchange of 

vow, 
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray. 
That thou consent to marry us to-day. 
Fri. Holy Saint Francis, what a change is 
here ! 65 

Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear. 
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies 
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 
Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine 
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosa- 
line ! 70 
How much salt water thrown away in waste, 
To season love, that of it doth not taste ! 
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, 
Thy old groans yet ring in my ancient ears ; 
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 75 
Of an old tear that is not wash'd ofl" yet. 
If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes 

thine. 
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline; 
And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sen- 
tence then. 
Women may fall, when there's no strength in 
men. 80 



55 



10 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act II. SC. III. 



Roj/i. Thou cliid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. 

Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 

Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 

Fri. Not in a grave, 

To lay one in, another out to have. 

Rom. I pray thee, chide me not: her I love 
now 85 

Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; 
The other did not so. 

Fri. O, she knew well 

Thy love did read by rote that could not spell. 
But come, young waverer, come, go with me, 
In one respect I'll thy assistant be; go 

For this alliance may so happy prove. 
To turn your households' rancour to pure 
love. 

Ro7n. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. 

Fri. Wisely and slow; they stumble that run 
fast. Exeunt. 



[Scene IV. — A street.] 

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. 

Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be? 
Came he not home to-night? 

Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke wdth his man. 

Mer. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, 
that Rosaline, 
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 5 

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 

Mer. A challenge, on my life. 

Ben. Romeo will answer it. 

Mer. Any man that can write may answer a 
letter. 10 

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, 
how he dares, being dared. 

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo ! he is already dead ; 
stabbed with a white wench's black eye; run 
through the ear with a love-song; the very 
pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow- 
boy's butt-shaft; and is he a man to encounter 
Tybalt? 

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? 18 

Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, 
he is the courageous captain of compliments. 
He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, 
distance, and proportion; rests me his minim 
rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom; 
the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist. 



a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, 
of the first and second cause; ah, the immor- 
tal passado ! the punto reverso ! the hai ! 
Ben. The what? 28 

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, aiFecting 
fantasticoes; these new tuners of accent! 'By 
Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a 
very good whore!' Why, is not this a lam- 
entable thing, grandsire, that we should be 
thus afflicted with these strange flies, these 
fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi's, who 
stand so much on the new form, that they 
cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their 
bones, their bones ! 37 

Enter Romeo, 

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring: O 
flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified ! Now is he 
for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in; 
Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; 
marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; 
Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and 
Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye 
or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, 
bon jour! there's a French salutation to your 
French slop. You gave us the counterfeit 
fairly last night. 

Rom. Good morrow to you both. What coun- 
terfeit did I give you? 50 

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip; can you not con- 
ceive ? 

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was 
great; and in such a case as mine a man may 
strain courtesy. 55 

Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as 
yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 

Rom. Meaning, to court'sy. 

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. 

Rom. A most courteous exposition. 60 

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. 

Rom. Pink for flower. 

Mer. Right. 

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered. 

Mer. Sure wit; follow me this jest now till 
thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the 
single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain 
after the wearing sole singular. 68 

Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for 
the singleness ! 

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits 
faint. 



56 



ACT II. SC. 



IV.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



21 



Eom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or 
I'll cry a match. 74 

Mer. Na}^, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, 
I am done, for thou hast more of the wild- 
goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I 
have in my whole five. Was I with you there 
for the goose? 

Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing 
when thou was not there for the goose. 80 

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. 

Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 

Mer, Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is 
a most sharp sauce. 84 

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet 
goose ? 

Mer. O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches 
from an inch narrow to an ell broad ! 

Rom. I stretch it out for that word 'broad;* 
which added to the goose, proves thee far and 
wide a broad goose. 91 

Mer. Why, is not this better now than groan- 
ing for love? now art thou sociable, now art 
thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by 
art as well as by nature; for this drivelling 
love is like a great natural, that runs lolling 
up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. 

Ben. Stop there, stop there. 98 

Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale 
against the hair. 

Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale 
large. 

Mer. O, thou art deceived; I would have made 
it short; for I was come to the whole depth 
of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the 
argument no longer. 106 

Enter Nurse and her man [Peter^. 

Rom. Here's goodly gear ! 

Mer. A sail, a sail ! 

Ben, Two, two; a shirt and a smock. 

Nurse. Peter ! no 

Peter. Anon ! 

Nurse. My fan, Peter. 

Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's 

the fairer face. 
Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. 115 

Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. 
Nurse. Is it good den? 
Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy 

hand of the dial is now upon the prick of 

noon. 
Nurse. Out upon you ! what a man are you ! 120 



Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made 
for himself to mar. 

Nurse. By my troth, it is well said; 'for him- 
self to mar,' quoth a' ? Gentlemen, can any 
of you tell me where I may find the young- 
Romeo? 125 

Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be 
older when you have found him than he was 
when you sought him; I am the youngest of 
that name, for fault of a worse. 

Nurse. You say well. 130 

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, 
i' faith; wisely, wisely. 

Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confi- 
dence with you. 

Ben. She will indite him to some supper. 135 

Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho ! 

Rom. What hast thou found? 

Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten 

pie, that is something stale and hoar ere - it 

be spent. 140 

f He walks hy them, and sings. 

'An old hare hoar. 

And an old hare hoar. 
Is very good meat in lent: 

But a hare that is hoar 

Is too much for a score, 145 

When it hoars ere it be spent.' 

Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll 
to dinner, thither. 

Rom. I will follow you. 

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, [sing- 
ing^ 'lady, lady, lady.' 151 
Exeunt Mercutio, \_and^ Benvolio. 

Nurse. Marry, farewell ! I pray you, sir, what 
saucy merchant was this, that was so full of 
his ropery? 

Ro7n. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear 
himself talk, and will speak more in a minute 
than he will stand to in a month. 157 

Nurse. And a' speak any thing against me, I'll 
take him down, and a' were lustier than he is, 
and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll 
find those that shall. Scurvy knave ! I am 
none of his flirt-gills ; I am none of his skains- 
mates. f She turns to Peter, her man. 
And thou must stand by too, and suffer every 
knave to use me at his pleasure? 164 

Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; 
if I had, my weapon should quickly have been 
out, I warrant you; I dare draw as soon as 



57 



22 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act II. SC. IV. 



another man^ if I see occasion' in a good quar- 
rel, and the law on my side. 169 

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that 
every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! 
Pray you, sir, a word; and as I told you, my 
young lady bade me inquire you out ; what she 
bade me say, I will keep to myself; but first 
let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a 
fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very 
gross kind of behaviour, as they say: for the 
gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you 
should deal double with her, truly it were an 
ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, 
and very weak dealing. 181 

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mis- 
tress. I protest unto thee — 

Nurse. Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her 
as much; Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful 
woman. 

Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost 
not mark me. 188 

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; 
which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. 

Rom. Bid her devise 

Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; 
And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell 
Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy 
plains. 

Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny. 195 

Rom. Go to; I say yo-u shall. 

Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be 
there. 

Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey 
wall. 
Within this hour my man shall be with thee, 
And bring thee cords made like a tackled 
stair ; 201 

Which to the high top-gallant of my joy 
Must be my Qonvoy in the secret night. 
Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains: 
Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. 205 

Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark 
you, sir. 

Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse? 

Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er 
hear say, 
Two may keep counsel, putting one away? 

Rom. Warrant thee, my man's as true as steel. 

Nurse. Well, sir ; my mistress is the sweetest 
lady — Lord, Lord ! when 'twas a little prating 
thing: — O, there is a nobleman in town, one 
Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but 



she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very 
toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and 
tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, 
I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as 
pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth 
not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a 
letter ? 220 

Rom. Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an 
R. 

Nurse. Ah, mocker ! that's the dog's name ; R 
is for the — No ; I know it begins with some 
other letter: — and she hath the prettiest sen- 
tentious of it, of you and rosemary, that it 
would do you good to hear it. 

Rom. Commend me to thy lady. 

Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. 

[Ea;it Romeo."] 
Peter ! 230 

Pet. Anon! 

Nurse. Before, and apace ! 

Ej:it Nurse and Peter. 



[Scene V. — Capulet's orchard.] 
Enter Juliet. 

Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the 

nurse; 
In half an hour she promis'd to return. 
Perchance she cannot meet him — that's not so ! 
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be 

thoughts. 
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's 

beams, 5 

Driving back shadows over louring hills : 
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw 

Love, 
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid 

wings. 
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
Of this day's journey, and from nine till 

twelve 10 

Is three long hours, yet she is not come. 
Had she affections and warm youthful blood. 
She would be as swift in motion as a ball; 
My words would bandy her to my sweet love. 
And his to me: 15 

But old folks, many feign as they were dead. 
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 
O God, she comes ! 



Enter Nurse [and Peter]. 



58 



ACT II. SC. v.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



23 



O honey nurse, what news? 

Hast thou met with him? Send thy man 

away. 

Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter.'] 

Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, — O Lord, why 

look'st thou sad? 21 

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; 

If good, thou shamest the music of sweet 

news 
By playing it to me with so sour a face. 
Nurse. I am a-weary, give me leave awhile; 25 
Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have 
I had! 
Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy 
news. 
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good 
nurse, speak. 
Nurse. Jesu, what haste? can j^ou not stay 
awhile ? 
Do you not see that I am out of breath? 30 
Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast 
breath 
To say to me, that thou art out of breath? 
The excuse that thou dost make in this de- 
lay 
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. 
Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; 35 
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance; 
Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? 
Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice ; 
you know not how to choose a man. Romeo ! 
no, not he; though his face be better than 
any man's, yet his leg excels all men's ; and 
for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though 
they be not to be talk'd on, yet they are past 
compare; he is not the flov/er of courtesy, 
but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. 
Go thy ways, wench ; serve God. What, have 
you dined at home? 46 

Jul. No, no: but all this did I know before. 
What says he of our marriage ? what of that ? 
Nurse. Lord, how my head aches ! what a head 
have 1 1 
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces, w 
My back o' t'other side, — O, my back, my 

back! 
Beshrew your heart for sending me about. 
To catch my death with jaunting up and 
down ! 
J^l. V faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. 
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says 
my love? 55 



Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentle- 
man, and a courteous, and a kind, and a hand- 
some, and, I warrant, a virtuous, — Where is 
your mother? 
Jul. Where is my mother ! why, she is with- 
in ; 60 
Where should she be? How oddly thou re- 

pliest ! 
'Your love says, like an honest gentleman. 
Where is your mother?' 
Nurse. O God's lady dear ! 

Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow; 
Is this the poultice for my aching bones ? 65 
Henceforward do your messages yourself. 
Jul. Here's such a coil ! come, what says Ro- 
meo? 
Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to- 
day? 
Jul. I have. 

Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' 

cell ; 70 

There stays a husband to make you a wife ; 

Now comes the wanton blood up in your 

cheeks. 
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. 
Hie you to church; I must another way. 
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love 75 
Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark ; 
I am the drudge and toil in your delight, 
But you shall bear the burden soon at night. 
Go; I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell. 
Jul. Hie to high fortune ! Honest nurse, fare- 
well. Exeunt. 80 

[Scene VI. — Friar Laurence's cell.] 
Enter Friar [Laurence] and Romeo. 

Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act. 
That after hours with sorrow chide us not! 

Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, 
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
That one short minute gives me in her sight ; 5 
Do thou but close oar hands with holy words. 
Then love-devouring death do what he dare ; 
It is enough I may but call her mine. 

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends 
And in their triumph die, like fire and pow- 
der, 10 
Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest 

honey 
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness. 



59 



24. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act II. SC. VI. 



And in the taste confounds the appetite. 
Therefore love moderately; long love doth 

so; 
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. is 

Enter Juliet , y somewhat fast, and embraceth 
Romeo. 

Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot 
^^'ill ne'er wear out the everlasting flint; 
A lover may bestride the gossamer 
That idles in the wanton summer air, 
And yet not fall; so light is vanity. 20 

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. 
Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us 

both. 
Jul. As much to him, else is his thanks too 

much. 
Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy 
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be 
more 25 

To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue 
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both 
Receive in either by this dear encounter. 
Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words. 
Brags of his substance, not of ornament. 31 
They are but beggars that can count their 

worth ; 
But my true love is grown to such excess 
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. 
Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make 
short work; 35 

For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone 
Till holy church incorporate tv/o in one. 

\^Exeunt.^ 



[ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — A public place.^ 

Enter Mercutio, Bewvolio, and men. 

Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: 

The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, 

And if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; 

For now, these hot days, is the mad blood 

stirring. 4 

Mer. Thou art like one of these fellows that 
when he enters the confines of a tavern claps 
mc his sword upon the table and says 'God 
send me no need of thee!' and by the opera- 
tion of the second cup draws him on the 
drawer, when indeed there is no need. m 



Ben. Am I like such a fellow? 

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in 
thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved 
to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. 

Ben. And what to.^ 15 

Mer. Nay, and there were two such, we should 
have none shortly, for one would kill the 
other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a 
man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in 
his beard, than thou hast; thou wilt quarrel 
with a man for cracking nuts, having no other 
reason but because thou hast hazel eyes ; what 
eye but such an eye would spy out such a 
quarrel.^ Thy head is as full of quarrels as 
an e.^g is full of meat, and yet thy head hath 
been beaten as addle as an ^gg for quarrelling ; 
thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing 
in the street, because he hath wakened thy 
dog that hath lain asleep in the sun; didst 
thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his 
new doublet before Easter.? with another, for 
tying his new shoes with old riband.? and yet 
thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! 33 

Ben. And I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, 
any man should buy the fee-simple of my life 
for an hour and a quarter. 

Mer. The fee-simple ? O simple ! 

Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others. 

Ben. By my head, here comes the Capulets. 

Mer. By my heel, I care not. 39 

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. 
Gentlemen, good den ; a word with one of you. 

Mer. And but one word with one of us? couple 
it with something; make it a word and a blow. 

Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, 
and you will give me occasion. 45 

Mer. Could you not take some occasion without 
giving ? 

Tyb. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo, — 

Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us min- 
strels? and thou make minstrels of us, look 
to hear nothing but discords ; here's my fiddle- 
stick; here's that shall make you dance. 
'Zounds, consort! 

Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men: 
Either withdraw unto some private place, 
Or reason coldly of your grievances, 55 

Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. 

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let 
them gaze; 
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. 



60 



ACT III. 



SC. I.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



25 



Enter Romeo. 

Tyh. Well, peace be with you, sir; here comes 

my man. 
Mer. But I'll be hang'd, sir, if he wear your 
livery. 60 

]\Iarry, go before to field, he'll be your fol- 
lower ; 
Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' 
Tijh. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford 

No better term than this, — thou art a villain. 
Rem. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love 



thee 



65 



Eoth much excuse the appertaining rage 
To such a greeting; villain am I none; 
Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me 
not. 

Tijh. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries 
That thou hast done me; therefore turn and 
draw. 70 

Rom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee, 

But love thee better than thou canst devise. 
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love ; 
And so, good Capulet, — which name I tender 
As dearly as my own, — ^be satisfied. 75 

Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission ! 
Alia stoccata carries it away. [Draws.^ 

Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? 

Tyh. What wouldst thou have with me? 

Mer. Good king of cats, nothing but one of your 
nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, 
and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat 
the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your 
sword out of his pilcher by the ears? make 
haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be 
out. 85 

Tyh. I am for you. [Drawing.'] 

Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 

Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight.'] 

Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weap- 
ons. 
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage ! 50 
Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath 
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets; 
Hold, Tybalt ! Good Mercutio ! 

f Tyhalt under Romeo's arm thrusts Mercutio, 
in and flies [with his men]. 



I 



am hurt, 
am sped. 



Mer. 

A plague o' both your houses ! 
Is he gone; and hath nothing? 
Ben, What, art thou hurt? 95 



Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis 
enough. 
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a sur- 
geon. [Ea;it Page.] 

Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. 

Mer, No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide 
as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve; 
ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find 
me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, 
for this world. A plague o' both your houses ! 
'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to 
scratch a man to death ! a braggart, a rogue, 
a villain, that fights by the book of arithme- 
tic ! Why the devil came you between us ? 
I was hurt under your arm. 

Rom. I thought all for the best. 

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, no 
Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your 

houses ! 
They have made worms' meat of me. I have 

it. 
And soundly too : your houses ! 

[Ej;eunt Mej-cutio and Benvolio.] 

Rom, This gentleman, the prince's near all}^. 
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt 115 
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd 
With Tybalt's slander, — Tybalt, that an hour 
Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, 
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate 
And in my temper soft'ned valour's steel ! 120 

Enter Benvolio. 

Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead ! 
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, 
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth, 

Rom. This day's black fate on mo days doth 
depend ; 
This but begins the woe others must end. 125 

Enter Tyhalt. 

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. 

Rom. Alive, in triumph ! and Mercutio slain ! 
Away to heaven, respective lenity, 
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now ! 
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, 130 
That late thou gavest me ; for Mercutio's soul 
Is but a little way above our heads. 
Staying for thine to keep him company; 
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. 

Tyh. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him 



here, 



61 



26 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act III. SC. I. 



Shalt with him hence. 
Rom. This shall determine that. 

They fight j Tybalt falls. 
Ben. Romeo, away, be gone! 

The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. 

Stand not amaz'd: the prince will doom thee 

death, 
If thou art taken! hence, be gone, away! 140 
Rom. O, I am fortune's fool ! 



Ben. 



Why dost thou stay.^ 
Exit Romeo. 



Enter Citizens. 

First Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd IMer- 
cutio ? 

Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? 
Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 
First Cit. Up, «ir, go with me ; 

I charge thee in the prince's name, obey. 145 

Enter Prince, old Montague, Capulet, their 
Wives, and All. 

Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray ? 

Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all 
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: 
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, 
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. 150 

La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin ! O my brother's 
child ! 
O prince ! O cousin ! husband ! O, the blood 

is spilt 
Of my dear kinsman ! Prince, as thou art 

true. 
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. 
O cousin, cousin ! 155 

Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? 

Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand 
did slay; 
Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink 
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal 
Your high displeasure; all this uttered 160 

With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly 

bow'd, 
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen 
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts 
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast. 
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, 165 
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats 
Cold death aside, and with the other sends 
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity 
Retorts it; Romeo he cries aloud. 



'Hold, friends ! friends, part !' and, swifter 

than his tongue, 170 

His agile arm beats down their fatal points. 
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose 

arm 
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life 
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; 
But by and by comes back to Romeo, 175 

Who had but newly entertain'd revenge. 
And to't they go like lightning, for, ere I 
Could draw to part them, was stout Tj^balt 

slain. 
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. 
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. 180 

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague; 
Affection makes him false ; he speaks not true ; 
Some twenty of them fought in this black 

strife. 
And all those twenty could but kill one life. 
I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must 

give ; 185 

Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. 
Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; 

Who now the price of his dear blood doth 

owe? 
Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's 

friend; 
His fault concludes but what the law should 

end, 190 

The life of Tybalt. 
Prin. And for that off'ence 

Immediately we do exile him hence: 
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding. 
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie 

a-bleeding ; 
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine 195 
That you shall all repent the loss of mine: 
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses ; 
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out 

abuses ; 
Therefore use none ; let Romeo hence in haste. 
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. 200 
Bear hence this body and attend our will; 
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. 

Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — Capulet's orchard.^ 
Enter Juliet. 

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
Towards Phoebus' lodging; such a waggoner 



62 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



27 



As Phaetlion would whip you to the west. 
And bring in cloudy night immediately. 
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing 

night, 5 

That runaways' eyes may wink, and Romeo 
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. 
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind. 
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, 
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, n 
And learn me how to lose a winning match, 
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods; 
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my 

cheeks. 
With thy black mantle; till strange love, 

grown bold, 15 

Think true love acted simple modesty. 
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in 

night; 
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night 
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. 
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd 

night, 20 

Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die. 
Take him and cut him out in little stars. 
And he will make the face of heaven so fine 
That all the world will be in love with night 
And pay no worship to the garish sun. 25 

O, I have bought the mansion of a love, 
But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold. 
Not yet enjoy'd; so tedious is this day 
As is the night before some festival 
To an impatient child that hath new robes 30 
And may not wear them. O, here comes my 

nurse. 

Enter Nurse, with cords. 

And she brings news; and every tongue that 

speaks 
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. 
Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou 

there? the cords 
That Romeo bid thee fetch? 
Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. 35 

[Throws them down.] 
Jul. Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring 

thy hands? 
Nurse. Ah, well-a-day ! he's dead, he's dead, 
he's dead ! 
We are undone, lady, we are undone ! 
Alack the day ! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's 
dead! 



Jul. Can heaven be so envious? 

Nurse. Romeo can, 40 

Though heaven cannot : O Romeo, Romeo ! 

Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! 
Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me 
thus ? 

This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. 

Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'ay,* 

And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more 46 

Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. 

I am not I, if there be such an I ; 

Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 
'ay.' 

If he be slain, say 'ay' ; or if not, no ; 50 

Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. 
Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine 
eyes, — 

God save the mark! — here on his manly 
breast; 

A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; 

Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, 55 

All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. 
Jul. O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break 
at once! 

To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty ! 

Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; 

And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier ! 60 
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had ! 

O courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! 

That ever I should live to see thee dead ! 
Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary? 

Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? 65 

My dearest cousin, and my dearer lord? 

Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general 
doom! 

For who is living, if those two are gone? 
Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; 

Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. 70 

Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's 

blood? 
Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day, it did! 
Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face ! 

Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? 

Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! 75 

Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish-ravening lamb ! 

Despised substance of divinest show ! 

Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, 

A damned saint, an honourable villain ! 

O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, 80 

When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend 

In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? 

Was ever book containing such vile matter 



63 



28 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act III. SC. II. 



So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell 

In such a gorgeous palace ! 
Nurse. There's no trust, 85 

No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd, 

All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. 

Ah, where's my man ? give me some aqua vitse : 

These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make 
me old. 

Shame come to Romeo! 
Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue 90 

For such a wish ! he was not born to shame ; 

Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; 

For 'tis a throne where honour m.ay be crown'd 

Sole monarch of the universal earth. 

O, what a beast was I to chide at him ! 95 

Nurse. Will you speak w^ell of him that kill'd 

your cousin? 
Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my hus- 
band ? 

Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth 
thy name, 

AVhen I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled 
it? 

But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my 
cousin ? 100 

That villain cousin would have kill'd my hus- 
band : 

Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; 

Your tributary drops belong to woe. 

Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 

My husband lives, that Tybalt would have 
slain ; 105 

And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my 
husband ; 

All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? 

Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's 
death. 

That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; 

But, O, it presses to my memory, no 

Like damned guilty deeds to sinner's minds; 

'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo — banished;' 

That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' 

Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's 
death 

Was woe enough, if it had ended there; 115 

Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship 

And needly will be rank'd with other griefs. 

Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's 
dead,' 

Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both. 

Which modern lamentation might have mov'd? 

But with a rearward following Tybalt's death. 



'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, 122 
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 
All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished !' 
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, 125 
In that word's death; no words can that woe 

sound. 
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? 
Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's 
corse; 
Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither. 
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears; mine 
shall be spent, 130 

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
Take up those cords; poor ropes, you are be- 

guil'd, 
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd; 
He made you for a highway to my bed; 
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. 135 

Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding- 
bed; 
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! 
Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo 
To comfort you; I wot well where he is. 
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night. 140 
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. 
Jul. O, find him ! give this ring to my true 
knight. 
And bid him come to take his last farewell. 

[Exeunt.'] 

[Scene III. — Friar Laurence^s cell.] 
Enter Friar [Laurence], and Romeo [after]. 

Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fear- 
ful man; 
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts. 
And thou art wedded to calamity. 

Enter Romeo. 

Rom. Father, what news? what is the Prince's 
doom? 
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand. 
That I yet know not? 
Fri. Too familiar 6 

Is my dear son with such sour company; 
I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom. 
Rom. What less than dooms-day is the Prince's 

doom? 
Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his 
lips, 10 



64j 



ACT III. SC. III.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



29 



Not body's death, but body's banishment, n 

Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, say death; 
For exile hath more terror in his look, 

' Much more than death; do not say banish- 
ment. 

Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished; 15 
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. 

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls. 
But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
Hence-banished is banish'd from the world. 
And world's exile is death; then 'banished,' 20 
Is death mis-term'd; calling death 'banished,' 
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe. 
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. 

Fri. O deadly sin ! O rude unthankfulness ! 
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind 
Prince, 25 

Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law. 
And turn'd that black word death to banish- 
ment; 
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. 

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy; heaven is 
here. 
Where Juliet lives ; and every cat and dog 30 
And little mouse, every unworthy thing. 
Live here in heaven and may look on her; 
But Romeo may not. More validity. 
More honourable state, more courtship lives 
In carrion-flies than Romeo; they may seize 35 
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand 
And steal immortal blessing from her lips. 
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty. 
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; 
But Romeo may not; he is banished! 40 

This may flies do, when I from this must fly: 
They are free men, but I am banished. 
And say'st thou yet that exile is not death? 
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground 

knife. 
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so 
mean, 45 

But 'banished' to kill me ? — 'banished' ! 
O friar, the damned use that word in hell ; 
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, 
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, 50 
To mangle me with that word 'banished'? 
^ri. Thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak. 
lom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. 
^ri. I'll give thee armour to keep ofl* that word; 
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, 5S 

To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 



Rom. Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy! 
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom. 
It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. 60 

Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. 

Rom. How should they, when that wise men 
have no eyes? 

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 

Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not 
feel; 
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 65 
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered. 
Doting like me and like me banished. 
Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou 

tear thy hair. 
And fall upon the ground, as I do now. 
Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 70 

Enter Nurse [within^, and knocks. 

Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thv- 

self. 
Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick 
groans. 
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. 

Knocks. 

Fri. Hark, how they knock! Who's there? 

Romeo, arise; 

Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand 

up ; Knocks. 75 

Run to my study. By and by ! God's will. 

What simpleness is this! I come, I come! 

Knocks. 
Who knocks so hard? whence come you? 
what's your will? 
Nurse. [Within.'\ Let me come in, and you shall 
know my errand ; 
I come from Lady Juliet. 
Fri. Welcome, then. 80 

Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar. 
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo ? 

Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears 
made drunk. 

Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case. 

Just in her case ! O wof ul sympathy ! 85 

Piteous predicament ! Even so lies she, 
Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blub- 
bering. 
Stand up, stand up ; stand, and you be a man ; 
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; 



65 



so 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act III. SC. III. 



Why should you fall into so deep an O? 90 
Rom. Nurse! 
Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end 

of all. 
Rom. Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with 
her? 
Doth she not think me an old murderer, 
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy 95 
With blood remov'd but little from her own? 
Where is she? and how doth she? and what 

says 
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love ? 
Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and 
weeps ; 
And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, 
And Tybalt calls ; and then on Romeo cries, loi 
And then down falls again. 
Rom. As if that name. 

Shot from the deadly level of a gun. 
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand 
Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell 
me, 105 

In what vile part of this anatomy 
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack 
The hateful mansion. 

f He offers to stah himself, and [f/ie] 
Nurse snatches the dagger away. 
ipri. Hold thy desperate hand: 

Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art; 
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts de- 
note "0 
The unreasonable fury of a beast;. 
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man! 
And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both ! 
Thou hast amaz'd me; by my holy order, 
I thought thy disposition better temper'd. 115 
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thy- 
self? 
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee. 
By doing damned hate upon thyself? 
Why rail'st th'ou on thy birth, the heaven, and 

. earth ? 
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three 
do meet ^^o 

In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst 

lose. 
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy 
wit ; ^25 

Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all. 
And usest none in that true use indeed 
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy 
wit; 



Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, 
Digressing from the valour of a man; 
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury. 
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to 

cherish ; 
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, 130 
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both, 
Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask, 
Is set a-fire by thine own ignorance. 
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. 
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, 135 
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately 

dead; 
There art thou happy ; Tybalt would kill thee. 
But thou slew'st Tybalt ; there art thou happy 

too; 
The law that threaten'd death becomes thy 

friend 
And turns it to exile ; there art thou happy. 140 
A pack of blessings lights upon thy back; 
Happiness courts thee in her best array; 
But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench. 
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love; 
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 146 
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her; 
But look thou stay not till the watch be set. 
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; 
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time 
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your 
friends, 151 

Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back 
With twenty hundred thousand times more 

joy 
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. 
Go before, nurse ; commend me to thy lady ; 15s 
And bid her hasten all the house to bed. 
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto; 
Romeo is coming. 
Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the 
night 
To hear good counsel : O, what learning is ! 160 
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. 
Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 
Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, 
sir; 
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. 

[Ea:it.] 

Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! 

Fri. L. Go hence; good night; and here stands 

all your state; 166 

Either be gone before the watch be set. 



66 



ACT III. SC. III.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



31 



Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence; 
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man. 
And he shall signify from time to time 170 
Every good hap to you that chances here; 
Give me thy hand; 'tis late; farewell; good 
night. 
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, 
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee; 
Farewell. Exeunt. 175 



[Scene IV. — A room in Capulet's house.'] 

Enter old Capulet, his wife, and Paris. 

Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, 
That we have had no time to move our daugh- 
ter: 
Look you, she loved lier kinsman Tybalt 

dearly. 
And so did I: — Well, we were born to die. 
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night; 
I promise you, but for your company, 6 

I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 
Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo. 
Madam, good night; commend me to your 
daughter. 
La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to- 
morrow ; 10 
To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. 
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender 
Of my child's love; I think she will be rul'd 
In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it 

not. 
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; 15 

Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; 
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday 

next — 
But, soft ! what day is this ? 
Par. Monday, my lord. 

Cap. Monday ! ha, ha ! Well, Wednesday is too 
soon, 
O' Thursday let it be ; o' Thursday, tell her, 20 
She shall be married to this noble earl. 
Will you be ready? do you like this haste? 
We'll keep no great ado, — a friend or two; 
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, 
It may be thought we held him carelessly, 25 
Being our kinsman, if we revel much; 
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen 

friends. 
And there an end. But what say you to 
Thursday ? 



Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to- 
morrow. 

Cap. Well, get you gone; o' Thursday be it, 
then. 30 

Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed. 
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. 
Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho ! 
Afore me ! it is so very very late, 
That we may call it early by and by. 
Good night. [Exeunt.] 35 

[Scene V. — Capulefs orchard.] 
Enter Romeb and Juliet aloft. 

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark. 
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree; 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 5 

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn. 
No nightingale; look, love, what envious 

streaks 
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east; 
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. 10 
I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: 
It is some meteor that the sun exhales. 
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, 
And light thee on thy way to Mantua; 15 

Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be 
gone. 

Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put 'to death; 
I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; 20 
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads; 
I have more care to stay than will to go; 
Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. 
How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. 25 

Jul. It is, it is ; hie hence, be gone, away ! 
It is the lark that sings so out of tune. 
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing 

sharps. 
Some say the lark makes sweet division; 
This doth not so, for she divideth us ; 30 

Some say the lark and loathed toad change 

eyes; 
O, now I would they had chang'd voices too ! 
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray^ 



67 



32 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act III. SC. V. 



Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the 

day. 
O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. 
Rom. More light and light; more dark and dark 
our woes ! 36 

Enter Nurse, ^hastily \_to the chamber within']. 

Nurse. Madam! 
Jul. Nurse .^ 

Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your 
chamber : 

The day is broke; be wary, look about. 40 

^She goeth down from' the window. 
Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. 
Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll de- 
scend. \He goeth down. 
Jul. Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, 
friend ! 

I must hear from thee every day in the hour. 

For in a minute there are many days: 45 

O, by this count I shall be much in years 

Ere I again behold my Romeo ! 
Rom. Farewell! 

I will omit no opportunity 

That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 

Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again? 

Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall 

serve 52 

For sweet discourses in our time to come. 
Jul. O God, I have an ill-divining soul! 

Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, 55 

As one dead in the bottom of a tomb; 

Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. 
Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: 

Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! 

Exit. 
Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: 

If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 61 

That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, for- 
tune; 

For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, 

But send him back. 

Enter Mother, [Lady Capulet below]. 

La. Cap. Ho, daughter ! are you up ? 

Jul. Who is't that calls ? is it my lady mother ? 65 

Is she not down so late, or up so early? 

What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither ? 

[She goes down.] 
La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet! 



Jul. 



Madam, I am not well. 



La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's 

death ? 70 

What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with 

tears ? 
And if thou couldst, thou couldst not make 

him live; 
Therefore, have done; some grief shows much 

of love; 
But much of grief shows still some want of 
wit. 
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. 75 
La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the 
friend 
Which you weep for. 
Jul. Feeling so the loss, 

I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. 
La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much 
for his death. 
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd 
him. 80 

Jul. What villain, madam? 

La. Cap. That same villain, Romeo. 

Jul. [Aside.] Villain and he be many miles 
asunder. — 
God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; 
And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. 
La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer 
lives. 85 

Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my 
hands ; 
Would none but I might venge my cousin's 
death ! 
La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear 
thou not; 
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Man- 
tua, 
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live. 
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, 91 
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company; 
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. 
Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied 

With Romeo, till I behold him — dead — 95 
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd; 
Madam, if you could find out but a man 
To bear a poison, I would temper it. 
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, 
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors 
To hear him nam'd, and cannot come to him, 
To wreak the love I bore my cousin [Tybalt] 
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him ! 103 
La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such 
a man. 



68 



ACT III. SC. v.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. 105 

Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy time: 
What are they, I beseech your ladyship? 

La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, 
child; 
One who, to put thee from thy heaviness. 
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, no 

That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for. 

Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that? 

La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thurs- 
day morn. 
The gallant, young and noble gentleman, 
The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, 115 
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. 

Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter 
too. 
He shall not make me there a joyful bride. 
I wonder at this haste ; that I must wed 
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. 
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, 
I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I 
swear, 122 

It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate. 
Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! 

La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him so 
yourself, 125 

And see how he will take it at your hands. 

Enter Capulet and Nurse. 

Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle 

dew; 
But for the sunset of my brother's son 
It rains downright. 
How now ! a conduit, girl ? what, still in 

tears ? 130 

Evermore show'ring? In one little body 
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; 
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea. 
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy 

body is. 
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; 
Who, raging with thy tears, and they with 

them, 136 

Without a sudden calm, will overset 
Thy tempest-tosse'd body. How now, wife ! 
Have you deliver'd to her our decree? 
La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives 

you thanks. 140 

I would the fool were married to her grave ! 

Cap. Soft ! take me with you, take me with you, 

wife. 



How ! will she none ? doth she not give us 

thanks ? 
Is she not proud? doth she not count her 

blest. 
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought 145 
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? 
Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that 
you have: 
Proud can I never be of what I hate; 
But thankful even for hate, that is meant 
love. 
Cap. How now, how now, chop-logic! What is 
this ? 150 

'Proud,' and T thank you,' and 'I thank you 

not;' 
And yet 'not proud:' mistress minion, you. 
Thank me no thankings, nor proiid me no 

prouds. 
But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday 

next. 
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, 155 
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 
Out, you green-sickness carrion ! out, you bag- 
gage ! 
You tallow-face 1 
La. Cap. Fie, fie! what, are you mad? 

Jul, Good father, I beseech you on my knees, 

Hear me with patience but to speak a word. 160 
Cap. Hang thee, young baggage ! disobedient 
wretch ! 
I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thurs- 
day, 
Or never after look me in the face. 
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; 
My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us 
blest 165 

That God had lent us but this only child; 
But now I see this one is one too much. 
And that we have a curse in having her ; 
Out on her, hilding ! 
Nurse. God in heaven bless her ! 

You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 170 
Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your 
tongue. 
Good prudence ; smatter with your gossips, go. 
Nurse. I speak no treason. 

Cap. O, God ye god-den. 

Nurse. May not one speak? 

Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool ! 

Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; 175 

For here we need it not. 
La. Cap. You are too hot. 



69 



34> 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act III. SC. V. 



Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad; 

Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play. 
Alone, in company, still my care hath been 
To have her match'd; and having now pro- 
vided i8o 
A gentleman of noble parentage, 
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, 
StufF'd, as they say, with honourable parts, 
Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a 

man; 
And then to have a wretched puling fool, 185 
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender. 
To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love, 
I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' 
But, and you will not wed, I'll pardon 

you; 
Graze where you will, you shall not house 
with me: 190 

Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. 
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise; 
And you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; 
And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the 

streets. 
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee. 
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: 196 
Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. 

Ea;it. 
Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds. 
That sees into the bottom of my grief .^ 
O, sweet my mother, cast me not away ! 200 
Delay this marriage for a month, a week; 
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed 
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 
La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a 
word: 
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. 205 

Ea^it. 
Jul. O God ! — O nurse, how shall this be pre- 
vented ? 
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; 
How shall that faith return again to earth. 
Unless that husband send it me from heaven 
By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. 210 
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise 

stratagems 
Upon so soft a subject as myself! 
What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of 

joy? 

Some comfort, nurse. 
Nurse. Faith, here it is. 

Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to noth- 
ing, 215 



That he dares ne'er come back to challenge 

you; 
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
I think it best you married with the County. 
O, he's a lovely gentleman! 220 

Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam. 
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye 
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, 
I think you are happy in this second match. 
For it excels your first: or if it did not, 225 
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were. 
As living here, and you no use of him. 

Jul. Speakest thou from thj^ heart? 

Nurse. And from my soul too; 

Or else beshrew them both. 

Jul. Amen ! 

Nurse. What? 

Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marv'lous 
much. 230 

Go in; and tell my lady I am gone. 
Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' 

cell. 
To make confession and to be absolv'd. 

Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. 
[Exit.] f Juliet looks after Nurse. 

Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! 
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, 236 
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue 
Which she hath prais'd him with above com- 
pare 
So many thousand times? Go, counsellor; 
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. 
I'll to the friar, to know his remedy; 241 

If all else fail, myself have power to die. 

[E;rit.] 

[ACT FOURTH 

Scene I. — Friar Laurence's cell.] 

Enter Friar [Laurence] and County Paris. 



Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. 
Par. My father Capulet will have it so; 

And I am nothing slow to «lack his haste. 
Fri. You say you do not know the lady's mind: 

Uneven is the course, I like it not, 5 

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's 
death. 

And therefore have I little talk'd of love; 

For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 
70 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



S3 



Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous 
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway. 
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, n 
To stop the inundation of her tears; 
Which, too much minded by herself alone. 
May be put from her by society; 
Now do you know the reason of this haste. 15 
Fri. [Aside.] I would I knew not why it should 

be slow'd. 
Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my 

cell. 

Enter Juliet. 

Par. Happily met, my lady and my wife ! 
Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. 
Par. That may be must be, love, on Thursday 
next. 20 

Jul. What must be shall be. 

Fri. That's a certain text. 

Par. Come you to make confession to this 

father ? 
Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you. 
Par. Do not deny to him that you love me. 
Jul. I will confess to you that I love him. 25 
Par. So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. 
Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price. 

Being spoke behind your back, than to your 
face. 
Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with 

tears. 
Jul. The tears have got small victory by that; 30 

For it was bad enough before their spite. 
Par, Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with 

that report. 
Jul. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; 

And what I spake, I spake it to my face. 
Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slan- 
der'd it. 35 

Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own. 
Are you at leisure, holy father, now; 
Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? 
Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, 
now. 
My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 40 
Par. God shield I should disturb devotion ! 
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: 
Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. 

Exit Paris. 

Jul. O, shut the door ! and when thou hast done 

so. 

Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, 

past help! 45 



Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; 
It strains me past the compass of my wits ; 
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue 

it. 
On Thursday next be married to this County. 

Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this. 
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it; 51 
If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help. 
Do thou but call my resolution wise. 
And with this knife I'll help it presently. 
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our 
hands ; 55 

• And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd. 
Shall be the label to another deed. 
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
Turn to another, this shall slay them both; 
Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time, 60 
Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 
Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that 
Which the commission of thy years and art 
Could to no issue of true honour bring. 65 

Be not so long to speak; I long to die. 
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. 

Fri. Hold, daughter : I do spy a kind of hope. 
Which craves as desperate an execution 
As that is desperate which we would prevent. 
If, rather than to marry County Paris,. 71 

Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself. 
Then is it likely thou wilt undertake 
A thing like death to chide away this shame. 
That cop'st with death himself to scape from 
it ; 75 

And if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy. 

Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
From off the battlements of yonder tower ; 
Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk 
Where serpents are; chain me with roaring 
bears ; 80 

Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling 

bones. 
With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls', 
Or bid me go into a new-made grave 
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ; 85 
Things that, to hear them told, have made me 

tremble ; 
And I will do it without fear or doubt. 
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 

Fri. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give con- 
sent 
To marry Paris. Wednesday is to-morrow: 90 



71 



36 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act IV. SC. I. 



To-morrow night look that thou lie alone; 
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy cham- 
ber; 
Take thou this vial, being then in bed. 
And this distilled liquor drink thou off; 
When presently through all thy veins shall 
run 95 

A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse 
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease; 
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou 

livest; 
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, loo 
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; 
Each part, depriv'd of supple government. 
Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like 

death ; 
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, 105 
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 
Now, when the bridegroom in the morning 

comes 
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou 

dead; 
Then, as the manner of our country is, 
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier no 
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault 
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake. 
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift. 
And hither shall he come; and he and I 115 
Will watch thy waking, and that very night 
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
And this shall free thee from this present 

shame. 
If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear. 
Abate thy valour in the acting it. 120 

Jul. Give me, give me ! O, tell not me of fear ! 
Fri. Hold, get you gone, be strong and pros- 
perous 
In this resolve; I'll send a friar with speed 
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 
Jul. Love give me strength ! and strength shall 
help afford. 125 



Farewell, dear father ! 



Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — Hall in Capulet's house.] 

Enter Father Capulet, Mother, Nurse, and Serv- 
ingmen, two or three. 

Cap, So many guests invite as here are writ. 

[Exit Servant."] 



Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 
2. Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try 

if they can lick their fingers. 
Cap. How canst thou try them so.^ 5 

2. Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot 

lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot 

lick his fingers goes not with me. 
Cap. Go, be gone. [Exit 2. Servant.] 

We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. 10 

What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence } 
Nurse. Ay, forsooth. 

Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on 
her: ^ 

A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. ' 

Enter Juliet. \ 

1 
Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with \ 

merry look. 15 

Cap. How now, my headstrong ! where have you 

been gadding.? 
Jul. Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin 
Of disobedient opposition 
To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd 
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, 20 
And beg your pardon : pardon, I beseech you ! 

f She kneels down. 
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you. 
Cap. Send for the County; go tell him of this; 
I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morn- 
ing. 
Jul. 1 met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; 25 
And gave him what becomed love I might, J 
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. ^ 

Cap. Why, I am glad on't ; this is well ! Stand 
up; 
This is as 't should be. Let me see the 

County ; 
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. 30 
Now, afore God ! this reverend holy friar. 
All our whole city is much bound to him. 
Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet. 
To help me sort such needful ornaments 
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? 35 
La. Cap. No, not till Thursday; there is time 

enough. 
Cap. Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to- 
morrow. Exeunt Juliet and Nurse. 
La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision; 

'Tis now near night. 
Cap. Tush, I will stir about. 

And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, 
wife ; 40 



72 



ACT IV. SC. 



II.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



37 



Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; 

I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone; 

I'll play the housewife for this once. What, 

ho! 
They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself 
To County Paris, to prepare him up 45 

Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous 

light. 
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. 
Exeunt Father and Mother. 



[Scene III. — Juliet's chamber.'^ 

Enter Juliet and Nurse. 

Jul, Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle 
nurse, 
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night; 
For I have need of many orisons 
To move the heavens to smile upon my state, 
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full 
of sin. S 

Enter Mother. 

La. Cap. What, are you busy, ho? need you my 

help.?^ 
Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such neces- 
saries 
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow; 
So please you, let me now be left alone. 
And let the nurse this night sit up with you ; 10 
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all. 
In this so sudden business. 
La. Cap. Good night: 

Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. 

Exeunt. 
Jul. Farewell ! God knows when we shall meet 
again. 
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my 

veins. 
That almost freezes up the heat of life. 
I'll call them back again to comfort me: 
Nurse! What should she do here? 
My dismal scene I needs must act alone. 
Come, vial. 20 

What if this mixture do not work at all? 
Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? 
No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there. 

[Laying down her dagger.^ 
What if it be a poison, which the friar 
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, 25 



Lest in this marriage he should be dishon- 

our'd. 
Because he married me before to Romeo? 
I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not. 
For he hath still been tried a holy man. 
How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 30 

I wake before the time that Romeo 
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! 
Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault. 
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air 

breathes in. 
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes ? 
Or, if I live, is it not very like, 36 

The horrible conceit of death and night. 
Together with the terror of the place, — 
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle. 
Where, for these many hundred years, the 

bones 40 

Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd; 
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth. 
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they 

say. 
At some hours in the night spirits resort; — 
Alack, alack, is it not like that I, 45 

So early waking, what with loathsome smells. 
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the 

earth. 
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad — 
O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught. 
Environed with all these hideous fears? 50 
And madly play with my forefathers' joints. 
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his 

shroud. 
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's 

bone. 
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains ? 
O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost 55 
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body 
Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay! 
Romeo, I come ! this do I drink to thee. 
\She falls upon her bed, within the curtains, 

[Scene IV. — Hall in Capulefs house. ] 
Enter Lady of the house and Nurse.. 

La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more 

spices, nurse. 
Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the 

pastry. 



Enter old Capulet. 



73 



38 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



Cap. Come^ stir^ stir, stir! the second cock hath 
crow'd, 
The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: 
Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica: 5 
Spare not for cost. 
Nurse. Go, you cot-quean, go. 

Get you to bed; faith, you'll be sick to-mor- 
row 
For this night's watching. 
Cap. No, not a whit : what ! I have watch'd ere 
now 
All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 
La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in 
your time; n 

But I w411 watch you from such watching 
now. Exeunt Lady and Nurse. 

Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood! 

Enter three or four with spits, logs, and baskets. 

Now, fellow. 
What's there? 
First Serv. Things for the cook, sir; but I know 

not what. 
Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Ej;it First 
Serv.] Sirrah, fetch drier logs: 15 

Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. 
Sec. Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out 
logs. 
And never trouble Peter for the matter. 

[Eojit.] 

Cap. Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, 

ha! 

Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis 

day : 20 

Play music [^within] . 

The County will be here with music straight, 

For so he said he would; I hear him near. 

Nurse ! Wife ! What, ho ! What, nurse, I say ! 

Enter Nurse. 

Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up; 
I'll go and chat with Paris; hie! make hast&, 25 
Make haste; the bridegroom he is come al- 
ready ; 
Make haste, I say! [Ejceunt.] 

[Scene V. — Juliet's chamber.] 

■ f Nurse goes to curtains. 

Nurse. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, 
I warrant her, she : 



Why, lamb ! why, lady ! fie, you slug-a-bed ! 

Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, 
bride ! 

What, not a word } you take your pennyworths 
now; 

Sleep for a week; for the next night, I war- 
rant, 5 

The County Paris hath set up his rest. 

That you shall rest but little. God forgive 
me. 

Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! 

I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, 
madam ! 

Ay, let the County take you in your bed; 10 

He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be.^ 
[Undraws the curtains.] 

What, dress'd ! and in your clothes ! and down 
again ! 

I must needs wake you : Lady ! lady ! lady ! 

Alas, alas ! Help, help ! My lady's dead ! 

O, well-a-day, that ever I was born! 15 

Some aqua vitae, ho ! My lord ! My lady ! 

Filter Mother, 

La. Cap. What noise is here? 

Nurse. O lamentable day ! 

La. Cap. What is the matter? 

Nurse. Look, look ! O heavy day ! 

La. Cap. O me, O me ! My child, my only life. 

Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! 20 

Help, help ! Call help. 

Enter Father. 

Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is 

come. 
Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead; alack 

the day ! 
La. Cap. Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, 

she's dead ! 
Cap. Ha ! let me see her; out, alas ! she's cold ; 25 
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; 
Life and these lips have long been separated; 
Death lies on her like an untimely frost 
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 
Nurse. O lamentable day ! 

La. Cap. O woful time ! 30 

Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make 
me wail. 
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 

Enter Friar ^Laurence] and the County Paris, 
[tvith Musicians]. 



74. 



ACT IV. SC. v.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



F?'i. Come, is the bride ready to go to church? 

Cap. Ready to go, but never to return. 

O son ! the night before thy wedding-day 35 
Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she 

lies. 
Flower as she was, deflowered by him. 
Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir; 
My daughter he hath wedded: I will die. 
And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's. 

Pa7\ Have I thought long to see this morning's 
face, 41 

And doth it give me such a sight as this? 

La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful 
day! 
Most miserable hour that e'er time saw 
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage ! 45 

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child. 
But one thing to rejoice and solace in. 
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight ! 

Nurse, O woe ! O woful, woful, woful day ! 
Most lamentable day, most woful day, 50 

That ever, ever, I did yet behold! 
O day ! O day ! O day ! O hateful day ! 
Never was seen so black a day as this; 
O woful day, O woful day! 

Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! 
j\Iost detestable death, by thee beguil'd, 56 

By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! 
O love ! O life ! not life, but love in death ! 

Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, 
kill'd! 
Uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now 60 
To murder, murder our solemnity? 
O child ! O child ! my soul, and not my child ! 
Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead; 
And with my child my joys are buried. 

Fri. Peace, ho, for shame ! confusion's cure lives 
not 65 

In these confusions. Heaven and yourself 
Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath 

all. 
And all the better is it for the maid: 
Your part in her you could not keep from 

death. 
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 70 
The most you sought was her promotion; 
For 'twas your heaven she should be advanc'd : 
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd 
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 
O, in this love, you love your child so ill, 75 
That you run mad, seeing that she is well; 
She's not well married that lives married long ; 



But she's best married that dies married 

young. 
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, 80 
In all her best array bear her to church: 
For though fond nature bids us all lament. 
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 

Cap. All things that we ordained festival. 
Turn from their office to black funeral; 85 
Our instruments to melancholy bells. 
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast. 
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change. 
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse. 
And all things change them to the contrary. 90 

Fri. Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; 
And go. Sir Paris; every one prepare 
To follow this fair corse unto her grave; 
The heavens do lour upon you for some ill; 
Move them no more by crossing their high 
will. 95 

Exeunt [^Capulet, JLady Capulet, Paris, and 
Friar'], ^casting rosemary on her, and 
shutting the curtains. 

First Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes, and 
be gone. 

Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up ; 
For well you know, this is a pitiful case. 

[Exit.'] 

First Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be 
amended. loi 

Enter Peter, 

Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease. 
Heart's ease:' O, and you will have me live, 
play 'Heart's ease.' 

First Mus. Why 'Heart's ease'? 105 

Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 
'My heart is full of woe:' O, play me some 
merry dump, to comfort me. 

First Mus. Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play 
now. no 

Pet. You will not, then? 

First Mus. No. 

Pet. I will then give it you soundly. 

First Mus. What will you give us? 

Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek; I 
will give you the minstrel. 116 

First Mus. Then will I give you the serving- 
creature. 

Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dag- 
ger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: 



75 



40 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act IV. SC. V. 



I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? 121 

First Mus. And you re us and fa us, you note us. 

Sec. Mus. Pray jj-ou, put up your dagger, and 
put out your wit. 

Pet. Then have at you with my wit! I will dry- 
beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron 
dagger. Answer me like men: 
'When griping grief the heart doth wound, 

And doleful dumps the mind oppress, 
Then music with her silver sound' — 130 

why 'silver sound' ? whj^ 'music with her silver 
sound' .^ What say you, Simon Catling? 

First Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a 
sweet sound. 

Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? 135 

Sec. Mus. I say 'silver sound,' because musi- 
cians sound for silver. 

Pet. Pretty too ! What say you, James Sound- 
post ? 

Third Mus. Faith, I know not what to say. 140 

Pet. O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I 
will say for you. It is 'music with her silver 
sound,' because musicians have no gold for 
sounding: 

'Then music with her silver sound 145 

With speedy help doth lend redress.' Exit. 

First Mus. What a pestilent knave is this 
same ! 

Sec. Mus. Hang him. Jack! Come, we'll in 
here ; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. 

Eaieunt. 

[ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — Mantua. A street.l 

Enter Romeo. 

Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of 

sleep. 
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. 
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; 
And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit 
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful 

thoughts. 5 

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead — 
Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave 

to think ! — 
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, 
That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. 
Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possess'd, 10 
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! 



Enter Romeo's man \Balthasar, hooted. 

News from Verona ! — How now, Balthasar ! 
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? 
How doth my lady? Is my father well? 
How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; 15 
For nothing can be ill, if she be well. 

Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill; 
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument. 
And her immortal part with angels lives. 
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, 20 
And presently took post to tell it you; 
O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, 
Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 

Rom. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! 
Thou know'st my lodging; get me ink and 
paper, 25 

And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. 

Bal. I do beseech you, sir, have patience: 

Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
Some misadventure. 

Rom. Tush, thou art deceived: 

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. 30 
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar ? 

Bal. No, my good lord. 

Rom. No matter: get thee gone. 

And hire those horses; I'll be with thee 
straight. 

[Exit Balthasar.^ 
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. 
Let's see for means; O mischief, thou art 
swift 35 

To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! 
I do remember an apothecary, — 
And hereabouts he dwells, — which late I 

noted 
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows. 
Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, 40 
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones; 
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung. 
An alligator stufF'd, and other skins 
Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves 
A beggarly account of empty boxes, 45 

Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds. 
Remnants of packthread and old cakes of 

roses. 
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. 
Noting this penury, to myself I said 
'And if a man did need a poison now, 50 

Whose sale is present death in Mantua, 
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' 
O, this same thought did but forerun my need; 



76 



ACT 



V. SC. I.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



41 



And this same needy man must sell it me. 
As I remember, this should be the house. 55 
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. 
What, ho! apothecary! 



Enter Apothecary. 



Ap. 



Who calls so loud? 



Rom. Come hither, man. I see that thou art 
poor: 
Hold, there is forty ducats; let me have 
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear 60 
As will disperse itself through all the veins 
That the life-weary taker may fall dead 
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of 

breath 
As violently as hasty powder fired 
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 65 
Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's 
law 
Is death to any he that utters them. 
Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretched- 
ness. 
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks. 
Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, 70 
Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; 
The world is not thy friend nor the world's 

law; 
The world affords no law to make thee rich; 
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. 
A p. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 75 
Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 
Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will. 

And drink it off; and if you had the strength 
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. 
Rom. There is thy gold, worse poison to men's 
souls, 80 

Doing more murders in this loathsome world. 
Than these poor compounds that thou mayst 

not sell. 
I sell thee poison ; thou hast sold me none. 
Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. 
Come, cordial and not poison, go with me 85 
To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. 

Ejjeunt. 



[Scene II. — Friar Laurence's cell.] 
Enter Friar John to Friar Laurence. 
Fri. J. Holy Franciscan friar ! brother, ho ! 
Enter Friar Laurence. 



Fri. L, This same should be the voice of Friar 
John. 
Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? 
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. 

Fri. J. Going to find a bare-foot brother out, 5 
One of our order, to associate me. 
Here in this city visiting the sick. 
And finding him, the searchers of the town. 
Suspecting that we both were in a house 
Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 10 
Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us 

forth ; 
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. 

Fri. L. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? 

Fri. J. I could not send it, — here it is again, — 
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, 15 

So fearful were they of infection. 

Fri. L. Unhappy fortune ! by my brotherhood. 
The letter was not nice, but full of charge 
Of dear import, and the neglecting it 
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; 
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight 21 
Unto my cell. 

Fri. J, Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. 

Ea;it. 

Fri. L. Now must I to the monument alone; 
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake: 
She will beshrew me much that Romeo 25 

Hath had no notice of these accidents; 
But I will write again to Mantua, 
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; 
Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's 
tomb ! 

Ea;it. 



[Scene III. — A churchyard; in it a tomb be- 
longing to the Capulets.'j 

Enter Paris, and his Page f with flowers and 
sweet water. 

Par. Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand 
aloof. 
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. 
Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, 
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; 
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, 5 
Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves. 
But thou shalt hear it; whistle then to me, 
As signal that thou hear'st something ap- 
proach. 



77 



42 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act v. SC. III. 



Give 
go- 



me those flowers. Do as I bid tliee^, 



Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone lo 

Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. 

[Retires.'] 
■j" Paris strervs the tomb with flowers. 
Par. Sweet flowxr^ with flowers thy bridal bed 
I strew^ — 
O woe ! thy canopy is dust and stones ; — 
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew^, 
Or^ wanting that, with tears distill'd by 
moans : 15 

The obsequies that I for thee will keep 
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. 
f The Boy whistles and calls. 
The boy gives warning something doth ap- 

jDroach. 
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night^, 
To cross my obsequies and true love's rite ? 20 
What, with a torch ! Muffle me, night, awhile. 

[Retires.] 

f Enter Romeo and Balthasar, with a torch, a 
mattock, and a crow of iron. 

Rom. Give me that mattock and the wrenching 
iron. 
Hold, take this letter; early in the morn- 
^ ing 

See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge 
thee, 25 

Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof. 
And do not interrupt me in my course. 
Why I descend into this bed of death. 
Is partly to behold my lady's face; 
But chiefly to take thence from her dead fin- 
ger 30 
A precious ring, a ring that I must use 
In dear employment; therefore hence, be 

gone ! 
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
In what I further shall intend to do. 
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint 35 
And strew this hungry churchyard with thy 

limbs. 
The time and my intents are savage-wild. 
More fierce and more inexorable far 
Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. 
Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 40 
Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. Take 
thou that: 

78 



Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good 
fellow. 
Bal. [Aside.] For all this same, I'll hide me 
hereabout : 
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. 

[Retires.] 

Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of 

death, 45 

Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth. 

Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open. 

And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more 

food! 

I Romeo opens the tomb. 
Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague, 
That murder'd my love's cousin, with which 
grief, so 

It is supposed, the fair creature died; 
And here is come to do some villanous shame 
To the dead bodies; I will apprehend him. 

[Comes forward.] 
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ! 
Can vengeance be pursued further than death ? 
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: 56 
Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. 
Rom. I must indeed; and therefore came I 
hither. 
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate 

man; 
Fly hence, and leave me : think upon these 
gone ; 60 

Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, 
Put not another sin upon *my head. 
By urging me to fury : O, be gone ! 
By heaven, I love thee better than myself; 
For I come hither arm'd against myself. 65 
Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, 
A madman's mercy bade thee run away. 
Par. I do defy thy conjurations. 

And apprehend thee for a felon here. 
Rom. Wilt thou provoke me.^^ then have at thee, 
boy! t They fight. 70 

Page. O Lord, they fight! I will go call the 
watch, ' [Exit.] 

Par. O, I am slain! [Falls.] If thou be mer- 
ciful. 
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies.] 
Rom. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. 



Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris ! 75 
What said my man, when my betossed soul 
Did not attend him as we rode.^ I think 
He told me Paris should have married Juliet: 
Said he not so.^ or did I dream it so.^ 



ACT V. SC. III.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



43 



Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 80 
To think it was so ? O, give me thy hand, 
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! 
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; 
A grave? O, no! a lantern, slaughter'd 

youth. 
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 85 
This vault a feasting presence full of light. 
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. 
[Laying Paris in the tomb.'] 
How oft when men are at the point of death 
Have they been merry! which their keepers 

call 
A lightning before death; O, how may I 90 
Call this a lightning.'' O my love! my wife! 
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy 

breath. 
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: 
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet 
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, 95 
And death's pale flag is not advanced there. 
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? 
O, what more favour can I do to thee, 
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in 

twain 
To sunder his that was thine enemy? 100 

Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, 
Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe 
That unsubstantial death is amorous. 
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 
Thee here in dark to be his paramour ? 105 

For fear of that, I still will stay with thee. 
And never from this palace of dim night 
Depart again; here, here will I remain 
With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, 

here 
Will I set up my everlasting rest, no 

And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look 

your last ! 
Arms, take your last embrace ! and, lips, O 

you 
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
A dateless bargain to engrossing death ! 115 
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide ! 
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! 
Here's to my love! [Drinks.] O true 

apothecary ! 
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I 

die. 120 

f Falls [and dies]. 



Enter Friar [Laurence], with lantern, crow, 
and spade, 

Fri. L. Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft to- 
night 
Have my old feet stumbled at graves ! Who's 
there ? 
Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows 

you well. 
Fri, L. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my 
friend. 
What torch is yond, that vainly lends his 
light 125 

To vgrubs and eyeless skulls ? As I discern. 
It burneth in the Capel's monument. 
Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my mas- 
ter. 
One that you love. 
Fri. L, Who is it ? 

Bal. Romeo. 

Fri. L. How long hath he been there? 
Bal. Full half an hour. 130 

Fri. L. Go with me to the vault. * 
Bal. I dare not, sir: 

My master knows not but I am gone hence; 
And fearfully did menace me with death. 
If I did stay to look on his intents. 
Fri. L, Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes 
upon me: 135 

O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. 
Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, 
I dreamt my master and another fought. 
And that my master slew him. 
Fri, L, Romeo! 

f Stoops and looks on the blood and weapons. 
Alack, alack, what blood, is this, which stains 
The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? 141 

What mean these masterless and gory swords 
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? 

[Enters the tomb.] 
Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris 

too? 
And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind 
hour 14s 

Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! 
The lady stirs. f Juliet rises, 

Jul, O comfortable friar ! where's my lord ? 
I do remember well where I should be. 
And there I am. Where is my Romeo ? 150 

[Noise within.] 
Fri, L. I hear some noise. Lady, come from 
that nest 



79 



44 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act V, SC. III. 



Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep:. 
A greater power than we can contradict 
Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come 

away. 
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; 155 
And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee 
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns: 
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; 
Come, go, good Juliet [Noise again] ^ I dare 

no longer stay. Exit. 

Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. 160 

What's here? A cup, clos'd in my true love's 

hand ? 
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: 
O churl ! drunk all, and left no friendly drop 
To help me after .^ I will kiss thy lips; 
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them. 
To make me die with a restorative. 

[Kisses him.] 
Thy lips are warm. 

Enter Boy and Watch. 

First Watch. L'ead, boy: which way? 

Jul. Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy 

dagger! [Snatching Romeo's dagger,] 

This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me 

die. 170 

f She stabs herself, falls [on Romeo's body, 

and] dies. 
Page. This is the place; there, where the torch 

doth burn. 
First Watch. The ground is bloody; search 
about the churchyard: 
Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. 
Pitiful sight! here lies the County slain; 
And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead. 
Who here hath lain these two days buried. 176 
Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets; 
Raise up the Montagues : some others search ; 
We see the ground whereon these woes do 

lie; 
But the true ground of all these piteous woes 
We carmot without circumstance descry. 181 

Enter [some of the Watch, with Balthasar,] 
Romeo's man. 

Sec. Watch. Here's Romeo's man; we found 

him in tlie churchyard. 
First Watch. Hold him in safety, till the prince 

come hither. 



Enter Friar and another Watchman. 



Third Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, 

sighs, and w.eeps: 

We took this mattock and this spade from 

him, 185 

As he was coming from this churchyard side. 

First Watch. A great suspicion: stay the friar 

too. 

Enter the Prince [and Attendants]. 

Prince. What misadventure is so early up, 
That calls our person from our morning's 
rest ? 

Enter Capulet, and his wife. 

Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek 

abroad ? 190 

La. Cap. The people in the street cry Romeo, 

Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run. 

With open outcry, toward our monument. 
Prince. What fear is this which startles in our 

ears ? 
First Watch. Sovereign, here lies the County 
Paris slain; , 195 

And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before. 

Warm and new kill'd. 
Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul 

murder comes. 
First Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd 

Romeo's man; 

With instruments upon them, fit to open 200 

These dead men's tombs. 
Cap. O heavens ! O wife, look how our daugh- 
ter bleeds ! 

This dagger hath mista'en, — for, lo, his house 

Is empty on the back of Montague, — 

And is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom ! 

La. Cap. O me ! this sight of death is as a 

bell, 206 

That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 

Enter Montague [and others]. 

Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early 
up. 

To see thy son and heir more early down. 
Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-niglit; 

Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her 
breath: 211 

What further woe conspires against my age? 
Prince. Look, and thou shalt see. 
Mon. O thou untaught! what manners is in this. 

To press before thy father to a grave ? 215 



80 



ACT V. SC. 



III.] 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



45 



Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a 
while. 
Till we can clear these ambiguities, 
And know their spring, their head, their true 

descent; 
And then will I be general of your woes. 
And lead you even to death: meantime for- 
bear, . 220 

And let mischance be slave to patience. 
Bring forth the parties of suspicion. 
Fri. L. I am the greatest, able to do least. 
Yet most suspected, as the time and place 
Doth make against me, of this direful mur- 
der ; 225 
And here I stand, both to impeach and purge 
Myself condemned and myself excus'd. 
Prince. Then say at once what thou dost know 

in this. 
Fri. L. I will be brief, for my short date of 
breath 
Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 230 

Romeo, there dead, was husband to that 

Juliet ; 
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful 

wife; 
I married them; and their stol'n marriage- 
day 
Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely 

death 
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this 
city, 235 

For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd. 
You, to remove that siege of grief from her, 
Betroth'd and would have married her per- 
force 
To County Paris; then comes she to me. 
And, w4th wild looks, bid me devise some 
mean 240 

To rid her from this second marriage, 
Or in my cell there would she kill herself. 
Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, 
A sleeping potion; which so took effect 
As I intended, for it wrought on her 245 

The form of death ; meantime I writ to Ro- 
meo, 
That he should hither come as this dire night. 
To help to take her from her borrow'd grave. 
Being the time the potion's force should 

cease. 
But he which bore my letter. Friar John, 250 
Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight 
Returned my letter back. Then all alone 



At the prefixed hour of her waking. 

Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; 

Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, 255 

Till I conveniently could send to Romeo ; 

But when I came, some minute ere the time 

Of her awaking, here untimely lay 

The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. 

She wakes ; and I entreated her come forth, 260 

And bear this work of heaven with patience; 

But then a noise did scare me from the tomb ; 

And she, too desperate, would not go with 

me. 
But, as it seems, did violence on herself. 
All this I know; and to the marriage 265 

Her nurse is privy ; and, if aught in this 
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life 
Be sacrific'd, some hour before his time. 
Unto the rigour of severest law. 
Prince. We still have known thee for a holy 

man. 270 

Where's Romeo's man ? what can he say in 

this .? 
Bal. I brought my master news of Juliet's death; 
And then in post he came from Mantua 
To this same place, to this same monument. 
This letter he early bid me give his father, 275 
And threaten'd me with death, going in the 

vault, . 

If I departetFiiot and left him there. 
Prince. Give me the letter; I will look on 

it. 
Where is the County's page, that rais'd the 

watch ? 
Sirrah, what made your master in this place? 
Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's 

grave ; 281 

And bid me stand aloof, and so I did; 
Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb. 
And by and by my master drew on him; 
And then I ran away to call the watch. 285 
Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's 

words. 
Their course of love, the tidings of her death; 
And here he writes that he did buy a poison 
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal 
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. 
Where be these enemies? Ca^Dulet! Monta- 
gue ! 291 
See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate. 
That heaven finds means to kill your joys 

with love. 
And I for winking at your discords too 



81 



46 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



[act v. SC. III. 



Have lost a brace of kinsmen ; all are pun- 

ish'd. 295 

Cap. O brother Montague^ give me thy hand; 

This is my daughter's jointure, for no more 

Can I demand. 
Mon. But I can give thee more; 

For I will raise her statue in pure gold; 

That while Verona by that name is known, 300 

There shall no figure at such rate be set 

As that of true and faithful Juliet. 
Caj). As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; 

Poor sacrifices of our enmity ! 



Prince, A glooming peace this morning with it 
brings ; 305 

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his 
head; 
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad 
things ; 
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished; 
For never was a story of more woe 
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. 310 

Exeunt. 



NOTES 



The Quartos (Q) of this play contain no division 
into acts and scenes; the Folio of 1623 (F) indicates 
only the opening act and scene. The bracketed matter 
is the work of N. Rowe (edition of 1709) and later 
editors. The stage-directions marked with a dagger 
(t) and the Prologue are from the first Quarto (QJ ; 
other unbracketed matter is from F. 

PROLOGUE 

12 two hours' traffic, the Elizabethan play was per- 
formed in the afternoon, after dinner. 'Two short 
hours' are assigned to the performance of Henry 
VIII (Prologue, line 13), wliich is, in fact, shorter 
by 250 lines than this play. The curious will 
reckon, therefore, that Shakespeare's plays were 
timed at about 25 lines to the minute, including all 
action. 

ACT I 

i. 1 carry coals, endure insults, as menials do. 
4 in choler, in anger. 

15 take the wall, the wall in ancient streets af- 
fording shelter, walking next it was preferred, and 
more honorable. The word-play which follows re- 
fers to other proverbial expressions. 'The weakest 
goes to the wall' is used of earthen dishes; 'to lie 
next the wall' was said of a married woman. 

27 cruel] Q, ; civil Q2 F. The later variant is per- 
haps correct — used in irony. 

32 in] Qi; am. Q, F. 

37 poor John, salt cod, the Elizabethan equivalent 
of 'poor pickings.' 

38 two] Q,; om. Q2 F. 

48 bite my thumb, still a form of insult in Italy; 

to snap the thumb-nail out from the (upper) 

teeth. 
65-6 one of my master's kinsmen, that is, Tybalt, 

who now enters up-stage. Benvolio has already en- 



tered, behind Gregory, unobserved. . Elizabethan 
'entrances' seem to have been timed somevi'hat in 
advance of the modern 'entrances'; the traversing 
of the front stage required this. Tokens in the cap 
distinguished partizans of rival houses. 
73 heartless hinds, literally 'menials without heart 

(courage)'; punningiy, 'deer without a stag.' 
77 drawn] Q; draw F. 
80 bills, pikes. 

partisans, halberts. This cry is equivalent to 
'Police !' 
85 in spite of me, in my despite, in my dishonor. 
96 airy, trivial. 
102 canker'd, rusted. 
104 forfeit, penalty for transgression. 
109 Free town, English equivalent of Villa Franca, 

in the Italian version. 
Ill abroach, running, as wine out of a cask. 
119 who, i. e., the winds, personified. 
134-135 For these lines Qi, Pope, and many editors 
read: That most are busied when they are most 
alone. The passage means: I sought to escape 
from myself in nature, most (l)iizmost diligently; 
most (2) Almost people. 
140 Sun] Theobald; same Q. F. 
165 to, as to. shrift, confession. 
175 view, look. 

177 Still, always. 

178 See pathways to his will, see to shoot so 
straight ! Q^ reads : Should without laws give 
pathways to our will. 

183 create] Q^ created Q2 F. 

196 rais'd] Q^; made Qo F. 

198 loving] Q2 F; a lovers Qi. 

200 Romeo was better acquainted, as these lines 

prove, with the conventional poetry of love, than 

with love itself. 
205 in sadness, seriously; Romeo puns on the word's 

deeper meaning. 
209 Ah] Qi, M alone; A Q2 F. 



82 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



47 



214-222 Steevens notes the appropriateness of these 

lines as praise of Queen Elizabeth. 
217 unharm'd] Q^ Pope; uncharm'd Qa F. 
222 store, abundance. Her treasure of beauty dies 

with her. 
229 forsworn to love, sworn not to love. 
235 to call . . . more, to recall her beauty more 

clearly (by contrast). 
237 Puts, the old Northern plural form, identical 

with the singular. 
240 passing", exceedingly. 
244 doctrine, tuition, the fee for teaching. Benvo- 

lio will provide another lady. 

ii. 9 fourteen years, in Bandello eighteen, in Brooke 
sixteen years. Some editors think Shakespeare 
wrong in reducing thus his heroine's age. But 
Daniel, in his Civil Wars (dedication of 1609 edi- 
tion; the book was used as a source by Shakespeare 
in Richard II), says: 'And if I have erred some- 
what in the draught of the young Queen Isabel in 
not suiting her passions to her years, I must crave 
favor of my credulous readers; and I hope tlie 
young ladies of England (who peradventure will 
think themselves of age sufficient, at 14 years, to 
have a feeling of their own estates) will excuse me 
in that point.' 

12, 13 made, marr'd and married were often played 
upon in Shakespeare's time. Cf. II. iv. 121-2. 

29 female] Q^; fennell Q2 F. 

32 on] Q, Q3; one Q^. The meaning of lines 32-33 
is not clear. Possibly Capulet puns on 'won' and 
'one'; 'on further view of all, my daughter being 
"won" may stand first by merit in your affections, 
though as "one" she is nought in reckoning.' Cf. 
'among a number one is reckoned none,' from 
Shakespeare's Sonnet 136. 

58 God gi' god-den, God give you good evening. 

65 rest you merry, God keep you merry. A part- 
ing salutation. 

68 County, Ital. conte, count. 
78 To supper,] in F continued as Romeo's speech. 
90 unattainted, without colored glasses, impartial. 

iii. 9 thou's, thou shalt. 

13 teen, sorrow. 

15 Lammas eve, August 1, the harvest festival. 

23 the earthquake. This allusion has been used by 
some to date the play. See the Introduction. 

29 brain, memory. 

32 tetchy, irritated. 

36 alone] F; high lone Qi, hylone Q2, (perhaps a 
child's word). 

52 it, its, genitive case of it. This archaism is af- 
fected from Brooke's poem. 

59 mark, set apart. 

66, 67 honour] Q, ; houre Qo. 

76 man of wax, a model, paragon. 

81 volume. Italy at this time was famous for its 
books and binding. The use of books metaphor- 
ically occurs elsewhere in the play. 

86 margent, margin, where notes were inserted in 
books. 

89-94 Here Lady Capulet cautions Juliet to be mod- 



est. A maiden must dwell in modesty as a fish in 
the sea. 

iv. 3 prolixity, tiresome formality. 
4 hoodwink'd, blindfolded. 
7-8 These lines are from Q^; om. Q2 F. 

7 without-book, imperfectly learned. 

8 entrance, trisyllabic, 'enterance.' 
10 measure, stately a court dance. 

30 a visor! My face is a mask already. 

38 candle-holder, the proverb says, that the lucki- 
est gamester is the candle-holder, i. e., the one who 
does not play. 

39 ne'er so fair, the game is always best when we 
haVe left it. 

39 done] Q^; dun Q3; dum Q2. 

40 dun's the mouse, a slang phrase, keep as still as 
a mouse. , 

41 dun In the mire, an old game. A log is car- 
ried from the room and dropped on the toes of the 
unobservant. 

42 sir-reverence, saving your reverence; Lat. saUa 
reverentia; a phrase used to excuse an impropriety 
or liberty. The line is from Qi; Qo F read: Or 
save your reverence. 

47 five wits, the intellectual organs, common wit, 

imagination, fantasy, judgment, and memory. 
49 no wit, no wise thing. 

53 To this line Qi adds: Ben. Queen Mab ! what's 
she? The speech is there given to Benvolio. 

54 fairies' midwife, fairy midwife, bringing fancies 
to birth from the dreamers. 

55 agate-stone, that is, the figure cut in the agate. 
57 atomies, atoms. 

66 maid] Q^; man Q2 F. 

79 tithe-pig", pig offered as payment of church 
tithes. 

89 Plats, angles. 

103 face] Q^; side Q2 F. 

109 expire, bring to an end. 

113 sail] Qi; suits F. 

V. 7 joint-stool, folding-stool. 

8 court-cupboard, side-board. 

9 marchpane, a Idnd of cake. 

19 have a bout] Qi; walke about F. 

21 makes dainty, affects haughtiness. 

42 Here Qi adds Good youths, i' faith. O, youth's 
a jolly thing! 

57 what, how? 

59 fleer, sneer. 

68 portly, well-bred, of good carriage or behavior. 

83 cock-a-hoop, a fight going. 

88 princox, forward boy. 

96 fine] Theobald; since Q F. 

99 pilgrim, Romeo (Italian 'romeo,' pilgrim who has 
been to Rome) must have worn a pilgrim's dis- 
guise. 
112 by the book, according to rule. 
124 towards, near in time. 
142 prodigious, ominous. 

ACT II 

1. 2 earth, Romeo's body, centre, Juliet, with whom 
his heart lies. 



83 



48 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



13 Abraham] Q F. Upton suggests Adam; either 
patriarch's name suits here, paradoxically taken. 
Abraham man was a name for a tricky beggar of 
the time. 

trim] Qi; true F. 

14 Cophetua, hero of an old ballad, one stanza of 
which tells of Cupid's wounding him. 

31 humorous, full of humors, damp. 

38 poperin, from Poperinghe, in Flanders. 

39 truckle-bed, bed pushed under the standing bed. 

40 field-bed, traveling bed; here; the ground. 

ii. S. D. Romeo comes forward.] There is no change 
of scene here, in reality. Note that line 1 rhymes 
with i. 42. Modern stage versions concur in this, 
placing the lane on the right of the stage, orchard 
center, and balcony left. 
1 He, ^Nlercutio. 
7 her maid, vowed to her service, a virgin. 

31 lazy-pacing] Q^, Pope; lazy puffing Qg F. 

39 thoug-h, with conditional force. 'Thou M^ouldst 
be still Romeo, even though thou wert no longer 
]\Iontague.' 

41 nor any other part] Qi; om. F. 

42 0. . . . name] follows face in* F; restored by 
Malone. 

46 owes, owns. 

53 counsel, secrets. 

55 saint. Cf. I. v. 105. Romeo discloses himself 

by thus recalling his name for her, at the ball. 

61 dislike. Math impersonal use. 

66 o'er perch, fly over. 

69 stop] Qr, F; let Q^. 

78 prorogued, put off. 

79 direction, guidance. 

92 at lovers' perjuries. From Ovid's Amores, 
translated by Marlowe. 

97 so, so that, if only. 
101 more cunning] Q^; coying F. 
101 strange, reserved. 
131 frank, free, liberal. 

151 by and by, soon. 

152 suit] Q4 Qr,; strife F. 

160 tassel gentle, tercel, the male hawk. 

164 Romeo's name] Qi; om. F. 

168 my dear] Q^ Q.,; Madame Qi; my niece, Q2 Q3 F. 

178 wanton, merry girl. 

180 gyves, bonds. 

185-190 These lines are taken from Qj. Q2 Q, F 

distril)ute speeches wrongly, and insert iii. 1-4 after 

ii. 188. 
18S Ghostly, spiritual. 
189 father's cell] Qi; Friers close cell Q2 F. 

iii. 4 fiery] Q^; burning Q2 F. 
7 ours, our order's. 

15 mickle, great. 

28 grace and rude will, good and evil. 
30 canker, canker-worm, living on plants. 

54 intercession, prayer, 
steads, benefits. 

55 homely, simple. 

56 shrift, absolution. 



iv. 2 to-night, last night. 
16 pin, center. 



17 butt-shaft, arrow without barbs. 

19 prince of cats, Tybert, or Tybalt, is the nam« of 
the cat in the popular beast-epic, Reynard the 
Fox. 

21 prick-song, music written down in parts, espe- 
cially in counter-point. In plain-song the harmony 
was made up by the singer. 

22-3 minim rest, rest of a half-note in music. 

25 house, in heraldry, elder branch of a family; a 
challenge from an inferior could be ignored. 

26 cause, provocation to a quarrel. 

27 passado, lunge, or side-step, in fencing, punto 
reverse, back-handed thrust. 

hay Ital. 'Thou hast it!' The cry when the 
thrust went home. 
30 fantasticos] Q^; fantasies F. 

35 perdona-mis] Globe; pardon-mees F, 

36-37 form, with pun on form, meaning 'bench.' 

bones, with pun on Ital. buon, good. 
41 Petrarch, (1304-1374), wrote sonnets to Laura 

which were the models of the Elizabethans. 
45 hilding, worthless person. 
48 slop, loose thunks, breeches. 

51 slip, a pun; slip means 'counterfeit money.' 

52 good] om. F. 

56-70 case . . . singleness, puns and equivoques 
appear in every phrase, scarcely deserving eluci- 
dation. 
65 Sure wit] Q2 F; well said Q^. 
75 wild-goose chase, hare-and-hounds. 
87 cheveril, soft leather, easily stretched. 
91 broad goose, brood goose. 
96 natural, fool. 

100 against the hair, against my nature. 
108 Mer.] Q^; continued to Romeo, F. 
116 good den, good afternoon. 
133 confidence, conference. The Nurse here is like 

Mrs. Malaprop. 
135 indite] Q2 F; invite Q^. Benvolio mimics the 
Nurse's affected use of elegant diction. 

151 'lady, lady, lady,' from the ballad of Chaste 
Susanna. 

152 marry, farewell] Qi; om. F. 

153 merchant, ung^ntlemanly fellow. 

154 ropery, roguery. 

162 skains-mates, the exact meaning of this word is 

uncertain. 
199 stay] Q2; stay thou F. 
201 tackled stair, rope ladder. 
218 versal, for universal. 
223 the dog's letter, because the sound is like a 

growl. The Romans, also, called it so. 
232 Before, and apace] Q2 F; Peter, take my fan, 

and go before Qi. 

V. 6 louring, threatening. 
14 bandy, toss, as a ball at tennis. 

36 stay the circumstance, wait for further details. 
67 coil, stir, to-do. 

vi. 13 confound, spoils. 
30 conceit, imagination. 



i. 10 drawer, waiter. 



ACT III 



84 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



49 



49 consort, punning on consort = concert. 
52 zounds, by God's wounds on the cross. 

55 coldly, without passion. 
69 injuries, insults. 

77 alia stoccata, hterally, 'with a rapier-thrust.' 
78, 80 rat-catcher, king of cats. See note to II. 
iv. 19. 

83 pilcher, leather scabbard. 
90 outrage, trisyllabic. Cf. I. iv. 8. 

93 S. D. Tybalt . . . flies] Qi; Exit Tybalt F. 

94 both your] your Q^; both Qa; both the F. 
122 aspir'd, reached. 

127 alive] Q^; He, gone F. 

128 respective lenity, considerate gentleness. 

129 conduct, guide. 
148 manage, course. 

159 nice, trivial, concerning a small point. 

171 agile] Q^; aged F. 

193 hates] Qi; hearts' F. 

195 amerce, punish by a heavy fine as damages. 

197 I] Qi; it F. 

202 but] Q2; not F. 

ii. 1 The lines following represent the epithalamium, 
a conventional lyric song, according to Gervinus. 
6 runaways' eyes, an expression giving rise to 
much discussion; one of tlie great cruces of the 
Shakespearean text. The rest of the speech seems 
to indicate Juliet's own desire not to see or be seen 
of her lover. Runaways' may then mean the lovers, 
runaways from their former state. 
9 By] Qi; and by Q^ Q3 F. 

14 Hood, cover, unmann'd, untamed, bating, flut- 
tering. These are terms of falconry. 

21 he] Q, Q^; I Q2 F. 

25 garish, dazzling. 

45 I, the pun on 'Ay' and 'I' occurs elsewhere. Cf. 
Richard II IV. i. 201. 

47 cockatrice, an animal (? the scorpion); its 
glance was fabled to be fatal. 

49 shut] Capell; shot F. 

56 gore-blood, clotted blood. 

76 corrected by the Globe editors. Ravenous dove- 
feathered raven, Q2 F. 
79 damned] Q4; dimme Q2 F. 
81 bower, embower. 
87 naught, wicked. 

95 at] Q,; om. F. 

120 modern, commonplace. 

iii. 40 The text here follows Steevens' emendation of 
Qi. The order in Q2 is: 37, 41, 43, 40, 41 (al- 
tered), 42. F gives: 39, 41, 43, 40, 44, etc. 
52 a little speak] Q2; but speak a word Qi; speak F. 
90 an 0, a misery. 
94 old, veteran, skilled. 
103 level, aim. 

143 misbehav'd] Qi; mishaped F. 

144 poutst upon] Q^; puts up Q,. 

iv. 11 mew'd up, shut up. 
12 desperate tender, bold offer. 

V. 1-35 a conventional dawn-song, or aubade. In 
this type of lyric two lovers dispute whether the 
song they hear is of the lark or the nightingale, 



8 lace, streak. 

28 sharps, shrill notes. 

29 division, rapid melody, with quickly repeated 
sounds. 

34 hunt's-up, the hunting-song; used also for the 

morning-song to a bride. 
55 below] Qi; so lowe F. 
59 dry, thirsty; melancholy caused loss of blood, 

according to the old belief. 

84 like, conjunctive use. 

92 Note the tragic irony of the fate that over- 
takes Romeo, though not from Lady Capulet. 

102 cousin Tybalt] Fg; cousin F. A dissyllable is 
evidently lost. 

106 needy, needing (joy). 

110 sorted out, allotted. 

124 These are news. News may be either plural or 
singular in Shakespeare. 

127 air] Q^ Q^; earth F. 

142 take me with you, make your meaning clear. 

152 minion, spoiled child. 

154 fettle, make ready. 

156 hurdle, a clumsy sledge. They were used to con- 
vey criminals to punishment. 

172 smatter, chatter. 

182 train'd] Q^; alhed Q3 F; Hand Q2. 

186 mammet, doll. 

ACT IV 

i. 29 abus'd, disfigured. 
57 label, a strip of parchment run through a char- 
ter or deed, with the ends held together by a seal. 
78 yonder] Q^ Pope; any Q2 F. 

81 shut] Qi; hide Q2 F. 

83 chapless, without the lower jaws. 

85 shroud] Q4; grave F. 
100 paly] Qi Q5; many Q2 F. 

110 Q2 adds a line: be borne to burial in thy kin- 
dreds grave. 
119 toy, whim. 

ii. 26 becomed, proper, becoming. 
33 closet, small room. 

iii. 5 cross, opposed to right, perverted. 
47 mandrakes, mandragora, a plant whose root 
looked like the human form. 

57 stay, stay where you are. 

58 Romeo . . . thee] Qi; Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, 
here's drink, I drinke to thee F. 

iv. 2 pastry, pantry. 

6 cot-quean, housewife, used of a meddling man. 
13 jealous-hood, perhaps jealous head. 
20 loggerhead, blockhead, the clown in the play. 

V. 6 set up his rest, decided upon his course. In 
the game of primero, to rest content with the cards 
in hand. 

23, 64 The loud lamentations are not only true to 
Italian custom, but are effectual as a comic touch, 
since the audience knows they are mistaken. 

41 thought long, been impatient. 

82 fond] F2; same F. 

100 case, punning on the case of the instrument. 



85 



*f^ v^l 



50 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



100, 1 Mus.] Ficller Qo. 

102 Peter. Qo Q, read, Enter Will Kemp. The 
farce wliich follows was probably demanded by 
audiences of the time. Kemp was the most famous 
comedian and dancer of his day. Note that Juliet's 
body has been hidden by the drawn curtains. 

108 of woe] Q,; om. F. 

108 merry dump, merry song. 

115 gleek, scoflF. 

128, 130 Peter's song is a real one, published in the 
Paradise of Dainttj Devices, 1576. 

129 And . . . oppress] Q^; om. F. 

132 Catling-, gutstring for a lute. 

135 Rebeck, a three-stringed fiddle. 

135, 138 Pretty] Q^; Pratest F. 

ACT V 

i. 15 fares my] Qj; does my Lady F. 
27 patience, three syllables. 



24 defy you] Pope; defy my Q^; deny you Q-,. 
40 simples, herbs used in drugs. 

67 utter, put out, circulate. 
76 pay] Q,; pray F. 

ill 3 yew] ew Qi ; young Qa. 

68 conjurations] Q^; communication Q^. 
96 advanced, raised. 

107 Qa F insert here: Depart againe; F come lie 

thou in my arm. 

Here's to thy health, where'er thou tumblest in, 
O true Apothecary. 

Line 120 follows; then the full passage 108-120. 
137 yew tree] Pope; young tree Q2 F. 
162 timeless, untimely. 
170 This is] Q^; Tis in F. 
209 more] Q^; now F. 
216 outrag-e, outburst. 
222 parties of suspicion, suspected parties. 



86 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



SOURCE OF THE PLOT— The Merchant of 
Venice illustrates one of Shakespeare's most endear- 
ing traits: his habit of weaving lovely pictures of 
young and innocent romance out of the shoddy Ital- 
ian tales of lust and trickery with which the sixteenth 
century was glutted. The ultimate source of the 
play is a prose novelette written during the age of 
Chaucer by Giovanni Fiorentino and included in a 
collection of tales modeled after the fashion of Boc- 
caccio's Decameron. The manuscript of Fiorentino's 
book, which he called II Pecorone (The Blockhead), 
is dated 1378, but it is not known to have been printed 
in the Italian original before 1565 or in English trans- 
lation before 1755. It is still unsettled whether 
Shakespeare was able to read the Italian for himself, 
whether he learned the story from some earlier Eng- 
lish play on the same subject, or made its acquaint- 
ance by another of the many avenues through which 
sixteenth-century Englishmen were constantly brought 
into contact with the fruits of Italian culture. 

Fiorentino's tale, which occupies about twenty 
pages of prose, incorporates three essential elements 
of Shakespeare's play: (a) The winning of the fair 
lady of Belmont (Belraonte in II Pecorone) by Bas- 
sanio (Giannetto) ; (b) The bond by which the 
friendly merchant of Venice (Ansaldo) pledges a 
pound of his flesh to a Jew in order to secure the 
ten thousand ducats required to fit out the wooer; (c) 
The device whereby the lady of Belmont, disguised 
as a judge, saves the merchant by quibbles on the 
precise weight of a pound and the Jew's failure to 
provide for blood as well as flesh. Even the pre- 
tended judge's demand of her husband's ring and 
her subsequent twitting of him for losing it are in 
the Italian. Yet one reads Fiorentino's story without 
feeling any of the qualities which make the play de- 
lightful. 

It is not simply that the story is bare and harsh 
where the play has a divine richness and softness of 
finish; nor is it because Portia and Shylock are left 
nameless in Fiorentino, Nerissa only barely sug- 
gested, and Gratiano, Lorenzo, Jessica, and the Clown 
altogether lacking. The difference is much more 



fundamental. In order to romanticize the love story 
of Portia and Bassanio, the mode of the lady's woo- 
ing is completely altered. In the novel this episode 
is both stupid and coarse. Belmonte is here a sea- 
port several days' sail from Venice, the mistress of 
which, a widow, has made the law that whoever pre- 
sents himself must stake his ship and cargo against 
his ability to win her hand by the apparently simple 
ordeal of remaining awake through one evening in 
her company. Twice Giannetto (Bassanio) makes 
the attempt with a fine ship provided by his godfather 
Ansaldo (Antonio) ; each time, drinking a glass of 
drugged wine urged upon him by the lady as he en- 
ters her chamber, he falls immediately into a stupor 
and is sent back the next morning penniless. When 
preparation is made for the third trial, the impover- 
ished Ansaldo is obliged to resort to the Jew for the 
additional ten thousand ducats required. Again the 
stupid Giannetto is about to drink the sleeping 
draught, when a warning whispered by a kindly at- 
tendant enables him to gain the wager and achieve 
his hardly desirable lady. 

Instead of this Shakespeare's play substitutes the 
story of the three caskets, which, though known, like 
the pound of flesh story,, in many diflPerent guises, ap- 
pears to have reached the poet through the medium 
of the medieval collection of moral tales called Gesta 
Romanorum. 

DRAMATIC INFLUENCES— Shakespeare's most 
vital literary impressions were often received, not 
from books, but from the acted plays of his contem- 
poraries; and there is reason to believe that The Mer- 
chant of Venice might never have been written, had 
not some earlier effort to dramatize the story of the 
Lady of Belmont and the Jew put vividly before the 
poet's mind the latent possibilities of the theme. Ste- 
phen Gosson, who in 1579 published a pamphlet called 
The School of Abuse, interrupts his general attack 
upon the English stage to mention as a play worthy 
of commendation "The Jew," recently performed at 
the Bull Inn, "representing the greediness of worldly 
choosers and bloody minds of usurers." On this 
phrase, which comprises all that is known of the play 



87 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



in question, critics of The Merchant of Venice have 
eagerly seized. "The greediness of worldly choosers," 
they say, must allude to the unsuccessful choosers in 
the casket scenes, whereas "the bloody minds of usu- 
rers" proves the presence of Shylock's prototype. It 
is interesting to imagine that the two separate strands 
of Shakespeare's plot may thus have been united in 
a single plaj^ at least fifteen years before Shakespeare 
took up the subject; but the reasoning is far from 
conclusive. Of one thing we may feel sure from the 
spirit of Gosson's pamphlet: his Puritanical soul would 
never have selected for special praise any play in 
which there was an approach to the romantic witchery 
of the love-scenes in The Merchant of Venice. Nor is 
it easy to conceive how the rude drama of 1579 can 
have treated the novel of Fiorentino in a manner tol- 
erable to a professed moralist. It required the infi- 
nite delicacy of Shakespeare to make the story beauti- 
ful; to make it an instrument of the didactic edifica- 
tion which Gosson recognized in his Jew would indeed 
have been a startling achievement. 

A more significant connection, not relating to plot 
alone, links The Merchant of Venice with Christopher 
Marlowe's tremendously popular play. The Jew of 
Malta. Written about 1590, Marlowe's tragedy, the 
earliest attempt to present on the English stage the 
deeper side of Jewish character, was still a strong fa- 
vorite with the London public when Shakespeare's 
play was composed. The part of Barabas the Jew, 
arch-enemy of the Christians, was one of the greatest 
roles of Edward AUeyn, leader of the Lord Admiral's 
Players; and it was very likely the ambition of provid- 
ing Burbage, the principal tragedian of his own com- 
pany with a part similar in character to that their ri- 
vals had so profitably exploited that first stimulated 
Shakespeare to write his play. The influence of Ba- 
rabas on Shylock is quite indisputable; and Marlowe's 
Abigail, the Jew's daughter, secretly in love with a 
Christian gallant, is no less certainly the prototype of 
Jessica. The comparison of the two girls is interest- 
ing: Jessica is the more romantic, Abigail the more 
truly Jewish. The scene in which the eloping Jessica 
throws the casket of her father's jewels to her lover 
below is an echo of the powerful scene in which Abi- 
gail throws down to Barabas the gold she has recov- 
ered from a Christian Nunnery: — 

"Enter Abigail above, 

Abig. Who's that? 

Barabas (belov)). Peace, Abigail; 'tis I. 

Abig. Then, Father, here receive thy happiness. 



Bar. Hast thou 't? 

Abig. Here. (Throws down bags.) Hast thou't? 

There 's more, and more, and more. 
Bar. Oh, my girl. 

My gold, my fortune, my felicity! 

Strength to my soul, death to mine enemy! 

Welcome the first beginner of my bliss. 

Oh, Abigail, Abigail, that I had thee here too. 

Then my desires were fully satisfied; 

But I will practice thy enlargement thence. 

Oh, girl, oh gold, oh beauty, oh my bliss ! {Hugs 
his bags.)" 

DATE— On August 25, 1594, while Shakespeare's 
company and their usual rivals, the Lord Admiral's 
men, were apparently acting in conjunction, the diary 
of Philip Henslowe, manager of the latter company, 
records the first production of "the Venesyon (Vene- 
tian) comodey." This has been taken by many critics 
as signalizing the appearance of The Merchant of 
Venice, perhaps in a rudimentary form. Sir Sidney 
Lee's important essay on "The Original Shylock" 
(Gentleman's Magazine, Feb., 1880) shows, further- 
more, that interest in Jews was very acute at this time 
because of the popular excitement over the hanging 
of Elizabeth's Jewish physician, Roderigo Lopez, in 
May, 1594. 

There is nothing which positively forbids the view 
that Henslowe's allusion refers to an early form of 
the Shylock-Portia story, prepared by Shakespeare 
with the idea of capitalizing the anti-Jewish feeling 
of the day; but it is decidedly improbable that the 
play as we have it dates from so early a period of the 
dramatist's career. The first clear allusions to The 
Merchant of Venice belong to the year 1598. Francis 
Meres names the play as the last in order of the six 
comedies which he ascribes to Shakespeare in his Pal- 
ladis Tamia (published 1598). On July 22 of the 
same year, James Roberts paid sixpence to the War- 
dens of the Stationers' Company for license to print 
'"a book of the Merchant of Venice, or otherwise 
called The Jew of Venice." It is likely that at this 
time the play was fresh from its first run on the stage. 

TEXT — The edition of the play which Roberts con- 
templated in 1598 was never published. To the license 
granted him the Wardens had indeed added the stip- 
ulation: "Provided that it be not printed by the said 
James Roberts or any other whatsoever without license 
first had from the Right Honorable the Lord Cham- 
berlain." The Lord Chamberlain was the patron of 
Shakespeare's company, and it is pretty clear that 
through him objection to the publication was made as 

88 



INTRODUCTION 



3 



likely to interfere with the popularity of the play on 
the stage. Two years later, October 28, 1600, Thomas 
Heyes, father-in-law of Roberts, secured a new license 
"by consent of Master Roberts." This time the War- 
dens recorded no objection, and the play accordingly 
appeared in 1600 with the name of Heyes as pub- 
lisher and J. R. (i. e., Roberts) as printer. A number 
of typographical corrections were introduced while 
this quarto was being printed, with the result that dif- 
ferent copies vary considerably from one another. 
(See note on IV. i. 73, 74.) The Heyes quarto and 
the 1623 Shakespeare Folio, which follows it without 
many important corrections, are the only trustworthy 
authorities for The Merchant of Venice. Unfortu- 
nately, the text of this play, which especially abounds 
in puzzling passages, was exposed to additional sophis- 
tication for nearly three hundred years by the fact 
that a dishonest publisher, Thomas Pavier, circulated 
in 1619 a second quarto edition, with the fraudulent 
date 1600. Pavier prudently withheld the publisher's 
name (his own), but he indicated J. Roberts (falsely) 
as printer, and this so-called "Roberts quarto" was 
almost universally accepted, until Dr. W. W. Greg's 
great discovery in 1907, as the original edition. It is 
in fact of extremely little independent value. Two 
later quartos, published in 1637 and 1652 respectively, 
have no significance. 

STAGE HISTORY— Concerning Burbage's acting 
of Shylock we have unfortunately no information be- 
yond the probable fact, long continued as a matter of 
stage practice, that he wore a red wig — a heritage 
doubtless from the red-haired Judas of the mystery 
plays. On Shrove Sunday, 1605, the play was pre- 
sented before James I, with such success that it was 
repeated two days later by special command of the 
king. From this time, however, there is no evidence 
that the seventeenth century knew 2'he Merchant of 
Venice. 

In 1701, an outrageously mutilated and perverted 
revision of the play was prepared by George Gran- 
ville, Lord Lansdowne, the friend of Addison and 
Pope. Lansdowne's apologetic Advertisement to the 
Reader of his version illustrates the attitude of the 
time: — "The Foundation of the following Comedy be- 
ing liable to some objections, it may be wonder'd that 
any one should make Choice of it to bestow so much 
labour upon; But the judicious Reader will observe 
so many Manly and Moral Graces in the Characters 
and Sentiments that he may excuse the Story for the 
sake of the Ornamental parts." These "ornamental 
parts" consist largely of additions in the most garish 
taste of Lansdowne's age, calculated to give further 



conspicuousness to the part of Bassanio, who was 
played by the famous actor Betterton. Lorenzo's 
great speech about music (V. i. 70-88), for example, 
is removed to the close of Act II, where it is de- 
claimed by Bassanio and operatically illustrated by an 
inserted "masque of Peleus and Thetis." In the judg- 
ment scene Bassanio melodramatically offers his own 
body in place of Antonio's forfeited pound of flesh, 
and when Shylock declines the exchange, draws his 
sword wildly in defense of his friend. The greatest 
of Lansdowne's degradations consists in debasing the 
figure of Shylock to one of comedy pure and simple. 
The Jew is presented as a cheap and ridiculous char- 
latan. 

For the first forty years of the eighteenth century, 
this was the only form in which The Merchant of Ven- 
ice was played. In 1741, precisely a century and a 
quarter after Shakespeare's death, an Irish actor, 
Macklin, succeeded in inducing the Drury Lane com- 
pany to give the unpolluted play. "Even the man- 
ager himself," we are told, "expostulated with him 
concerning the propriety of his persevering in his in- 
tention of having The Merchant of Venice "represented 
in opposition to the judgment of so eminent a per- 
sonage as Lord Lansdowne." Macklin, however, in-, 
sisted, and his portrayal of Shylock as the incarnation 
of grim and terrible ferocity was one of the most 
spectacular triumphs in stage history. The comic 
Shylock was forever discarded, and a German visitor 
to England in the latter half of the eighteenth century 
found Macklin's Shylock and Garrick's Hamlet 
classed together as the two greatest achievements of 
British acting. 

Once again, three-quarters of a century later, the 
triumphant vindication of a great new conception of 
Shylock added a thrilling chapter to the annals of the 
old Drury Lane Theater in London. On January 26, 
1814, Edmund Kean's marvelous interpretation of the 
Jew as "the depositary of the vengeance of his race" 
lifted the actor instantaneously out of poverty and 
obscurity and saved the theater from bankruptcy. 
Since Macklin's time The Merchant of Venice had 
never ceased to be popular; since the time of Kean 
the play has been almost constantly on the stage. 
Even Hamlet and Macbeth are hardly given oftener 
to-day. Probably ~ no actor, however, in the century 
that has elapsed, has improved upon Kean's treatment 
of Shylock. Macready in the earlier half of the 
last century and Sir Henry Irving in the latter 
half went a step farther, and made the Jew frankly 
an object of the audience's sympathy and affection; 
but there seems no doubt that in doing this they ex- 



89 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



ceeded Shakespeare's intention. Of the many Por- 
tias who from the time of Betterton's associate, Mrs. 
Bracegirdle, have divided with the Shylocks the chief 
stage honors of the play, none has more enduringly 
connected her personality with the part than Ellen 
Terry. During the years 1879 and 1880 she acted 
Portia to Irving's Shylock through two hundred and 
fifty consecutive performances at the Lyceum theater. 
"Your whole conception and acting of the character," 
Dr. Furnivall wrote to her, "are so true to Shake- 
speare's lines that one longs he could be here to see 
you. A lady gracious and graceful, handsome, witty, 
loving and wise, you are his Portia to the life." The 
earliest of the countless American performances of 
The Merchant of Venice, that given at Williamsburg, 
Virginia, Sept. 5, 1752, has received romantic treat- 
ment in John Esten Cooke's novel. The Virginia Com- 
edians. 

CRITICAL OPINION— "The Merchant of Ven- 
ice," Hallam wrote in 1837, "is generally esteemed the 
best of Shakespeare's comedies. ... In the manage- 
ment of the plot, which is sufficiently complex without 



the slightest confusion or incoherence, I do not con- 
ceive that it has been surpassed in the annals of any 
theater." The human side of Shylock and the essen- 
tial truth with which Shakespeare, in spite of the 
prejudice and ignorance of his age, vindicates the 
deeper side of Jewish character have been well set 
forth by many writers, but by none better than by 
Hazlitt, who, inspired by Kean's acting of the part, 
wrote in 1817: "In proportion as Shylock has ceased 
to be a popular bugbear 'baited with the rabble's curse,' 
he becomes a half- favorite with the philosophical part 
of the audience, who are disposed to think that Jew- 
ish revenge is at least as good as Christian injuries. 
Shylock is a good hater; 'a man no less sinned against 
than sinning.' If he carries his revenge too far, yet 
he has strong grounds for 'the lodged hate he bears 
Antonio,' which he explains with equal force of elo- 
quence and reason. He seems the depositary of the 
vengeance of his race." "I see no reason," adds 
David Anderson, "why the Jewish race should be 
ashamed of Shylock." 

B. 



yo 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[Scene: Partly Venice, partly Portia's imaginary country-seat, Belmont, situated 

between Venice and Padua. 



Duke of Venice. 

Antonio, the Merchant of Venice 

MoROCHus, Prince of Morocco, 

Prince of Aragon, 

Bassanio, a Venetian nobleman 

related to Antonio, 
Salarino, 1 

Salanio, I 

^ y Venetian gentlemen. 

(jratiano, I ^ 

Lorenzo, I 

Shylock, a Jewish money-lender. 

ACT FIRST 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 

Tubal, another Jew. 



Suitors of 
Portia. 



The Clown, Launcelot Gobbo. 
Old Gobbo, father of the clown. 
Leonardo, Bassanio's servant. 
Balthasar, ~i Servants of 
Stephano, J Portia. 

Portia, an Italian heiress. 
Nerissa, her companion. 

Jessica, Shylock's daughter, in love with Lorenzo. 
Magnificoes, or grandees, of Venice; Antonio's 
Jailor; various attendants and servants.! 



[Scene I. — A public place in Venice.^ 
Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. 

Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: 
It wearies me; you say it wearies you; 
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
I am to learn; 5 

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me. 
That I have much ado to know myself. 

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; 
There, where your argosies with portly sail. 
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, 10 
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, 
Do overpeer the petty traffickers. 
That curtsy to them, do them reverence. 
As they fly by them with their woven wings. 

Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth. 
The better part of my affections would 16 

Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the 

wind. 
Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads ; 



And every object that might make me fear 20 
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt 
Would make me sad. 
Salar. My wind cooling my broth 

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, 25 
But I should think of shallows and of flats. 
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand. 
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs 
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church 
And see the holy edifice of stone, 30 

And not bethink me straight of dangerous 

rocks. 
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side. 
Would scatter all her spices on the stream. 
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks. 
And, in a word, but even now worth this, 35 
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the 

thought 
To think on this, and shall I lack the thought 
That such a thing bechanc'd would make me 

sad? 
But tell not me; I know, Antonio 
Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 40 



91 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act 



SC. I. 



Ant. Believe mC;, no; I thank my fortune for it, 
M}^ ventures are not in one bottom trusted. 
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate 
UlDon the fortune of this present year: 
Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. 
Salar. Why, then you are in love. 46 

Ant. Fie, fie! 

Salar. Not in love neither.^ Then let us say 
you are sad. 
Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy 
For ;^ou to laugh and leap and say you are 

merry, 
Because you are not sad. Now, by two- 
headed JanuSj 50 
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her 

time: 
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes 
And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper. 
And other of such vinegar aspect 
That they'll not show their teeth in way of 
smile, 55 

Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 

Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble 
kinsman, 
Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well: 
We leave you now with better company. 
Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you 
merry, 60 

If worthier friends had not prevented me. 
Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you 
And you embrace the occasion to depart. 
Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. 65 

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh .^ 
say, when? 
You grow exceeding strange: must it be so? 
Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on 
yours. 

Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. 
Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have found 
Antonio, 
We two will leave you : but at dinner-time, 70 
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 
Bass. I will not fail you. 
Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio; 
You have too much respect upon the world: 
They lose it that do buy it with much care; 75 
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. 
Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gra- 
tiano: 



A stage where every man must play a part. 
And mine a sad one. 
Gra. Let me play the fool: 

W^ith mirth and laughter let old wrinkles 

come. 
And let my liver rather heat with wine 81 
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Why should a man, whose blood is warm 

within. 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alablaster? 
Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaun- 
dice 85 
By being peevish? I tell thee what, An- 
tonio — 
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks — 
There are a sort of men whose visages 
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond. 
And do a wilful stillness entertain, 90 
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit. 
As who should say T am Sir Oracle, 
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!' 

my Antonio, I do know of these 95 
That therefore only are reputed wise 

For saying nothing, when, I am very sure. 
If they should speak, would almost damn 

those ears 
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers 

fools. 
I'll tell thee more of this another time: 100 
But fish not, with this melancholy bait. 
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. 
Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile: 
I'll end my exhortation after dinner. 
Lor. .Well, we will leave you then till dinner- 
time : 105 

1 must be one of these same dumb wise men. 
For Gratiano never lets me speak. 

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years moe. 
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own 
tongue. 
Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. 
Gra. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only com- 
mendable. Ill 
In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendi- 
ble. 

Exit [with Lorenzo]. 
Ant. Is that any thing now? 
Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of noth- 
ing, more than any man in all Venice. His 
reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two 
bushels of chafF: you shall seek all day ere you 



92 



ACT I. SC. 



I-] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



find them, and when you have them, they are 
not worth the search. 

Ant. Well, tell me now what lady is the same 
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 120 
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? 

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
How much I have disabled mine estate. 
By something showing a more swelling port 
Than my faint means would grant continu- 
ance : 125 
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
From such a noble rate; but my chief care 
Is to come fairly off from the great debts 
Wherein my time something too prodigal 
Hath left me gag'd. To you, Antonio, 130 
I owe the most, in money and in love. 
And from your love I have a warranty 
To unburden all my plots and purposes 
How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; 
And if it stand, as you yourself still do, 136 
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd. 
My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one 

shaft, 140 

I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 

The self-same way with more advised watch. 

To find the other forth, and by adventuring 

both 
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof. 
Because what follows is pure innocence. 145 
I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth. 
That which I owe is lost; but if you please 
To shoot another arrow that self way 
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt. 
As I will watch the aim, or to find both 150 
Or bring your latter hazard back again 
And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 

Ant. You know me well, and herein spend but 
time 
To wind about my love with circumstance ; 
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong 
In making question of my uttermost 156 

Than if you had made waste of all I have: 
Then do but say to me what I should do 
That in your knowledge may by me be done. 
And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak. 160 

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left; 

And she is fair and, fairer than that word. 
Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes 
I did receive fair speechless messages: 



Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued 165 
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia: 
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, 
For the four winds blow in from every coast 
Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece; 170 
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' 

strand, 
And many Jasons come in quest of her. 

my Antonio, had I but the means 

To hold a rival place with one of them, 

1 have a mind presages me such thrift, 175 
That I should questionless be fortunate ! 

Ant. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at 
sea; 
Neither have I money nor commodity 
To raise a present sum: therefore go forth; 
Try what my credit can in Venice do: 180 

That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost. 
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
Where money is, and I no question make 
To have it of my trust or for my sake. 

Exeunt. 



[Scene II. Belmont. Portia's house.l 
Enter Portia with her waiting-woman Nerissa. 

Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is 
aweary of this great world. 

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your mis- 
eries were in the same abundance as your 
good fortunes are: and yet, for aught I see, 
they are as sick that surfeit with too much as 
they that starve with nothing. It is no mean 
happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean: 
superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but 
competency lives longer. 10 

Por. Good sentences and well pronounced. 

Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were 
good to do, chapels had been churches and 
poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a 
good divine that follows his own instructions: 
I can easier teach twenty what were good to 
be done, than be one of the twenty to follow 
mine own teaching. T^The brain may devise 
laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er 
a cold decree: such a hare is madness the 
youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel 
the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the 



8 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act 



[. SC. II. 



fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the 
word 'choose !' I may neither choose whom I 
would nor refuse whom I dislike ; so is the will 
of a living daughter curbed by the will of a 
dead father. Is it not hard;, Nerissa, that I 
cannot choose one nor refuse none? 29 

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy 
men at their death have good inspirations : 
therefore the lottery, that he hath devised in 
these three chests of gold, silver and lead, 
whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you, 
will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly 
but one w^ho you shall rightly love. But what 
warmth is there in jour affection towards any 
of these princely suitors that are already come .^ 

Por. I joray thee, over-name them; and as thou 
namest them, I will describe them; and, ac- 
cording to my description, level at my affec- 
" tion. 42 

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 

Por. Ay, that's a colt indeed^ for he doth noth- 
ing but talk of his horse; and he makes it a 
great appropriation to his own good parts, that 
he can shoe him himself. I am much afeard 
my lady his mother played false with a smith. 

Ner. Then is there the County Palatine. 49 

Por. He doth nothing but frown, as who should 
say 'And you will not have me^ choose:' he 
hears merry tales and smiles not : I fear he will 
prove the weeping philosopher when he grows 
old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his 
youth. I had rather be married to a death's- 
head with a bone in his mouth than to either of 
these. God defend me from these two ! 

Ner. How say you by the French lord. Mon- 
sieur Le Bon.^ 59 

Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass 
for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a 
mocker : but, he ! why, he hath a horse better 
than the Neapolitan's, a better bad habit of 
frowning than the Count Palatine ; he is every 
man in no man; if a throstle sing, he falls 
straight a capering: he will fence with his own 
shadow: if I should marry him, I should marry 
twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I 
would forgive him, for if he love me to mad- 
ness, I shall never requite him. 70 

Ner. What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the 
young baron of England? 

Por. You know I say nothing to him, for he un- 
derstands not me, nor I him: he hath neither 
Latin^ French^ nor Italian, and you will come 



into the court and swear that I have a poor 
pennyworth in the English. He is a proper 
man's picture, but, alas, who can converse with 
a dumbshow? How oddly he is suited! I 
think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round 
hose in France, his bonnet in Germany and his 
behaviour everywhere. 82 

Ner. What think you .of the Scottish lord, his 
neighbour ? 

Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, 
for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Eng- 
lishman and swore he would pay him again 
when he was able : I think the Frenchman be- 
came his surety and sealed under for an- 
other. 

Ner. How like you the young German, the Duke 
of Saxony's nephew? 91 

Por. Very vildly in the morning when he is 
sober, and most vildly in the afternoon, when 
he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little 
worse than a man, and when he is worst, he 
is little better than a beast: and the worst fall 
that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go 
without him. 98 

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose 
the right casket, you should refuse to perform 
your father's will, if you should refuse to 
accept him. 

Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray 
thee, set a deep glass of rhenish wine on the 
contrary casket, for if the devil be within and 
that temptation without, I know he will choose 
it. I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I'll be 
married to a sponge. 108 

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any 
of these lords: they have acquainted me with 
their determinations; which is, indeed, to re- 
turn to their home and to trouble you with no 
more suit, unless you may be won by some 
other sort than your father's imposition de- 
pending on the caskets. 115 

Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die 
as chaste as Diana^ unless I be obtained by 
the manner of my father's will. I am glad 
this parcel of wooers are so reasonable, for 
there is not one among them but I dote on his 
very absence, and I pray God grant them a 
fair departure. 122 

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your fa- 
ther's time, a Venetian, a scholar and a sol- 
dier that came hither in company of the Mar- 
quis of Montferrat? 



94 



ACT I. SC. II.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



For. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so 
was he called. 

Ner. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever 
my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best de- 
serving a fair lady. 131 

Por. I remember him well, and I remember him 
worthy of thy praise. 

Enter a Serving-man. 

How now ! what news } 134 

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, 
to take their leave: and there is a forerunner 
come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who 
brings word the prince his master will be here 
to-night. 139 

Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so 
good a heart as I can bid the other four fare- 
well, I should be glad of his approach: if he 
have the condition of a saint and the com- 
plexion of a devil, I had rather he should 
shrive me than wive me. 145 

Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. 
Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, an- 
other knocks at the door. Exeunt. 

[Scene III. Venice.'] 
Enter Bassanio and Sliyloch, the Jew. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats; well. 

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 

Shy. For three months; well. 

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall 
be bound. s 

Shy. Antonio shall become bound; well, 

Bass. May you stead me } will you pleasure me ? 
shall I know your answer ,^ 

Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months 
and Antonio bound. 10 

Bass. Your answer to that. 

Shy. Antonio is a good man. 

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the 
contrary "^ 14 

Shy. Oh, no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying 
he is a good man is to have you understand me 
that he is sufficient. Yet his means are in 
supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tri- 
polis, another to the Indies; I understand, 
moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at 
Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ven- 
tures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships 
are but boards, sailors but men : there be land- 



rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land- 
thieves, I mean pirates, and then there is the 
peril of waters, winds and rocks. The man is, 
notwithstanding, sufficient. Three thousand 
ducats; I think I may take his bond. 28 

Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I may 
be assured, I will think me. May I speak 
with Antonio.^ 

Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 33 

Shy. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habita- 
tion which your prophet the Nazarite conjured 
the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with 
you, talk with you, walk with you, and so fol- 
lowing, but I will not eat with you, drink with 
you, nor pray with you. What news on the 
Rialto.^ Who is he comes here.^ 40 

Enter Antonio. 

Bass. This is Signior Antonio. 

Shy. \_Aside] How like a fawning publican he 
looks ! 
I hate him for he is a Christian, 
But more for that in low simplicity 
He lends out money gratis and brings down 45 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation, and he rails. 
Even there where merchants most do congre- 
gate. 
On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift, 51 
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe. 
If I forgive him! 

Bass. Shylock do you hear? 

Shy. I am debating of my present store. 

And, by the near guess of my memory, 55 
I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
Of full three thousand ducats. What of that ? 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe. 
Will furnish me. But soft ! how many months 
Do you desire.^ \_To Ant.] Rest you fair, 
good signior; 60 

Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 

Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow 
By taking nor by giving of excess, 
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
I'll break a custom. Is he yet possess'd 65 
How much ye would } 

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 

Ant. And for three months. 



95 



10 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act I. SC. III. 



Shy. I had forgot; three months; you told me 
so. 
Well then^ your bond; and let me see; but 

hear you; 
ISIethought you said you neither lend nor bor- 
row 
Upon advantage. 
Ant. I do never use it. 71 

Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's 
sheep — 
This Jacob from our holy Abram was. 
As his wise mother wrought in his behalf. 
The third possessor; ay, he was the third — 75 
Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? 
Shy. No, not take interest, not, as you would 
say. 
Directly interest: mark what Jacob did. 
When Laban and himself were compromis'd 
That all the eanlings which were streak'd and 
pied 80 

Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being 

rank, 
In end of autumn turned to the rams. 
And, when the work of generation was 
Between these woolly breeders in the act. 
The skilful shepherd pil'd me certain wands 85 
And, in the doing of the deed of kind. 
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes. 
Who then conceiving did in eaning time 
Fall parti-colour'd lambs, and those were 

Jacob's. 
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest: 90 
And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 
Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd 
for; 
A thing not in his power to bring to pass. 
But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of 

heaven. 
Was this inserted to make interest good? 95 
Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams? 
Shy. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast : 

But note me, signior. 
Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, 

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 
An evil soul producing holy witness 100 

Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, 
A goodly apple rotten at the heart: 
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! 
Shy. Three thousand ducats; 'tis a good round 
sum. 
Three months from twelve; then, let me see; 
the rate — 105 



Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to 

you ? 
Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my moneys and my usances: 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, no 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. 
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
And spit upon my Jewish garberdine. 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears you need my help: 
Go to, then; you come to me, and you say 116 
'Shylock, we would have moneys: you say so; 
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard 
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 
Over your threshold: moneys is your suit. 120 
What should I say to you ? Should I not say 
'Hath a dog money? is it possible 
A cur should lend three thousand ducats?' Or 
Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key. 
With bated breath and whispering humble- 
ness. 
Say this: 126 

'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; 
You spurn'd me such a day; another time 
You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies 
I'll lend you thus much moneys'? 130 

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again. 
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends; for when did friendship 

take 
A breed for barren metal of his friend? 135 
But lend it rather to thine enemy, 
Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face 
Exact the penalty. 
Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! 

I would be friends with you and have your 

love. 
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me 

with, 
Supply your present wants and take no doit 141 
Of usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear 

me: 
This is kind I offer. 
Bass. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I show. 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 145 

Your single bond; and, in a merry sport. 
If you repay me not on such a day. 
In such a place, such sum or sums as are 
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 



96 



ACT I. SC. III.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



il 



Be nominated for an equal pound 150 

Of your fair fleshy to be cut off and taken 
In what part of your body pleaseth me. 

Ant. Content^ in faith; I'll seal to such a bond 
And say there is much kindness in the Jew. 

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me : 
I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 156 

Ant. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it: 
Within these two months, that's a month be- 
fore 
This bond expires, I do expect return 
Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 160 

Shy. O father Abram, what these Christians are. 
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me 

this ; 
If he should break his day, what should I 

gain 
By the exaction of the forfeiture.^ 165 

A pound of man's flesh taken from a man 
Is not so estimable, profitable neither. 
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say. 
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship : 
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; 170 

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Ant. Yes, Shy lock, I will seal unto this bond. 

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's; 
Give him direction for this merry bond. 
And I will go and purse the ducats straight. 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard 176 
Of an unthrifty knave, and presently 
I will be with you. 

Ea;it. 

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. 

This Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows 
kind. 

Bass. I like not fair terms and a villain's mind. 

Ant. Come on: in this there can be no dismay; 
My ships come home a month before the day. 

Exennt. 

ACT SECOND. 
[Scene I. — Belmont. Portia's house.] 

Enter Morochus, a tawny Moor all in white, and 
three or four followers accordingly, with 
Portia, Nerissa, and their train. Flo[urish 
of] cornets. 

Mar. Mislike me for my complexion, 

The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun. 
To whom I am a neighbour and near bred. 



Bring me the fairest creature northward born, 
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, 5 
And let us make incision for your love, 
To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine. 
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
Hath fear'd the valiant: by my love, I swear 
The best-regarded virgins of our clime 10 

Have lov'd it too : I would not change this hue. 
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle 
queen. 

Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes; 
Besides, the lottery of my destiny 15 

Bars me the right of voluntary choosing: 
But if my father had not scanted me 
And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself 
His wife who wins me by that means I told 

you. 
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair 
As any comer I have look'd on yet 21 

For my affection. 

Mor. Even for that I thank you: 

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets 
To try my fortune. By this scimitar 
That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince, 25 
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, 
I would o'erstare the sternest eyes that look. 
Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth. 
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she- 
bear. 
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, 30 
To win thee, lady. But^ alas the while! 
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice 
W^hich is the better man, the greater throw 
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand: 
So is Alcides beaten by his page; 35 

And so may I, blind fortune leading me. 
Miss that which one unworthier may attain, 
And die with grieving. 

Por. You must take your chance. 

And either not attempt to choose at all 
Or swear before you choose, if you choose 
wrong 40 

Never to speak to lady afterward 
In way of marriage: therefore be advised. 

Mor. Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my 
chance. 

Por. First, forward to the temple: after dinner 
Your hazard shall be made. 

Mor. Good fortune then! 45 

To make me blest or cursed'st among men. 

Cornets. Exeunt, 



97 



1 



12 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act II. SC. II. 



[Scene II. — Venice. A street.^ 

Enter Launcelot, the Clown, alone. 

Laun. Certainl}^ my conscience will serve me to 
run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at 
mine elbow and tempts me saying to me 
'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot^' or 
'good Gobbo,' or 'good Launcelot Gobbo_, use 
your legs^ take the start, run away.' My con- 
science says 'No; take heed, honest Launcelot; 
take heed, honest Gobbo/ or, as aforesaid, 'hon- 
est Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn run- 
ning with thy heels.' Well, the most courage- 
ous fiend bids me pack: 'Via !' says the fiend; 
'away!' says the fiend; 'for the heavens, rouse 
up a brave mind,' says the fiend, 'and run.' 
Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck 
of my heart, says very wisely to me 'My hon- 
est friend Launcelot, being an honest man's 
son,' or rather an honest woman's son; for, in- 
deed, my father did something smack, some- 
thing grow to, he had a kind of taste ; well,, my 
conscience says, 'Launcelot, budge not.' 
'Budge,' says the fiend. 'Budge not,' says my 
conscience. 'Conscience,' say I, 'you counsel 
well;' 'Fiend,' say I, 'you counsel well:' to be 
ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the 
Jew my master, who, God bless the mark, is a 
kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, 
I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving 
your reverence, is the devil himself. Cer- 
tainly the Jew is the very devil incarnation; 
and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a 
kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me 
to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the 
more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my 
heels are at your commandment; I will run. 

Enter Old Gobbo, with a basket. 

Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, which 
is the way to master Jew's .^ 35 

Laun.. [Aside] O heavens, this is my true-begot- 
ten father! who, being more than sand-blind, 
high-gravel-blind, knows me not: I will try 
confusions with him. 

Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, 
which is the way to master Jew's .^ 41 

Laun. Turn up on your right hand at the next 
turning, but, at the next turning of all, on 
your left; marry, at the very next turning. 



turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to 
the Jew's house. 46 

Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to 
hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, 
that dwells with him, dwell with him or 
no.^ 

Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? 
[Aside] Mark me now; now will I raise the 
waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? 

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his 
father, though I say't, is an honest exceeding 
poor man and, God be thanked, well to live. 55 

Laun. Well, let his father be what 'a will, we 
talk of young Master Launcelot. 

Gob, Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir. 

Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I 
beseech you, talk you of young Master Laun- 
celot ? 61 

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. 

Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of 
Master Launcelot, father; for the young gen- 
tleman, according to Fates and Destinies and 
such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such 
branches of learning, is indeed deceased, or, as 
you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven. 

Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very 
staff of my age, my very prop. 70 

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovelpost, a 
staff or a prop? Do you know me, father? 

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gen- 
tleman; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, 
God rest his soul, alive or dead? 75 

Laun. Do you not know me, father? 

Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you 
not. 

Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you 
might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise 
father that knows his own child. Well, old 
man, I will tell you news of your son : give me 
your blessing: truth will come to light; murder 
cannot be hid long; a man's son may^ but in 
the end truth will out. 85 

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you 
are not Launcelot, my boy. 

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling 
about it, but give me your blessing: I am 
Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, 
your child that shall be. 91 

Gob. I cannot think you are my son. 

Laun. I know not what I shall think of that: but 
I am Launcelot, the Jew's man, and I am sure 
Margery your wife is my mother. 95 



98 



ACT II. SC. 



II.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



13 



Gob. Her name is Margery^ indeed; I'll be 
sworn^ if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own 
flesh and blood. Lord, worshipped might he 
be! what a beard hast thou got! thou has got 
more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill- 
horse has on his tail. loi 

Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail 
grows backward: I am sure he had more hair 
of his tail than I have of my face when I last 
saw him. 105 

Gob. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost 
thou and thy master agree .^ I have brought 
him a present. How 'gree you now.^ 

Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I 
have set up my rest to run away, so I will 
not rest till I have run some ground. My mas- 
ter's a very Jew : give him a present ! give him 
a halter: I am famished in his service; you 
may tell every finger I have with my ribs. 
Father, I am glad you are come: give me your 
present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed, 
gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, I 
will run as far as God has any ground. O 
rare fortune ! here comes the man : to him, fa- 
ther; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any 
longer. 120 

Enter Bassanio^ with a follower [Leonardo^ or 
two. 

Bass. You may do so ; but let it be so hasted that 
supper be ready at the farthest by five of 
the clock. See these letters delivered; put the 
liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to 
come anon to my lodging. 125 

Exit one of his men. 

Laun. To him, father. 

Gob. God bless your worship ! 

Bass. Gramercy ! wouldst thou aught with me ? 

Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, — 

Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's 
man; that would, sir, as my father shall spe- 
cify — 

Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one 
would say, to serve, — 134 

Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve 
the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall 
specify — 

Gob. His master and he, saving your worship's 
reverence, are scarce cater-cousins — • 139 

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is that the 
Jew, having done me wrong, doth cause me, as 



my father, being, I hope, an old man, shall 
frutify unto you — 

Gob. I have here a dish of doves that I would 
bestow upon your worship, and my suit is — 

Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to 
myself, as your worship shall know by this 
honest old man; and^ though I say it, though 
old man, yet poor man, my father. 

Bass. One speak for both. What would you } 

Laun. Serve you, sir. 151 

Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. 

Bass. I know thee well; thou hast obtain'd thy 
suit : 
Shylock thy master spoke with me this day. 
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be prefer- 
ment 15s 
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
The follower of so poor a gentleman. 

Laun. The old proverb is very well parted be- 
tween my master Shylock and you, sir: you 
have the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. 

Bass. Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with 
thy son. 161 

Take leave of thy old master and inquire 
My lodging out. Give him a livery 
More guarded than his fellows' : see it done. 

Laun. Father, in. I cannot get a service, no; 
I have ne'er a tongue in my head. Well, if 
any man in Italy have a fairer table, which 
doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have 
good fortune. Go to, here's a simple line of 
life : here's a small trifle of wives : alas, fifteen 
wives is nothing! eleven widows and nine 
maids is a simple coming-in for one man : and 
then to scape drowning thrice, and to be in 
peril of my life with the edge of a feather- 
bed; here are simple scapes. Well, if For- 
tune be a woman, she's a good wench for this 
gear. Father, come; I'll take my leave of the 
Jew in the twinkling of an eye. 177 

Exit clown [with old Gobbo]. 

Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this : 
These things being bought and orderly be- 

stow'd. 
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 180 

My best-esteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go. 

Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 

Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Where is your master.^ 

Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. Exit Leonardo. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio ! 



14 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act II. sc. 



II. 



Bass. Gratiano! 185 

Gra. 1 have a suit to j^ou. 

Bass. You have obtain'd it. 

Gi'a. You must not deny me: I must go with you 

to Behnont. 
Bass. Wh}^^ then 3'ou must. But hear thee, Gra- 
tiano ; 
Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice; 
Parts that become thee happily enough 191 
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; 
But w^here thou art not known, why, there 

the}' show 
Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain 
To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
Thy skijDping spirit, lest through thy wild be- 
haviour 
I be misconsterd in the place I go to 
And lose my hopes. 
Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me: 

If I do not put on a sober habit, 199 

Talk with respect and swear but now and then, 
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look de- 
murely. 
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine 

eyes 
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say 'amen,' 
Use all the observance of civility. 
Like one well studied in a sad ostent 205 

To please his grandam, never trust me more. 
Bass, Well, we shall see your bearing. 
Gra, Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not 
gauge me 
By what we do to-night. 
Bass. No, that were pity: 

I would entreat you rather to put on 210 

Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
That purpose merriment. . But fare you well : 
I have some business. 
Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest: 
But we will visit you at supper-time. Exeunt. 

[Scene III. — Shylock's house.^ 
Enter Jessica and the Clown. 



Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so : 
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil. 
Didst rob it of some taste of tcdiousness. 
But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee: 
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 5 
Lorenzo, wlio is thy new master's guest; 
Give him this letter; do it secretly; 

100 



And so farewell: I would not have my father 
See me in talk with thee. 9 

Laun. Adieu ! tears exhibit my tongue. Most 
beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew ! if a Chris- 
tian did not play the knave and get thee, I am 
much deceived. But, adieu: these foolish 
drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit; 
adieu. Exit. 

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. 15 

Alack, what heinous sin is it in me 
To be asham'd to be my father's child ! 
But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo, 
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, 20 
Become a Christian and thy loving wife. Exit. 

[Scene IV. — Street before Shylock's house.'] 
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio, 

Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, 
Disguise us at my lodging and return. 
All in an hour. 
Gra, We have not made good preparation. 
Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bear- 
ers. 5 
Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly or- 
der'd, 
And better in my mind not undertook. 
Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two 
hours 
To furnish us. 

Enter Launcelot, with a letter. 

Friend Launcelot, what's the news? 

Laun. And it shall please you to break up this, 
it shall seem to signify. n 

Lor. I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand: 
And whiter than the paper it writ on 
Is the fair hand that writ. 

Gra. Love-news, in faith. 

Laun. By your leave, sir. 15 

Lor. Whither goest thou? 

Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew 
to sup to-night with my new master the Chris- 
tian. 

Lor. Hold here, take this : tell gentle Jessica 
I will not fail her; speak it privately. 21 

Go, gentlemen. Exit Clown. 

Will you prepare you for this masque to- 
night ? 
I am provided of a torch-bearer. 



ACT II. SC. 



IV.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



15 



Salar. Aj, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. 

Salan. And so will I. 

Lor. Meet me and Gratiano 

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 

Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 

Exit [with Salanio']. 

Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica.^ 

Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath di- 
rected 30 
How I shall take her from her father's house, 
What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with, 
What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven. 
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake: 35 
And never dare misfortune cross her foot. 
Unless she do it under this excuse. 
That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 
Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest: 
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. 

Exit [with Gratiano']. 



[Scene V. — The same.' 
Enter Jerv and his man that was 



the clown. 



Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy 
judge. 
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandise, 
As thou hast done with me : — What, Jessica ! — 
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 5 
Why, Jessica, I say! 
Laun. Why, Jessica ! 

Shy. Who bids thee call.^ I do not bid thee 

call. 
Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me I could 
do nothing without bidding. 

Enter Jessica. 

Jes. Call you? what is your will? 10 

Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica: 

There are my keys. But wherefore should I 

go? 
I am not bid for love; they flatter me: 
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon 
The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl, 15 
Look to my house. I am right loath to go: 
There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, 
For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go: my young master 
doth expect your reproach. 20 

Shy. So do I his. 



Laun. And they have conspired together. I 
will not say you shall see a masque ; but if you 
do, then it was not for nothing that my nose 
fell a-bleeding on Black-Monday last at six 
o'clock i' the morning, falling out that year on 
Ash-Wednesday was four year, in the after- 
noon. 27 
Shy. What, are there masques? Hear you me, 
Jessica: 
Lock up my doors; and when you hear the 

drum 
And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife. 
Clamber not you up to the casements then, 31 
Nor thrust your head into the public street 
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd 

faces. 
But stop my house's ears, I mean my case- 
ments : 
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 35 
My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear, 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night: 
But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah; 
Say I will come. 
Laun. I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out 
at window, for all this; 
There will come a Christian by. 
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit.] 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, 

ha? 
Jes. His words were 'Farewell mistress;' no- 
thing else. 45 
Shy. The patch is kind enough, but a huge 
feeder ; 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with 

me; 
Therefore I part with him, and part with him 
To one that I would have him help to waste so 
His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in: 
Perhaps I will return immediately: 
Do as I bid you; shut doors after you: 
Fast bind, fast find; 

A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. Exit. 

Jes. Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost, 56 

I have a father, you a daughter, lost. Exit. 

[Scene VI. — The same.] 
Enter the inasquers, Gratiano and Salarino. 

Gra. This is the pent-house under which Lo- 
renzo 
Desir'd us to make stand. 



101 



16 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



ACT II. SC. VI. 



Salar. His hour is almost past. 

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
For lovers ever run before the clock. 

Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 5 
To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are 

wont 
To keep obliged faith unforfeited! 

Gra. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast 
With that keen appetite that he sits down? 
Where is the horse that doth untread again 10 
His tedious measures with the unbated fire 
That he did pace them first? All things that 

are, 
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
How like a younker or a prodigal 
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 15 
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! 
How like the prodigal doth she return, 
With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails. 
Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet 
wind ! 

Enter Lorenzo. 

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo: more of this here- 
after. 20 
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long 
abode; 
Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait: 
When you shall please to play the thieves for 

wives, 
I'll watch as long for you then. Approach; 24 
Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's 
within ? 

[^Enter~\ Jessica, above, [in hoy's clothes. 1^ 

Jes. Who are you ? Tell me, for more certainty. 
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 

Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 

Jes. Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed. 
For who love I so much? And now who 

knows 
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? 31 

Lor. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that 
tliou art. 

Jes. Here, catcli this casket; it is worth the 
pains. 
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me. 
For I am much asham'd of my exchange: 35 
But love is blind and lovers cannot see 
The pretty follies that themselves commit; 
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 



To see me thus transformed to a boy. 

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 

Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames? 
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too 

light. 
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love; 
And I should be obscur'd. 

Lor. So you are, sweet, 

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 45 

But come at once; 

For the close night doth play the runaway. 
And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. 

Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 

With some more ducats, and be with you 

straight. [Exit above. \ 50 

Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew. 

Lor. Beshrew me but I love her heartily; 
For she is wise, if I can judge of her. 
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, 
And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself, 55 
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true. 
Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 

Enter Jessica, [below.'] 

What, art thou come ? On, gentlemen ; away ! 

Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 

Exit [with Jessica and Salarinol* 

Enter Antonio. 

Ant. Who's there? 60 

Gra. Signior Antonio! 

Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest? 

'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you. 

No masque to-night: the wind is come about; 

Bassanio presently will go aboard: 65 

I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 
Gra. I am glad on't: I desire no more delight 

Than to be under sail and gone to-night. 

Exeunt. 

[Scene VII. — Belmont.] 

Enter Portia with Morocco, and both their 
trains. 

Por. Go draw aside the curtains and discover 
The several caskets to this noble prince. 
Now make your choice. 
Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription 
bears, 
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men 
desire;' s 



102 



ACT II. SC. 



VII.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



17 



The second, silver, which this promise carries, 
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves;' 
This third, dull lead, with warning all as 

blunt, 
'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he 

hath.' 
How shall I know if I do choose the right .^ lo 
Por, The one of them contains my picture, 
prince : 
If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 
Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me 
see; 
I will survey the inscriptions back again. 
What SELjs this leaden casket.^ 15 

'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all 

he hath.' 
Must give: for what.^ for lead? hazard for 

lead.? 
This casket threatens. Men that hazard all 
Do it in hope of fair advantages: 
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; 20 
I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. 
What says the silver with her virgin hue? 
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves.' 
As much as he deserves! Pause there, Mor- 
occo, 
And weigh thy value with an even hand: 25 
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation. 
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough 
May not extend so far as to the lady: 
And yet to be afeard of my deserving 
W^ere but a weak disabling of myself. 30 

As much as I deserve ! Why, that's the lady : 
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes. 
In graces and in qualities of breeding; 
But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
What if I stray'd no further, but chose here? 35 
Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold ; 
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men 

desire.' 
Why, that's the lady; all the world desires 

her; 
From the four corners of the earth they come. 
To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing 
saint : 40 

The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds 
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now 
For princes to come view fair Portia: 
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head 
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 45 



To stop the foreign spirits, but they come. 

As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 

One of these three contains her heavenly 

picture. 
Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere 

damnation 
To think so base a thought: it were too gross 50 
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 
Or shall I think in silver she's immured. 
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? 
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem 
Was set in worse than gold. They have in 
England 55 

A coin that bears the figure of an angel 
Stamped in gold, but that's insculp'd upon; 
But here an angel in a golden bed 
Lies all within. Deliver me the key: 
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may! 60 
Por. There, take it, prince; and if my form lie 
there. 
Then I am yours. [iJe unlocks the golden 
cashet.^ 
Mor. O hell! what have we here? 

A carrion Death, within whose empty eye 
There is a written scroll! I'll read the writ- 
ing. ^ 
[Reads^ 'All that glisters is not gold; 65 

Often have you heard that told: 
Many a man his life hath sold 
But my outside to behold: 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as wise as bold, 70 

Young in limbs, in judgment old. 
Your answer had not been inscroll'd: 
Fare you well; your suit is cold.' 
Cold, indeed; and labour lost: 
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost ! 75 
Portia, adieu. I have too griev'd a heart 
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part. 

Exit l_with his train^. 

Por. A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. 

Let all of his complexion choose me so. 

Exeunt. Flo[urish of] cornets. 

[Scene VIII. — Venice, A street.'] 
Enter Salarino and Salanio. 

Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail: 
With him is Gratiano gone along; 
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not. 

Solan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the 
duke. 



103 



18 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act II. SC. VIII. 



Who went with him to search Bassanio's 
ship. 5 

Solar. He came too late, the ship was under sail : 
But there the duke was given to understand 
That in a gondola were seen together 
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica: 
Besides, Antonio certified the duke lo 

They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 

Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd. 
So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets: 
'My daughter ! O my ducats ! O my daugh- 
ter! 
Fled with a Christian! O my Christian 

ducats ! 
Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! 
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats. 
Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my 

daughter ! 
And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious 
stones, 20 

Stol'n by my daughter ! Justice ! find the 

girl; 
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats.' 

Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, 
Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his 
ducats. 

Salan, Let good Antonio look he keep his day. 
Or he shall pay for this. 

Salar. Marry, well remember'd. 

I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday. 
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part 
The French and English, there miscarried 
A vessel of our country richly fraught: 30 

I thought upon Antonio when he told me; 
And wish'd in silence that it were not his. 

Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you 
hear; 
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the 
earth. 35 

I saw Bassanio and Antonio part: 
Bassanio told him he would make some speed 
Of his return; he answer'd, 'Do not so; 
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
But stay the very riping of the time; 40 

And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me. 
Let it not enter in your mind of love: 
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts 
To courtship and such fair ostents of love 
As shall conveniently become you there:' 45 
And even there, his eye being big with tears. 



Turning his face, he put his hand behind him. 
And with affection wondrous sensible 
He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they 
parted. 

Salan. I think he only loves the world for 
him. 50 

I pray thee, let us go and find him out 
And quicken his embraced heaviness 
With some delight or other. 

Salar, Do we so. Exeunt. 

[Scene IX. — Belmont.'] 

Enter Nerissa and a Servitor, 

Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the cur- 
tain straight: 
The Prince of Aragon hath ta'en his oath. 
And comes to his election presently. 

Enter Aragon, his train, and Portia. 
Flour\ish of] cornets* 

Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble 
prince: 
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, 5 
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd: 
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, 
You must be gone from hence immediately. 
Ar, I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three 
things : 
First, never to unfold to any one 10 

Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail 
Of the right casket, never in my life 
To woo a maid in way of marriage: 
Lastly, 

If I do fail in fortune of my choice, 15 

Immediately to leave you and be gone. 
Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear 

That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 
Ar. And so have I address'd me. Fortune now 
To my heart's hope ! Gold ; silver ; and base 

lead. 
'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all 
he hath.' 21 

You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard. 
What says the golden chest ? ha ! let me see : 
'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men 

desire.' 

What many men desire! that 'many' may be 

meant 25 

By the fool multitude, that choose by show, 

Not learning more than the fond eye doth 

teach ; 



104 



ACT II. SC. IX.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



19 



Which pries not to th' interior, but, like the 

martlet. 
Builds in the weather on the outward wall. 
Even in the force and road of casualty. 30 
I will not choose what many men desire, 
Because I will not jump with common spirits 
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house; 
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear : 35 
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves :' 
And well said too; for who shall go about 
To cozen fortune and be honourable 
Without the stamp of merit? Let none pre- 
sume 
To wear an undeserved dignity. 40 

O, that estates, degrees and offices 
Were not deriv'd corruptly, and that clear 

honour 
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer ! 
How many then should cover that stand bare ! 
How many be commanded that command ! 45 
How much low peasantry would then be 

glean'd 
From the true seed of honour! and how much 

honour 
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times 
To be new^-varnish'd 1 Well, but to my 

choice : 
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves.' 50 
I will assume desert. Give me a key for this, 
And instantly unlock my fortunes here. 

[^He opens the silver casket.'] 
For. Too long a pause for that which you find 

there. 
Ar, What's here.^ the portrait of a blinking 
idiot. 
Presenting me a schedule! I will read it. 55 
How much unlike art thou to Portia ! 
How much unlike my hopes and my deserv- 

ings ! 
'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he 

deserves.' 
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head.^ 
Is that my prize t are my deserts no better ? 60 
For. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices 

And of opposed natures. 
Ar. What is here.^ 

[Reads] 'The fire seven times tried this: 

Seven times tried that judgment is. 
That did never choose amiss 65 



Some there be that shadows kiss ; 

Such have but a shadow's bliss: 

There be fools alive, I wis, 

Silver'd o'er; and so was this. 

Take what wife you will to bed, 70 

I will ever be your head; 

So be gone; you are sped.' 

Still more fool I shall appear 

By the time I linger here: 

With one fool's head I came to woo, 75 

But I go away with two. 

Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath. 

Patiently to bear my wroth. 

\_^xeunt Aragon and train.] 
For. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. 
O, these deliberate fools ! when they do choose, 
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. 81 
Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy, 

Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. 
For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 

Enter Messenger. 

Mes. Where is my lady.^ 

For. Here : what would my lord ? 

Mes. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
A young Venetian, one that comes before 
To signify th' approaching of his lord; 
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets. 
To wit, besides commends and courteous 

breath. 
Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen 91 
So likely an ambassador of love: 
A day in April never came so sweet. 
To show how costly summer was at hand. 
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 95 

For. No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard 
Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee. 
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising 

him. 
Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see 
Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 100 

Ner. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be ! 

Exeunt. 

ACT THIRD 

[Scene I. — Venice. A street.] 

Enter Salanio and Salarino. 

Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto? 

Salar. Why, yet it lives there unchecked that 



105 



20 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act III. SC. I. 



Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wrack'd on 
the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they 
call the place ; a very dangerous flat and fatal, 
where the carcases of many a tall ship lie 
buried, as they say, if my gossip Report be an 
honest woman of her word. 8 

Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in 
that as ever knapped ginger or made her 
neighbours believe she wept for the death 
of a third husband. But it is true, without 
any slips of prolixity or crossing the plain 
highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the 

honest Antonio, O that I had a title good 

enough to keep his name company ! — i6 

Salar. Come, the full stop. 

Salan. Ha ! what sayest thou ? Why, the end 
is, he hath lost a ship. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his 
losses. 21 

Salan. Let me say 'amen' betimes, lest the devil 
cross my prayer, for here he comes in the like- 
ness of a Jew. 

Enter Shylock. 

How now, Shylock, what news among the 
merchants } 26 

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as 
you, of my daughter's flight. 

Salar. That's certain: I, for my part, knew 
the tailor that made the wings she flew 
withal, 30 

Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew 
the bird was fledged; and then it is the com- 
plexion of them all to leave the dam. 

Shy. She is damned for it. 

Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her 
judge. 36 

Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel! 

Salan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at 
these years ? 

Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 

Salar. There is more diff'erence between thy 
flesh and hers than between jet and ivory; 
more between your bloods than there is be- 
tween red wine and rhenish. But tell us, do 
you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at 
sea or no.^ 45 

Shy. There I have another bad match: a bank- 
rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his 
head on the Rialto; a beggar, that was used 
to come so smug upon the mart; let him look 
to his bond : he was wont to call me usurer ; let 

1 



him look to his bond: he was wont to lend 
money for a Christian courtesy; let him look 
to his bond. 53 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt 
not take his flesh: what's that good for.f' 

Shy. To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing 
else, it will feed my revenge. He hath 
disgraced me, and hindered me half a million; 
laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, 
scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, 
cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and 
what's the reason } I am a Jew. Hath not a 
Jew eyes.^ hath not a Jew hands, organs, di- 
mensions, senses, aff'ections, passions? fed 
with the same food, hurt with the same 
weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed 
by the same means, warmed and cooled by 
the same winter and summer, as a Christian 
is.f* If you prick us, do we not bleed .^ if you 
tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, do 
we not die.^ and if you wrong us, shall we 
not revenge.^ If we are like you in the rest, 
we will resemble you in that. If a Jew 
wrong a Christian, what is his humility.^ Re- 
venge. ■ If a Christian wrong a Jew, what 
should his suff^erance be by Christian ex- 
ample.^ Why, revenge. The villainy you 
teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard 
but I will better the instruction. 76 

Enter a Man from Antonio. 

Man. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his 

house and desires to speak with you both. 
Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. 

Enter Tubal. 

Salan. Here comes another of the tribe: a third 
cannot be matched, unless the devil himself 
turn Jew. 

Exeunt Gentlemen [^with Antonio's man"]. 

Shy. How now. Tubal ! what news from Genoa ? 
hast thou found my daughter.^ 84 

Tub. 1 often came where I did hear of her, but 
cannot find her. 

Shy. Why, there, there, there, there ! a diamond 
gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frank- 
fort! The curse never fell upon our nation 
till now ; I never felt it till now : two thousand 
ducats in that; and other precious, precious 
jewels. I would my daughter were dead at 
my foot, and the jewels in her ear! would she 
were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in her 
06 



ACT III. SC. I.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



21 



coffin! No news of them? Why, so: and I 
know not what's spent in the search: why, 
thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so 
much, and so much to find tlie thief; and no 
satisfaction, no revenge: nor no ill luck stir- 
ring but what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs 
but o' my breathing; no tears but o' my shed- 
ding. lOI 

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, 
as I heard in Genoa, — 

Shy. What, what, what.? ill luck, ill luck? 

Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
Tripolis. io6 

Shy. I thank God, I thank God. Is it true, 
is it true? 

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that 
escaped the wreck. no 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal : good news, good 
news ! ha, ha ! where ? in Genoa ? 

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, 
one night fourscore ducats. 114 

Shy. Thou slickest a dagger in me : I shall never 
see my gold again: fourscore ducats at a sit- 
ting ! fourscore ducats ! 

Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors 
in my company to Venice, that swear he can- 
not choose but break. 120 

Shy. I am very glad of it: I'll plague him; I'll 
torture him: I am glad of it. 

Tub. One of them showed me a ring that he had 
of your daughter for a monkey. 124 

Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me. Tubal : 
it was my turquoise; I had it of Leah when I 
was a bachelor: I would not have given it for 
a wilderness of monkeys. 

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 129 

Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, 
Tubal, fee me an officer; bespeak him a fort- 
night before. I will have the heart of him, if 
he forfeit; for, were he out of Venice, I can 
make what merchandise I will. Go, Tubal, 
and meet me at our synagogue; go, good 
Tubal; at our synagogue. Tubal. 136 

Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — Belmont.^ 

Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, [Nerissa,'] 
and all their train. 

Por. I pray you, tarry: pause a day or two 
Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong. 



I lose your company : therefore forbear awhile. 
There's something tells me, but it is not love, 
I would not lose you ; and you know yourself 5 
Hate counsels not in such a quality. 
But lest you should not understand me well, — ■ 
And yet a maiden hath no tongue but 

thought, — 
I would detain you here some month or two 
Before you venture for me. I could teach 
you 10 

How to choose right, but then I am forsworn ; 
So will I never be; so may you miss me; 
But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin, 
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your 

eyes. 
They have o'erlook'd me and divided me; 15 
One half of me is yours, the other half yours. 
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then 

yours, 
And so all yours. O, these naughty times 
Put bars between the owners and their rights ! 
And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so. 
Let fortune go to hell for it, not I. 21 

I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time, 
To eke it and to draw it out in length. 
To stay you from election. 

Bass. Let me choose; 

For as I am, I live upon the rack. 25 

Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio ! then confess 
What treason there is mingled with your love. 

Bass. None but that ugly treason of mistrust. 
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my 

love: 
There may as well be amity and life 30 

'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 

Por. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack. 
Where men enforced do speak anything. 

Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the 
truth. 

Por. Well then, confess and live. 

Bass. 'Confess' and 'love' 

Had been the very sum of my confession: 
O happy torment, when my torturer 
Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 
But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 

Por. Away, then! I am lock'd in one of 
them : 40 

If you do love me, you will find me out. 
Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof. 
Let music sound while he doth make his 

choice ; 
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end. 



107 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act III. SC. II. 



Fading in music: that the comparison 45 

May stand more proper_, my eye shall be the 

stream 
And watery death-bed for him. He may win ; 
And what is music then? Then music is 
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
To a new-crowned monarch: such it is 50 

As are those dulcet sounds in break of day 
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's 

ear 
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes^ 
With no less presence, but with much more 

love. 
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 55 
The virgin tribute jDaid by howling Troy 
To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice; 
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives. 
With bleared visages, come forth to view 
The issue of th' exploit. Go, Hercules ! 60 
Live thou, I live: with much, much more dis- 
may 
I view the fight than thou that mak'st the 
fray. 

Here Music. 

A Song the tchilst Bassanio comments on the 

caskets to himself. 

'Tell me where is fancy bred. 

Or in the heart or in the head? 

How begot, how nourished? 65 

Reply, reply. 
It is engender'd in the eyes. 
With gazing fed; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies. 

Let us all ring fancy's knell: 70 
I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell.' 

All. 'Ding, dong, bell.' 

Bass. So may the outward shows be least them- 
selves : 
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt 75 
But, being season'd with a gracious voice. 
Obscures the show of evil? In religion. 
What damned error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it and approve it with a text. 
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? 80 
There is no vice so simple but assumes 
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts : 
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as 

false 
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, 85 

1 



Who, inward search'd, have livers white as 

milk; 
And these assume but valour's excrement 
To render them redoubted! Look on beauty, 
And you shall see 'tis purchased by the 

weight ; 
Which therein works a miracle in nature, 90 
Making them lightest that wear most of it: 
So are those crisped snaky golden locks, 
Which makes such wanton gambols with the 

wind. 
Upon supposed fairness, often known 
To be the dowry of a second head, 95 

The skull that bred them in the sepulchre. 
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 
To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf 
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, 99 

The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy 

gold. 
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee; 
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common 

drudge 
'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre 

lead, 
Which rather threatenest than dost promise 

aught, 105 

Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence; 
And here choose I : j oy be the consequence ! 
Por. How all the other passions fleet to air. 
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd 

despair. 
And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jeal- 
ousy ! 

love, . Ill 
Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy; 

In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess. 

1 feel too much thy blessing: make it less, 
For fear I surfeit. 

Bass. What find I here? 115 

[Opening the leaden casket.] 
Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demigod 
Hath come so near creation? Move these 

eyes ? 
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine. 
Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips, 
Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar 120 
Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in 

her hairs 
The painter plays the spider and hath woven 
A golden mesh t' entrap the hearts of men 
Faster than gnats in cobwebs : but her eyes, — 



08 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



23 



How could he see to do them.'^ Having made 

one^ 125 

Methinks it should have power to steal both 

his 
And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how 

far 
The substance of my praise doth wrong this 

shadow 
In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the 

scroll, 130 

The continent and summary of my fortune. 
[Reads] 'You that choose not by the view, 

Chance as fair and choose as true ! 

Since this fortune falls to you. 

Be content and seek no new. 135 

If you be well pleas 'd with this 

And hold your fortune for your bliss. 

Turn you where your lady is 

And claim her with a loving kiss.' 
A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave; 140 
I come by note, to give and to receive. 
Like one of two contending in a prize. 
That thinks he hath done well in people's 

eyes. 
Hearing applause and universal shout, 
Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt 145 
• Whether those peals of praise be his or no ; 
So, thrice-fair lady, stand I, even so; 
As doubtful whether what I see be true. 
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 
Por. You see me. Lord Bassanio, where I stand. 
Such as I am: though for myself alone 151 
I would not be ambitious in my wish. 
To wish myself much better; yet, for you 
I would be trebled twenty times myself; 
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand 

times 155 

More rich; 

That only to stand high in your account, 
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
Exceed account; but the full sum of me 
Is sum of nothing, which, to term in gross, 160 
Is an unlesson'd girl^ unschool'd, unpractis'd; 
Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
But she may learn; happier than this. 
She is not bred so dull but she can learn; 
Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit 165 
Commits itself to yours to be directed, 
As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
Myself and what is mine to you and yours 
Is now converted: but now I was the lord 169 



Of this fair mansion, master of my servants. 
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, 171 
This house, these servants and this same my- 
self 
Are yours, my lord: I give them with this 

ring; 
Which when you part from, lose, or give 

away. 
Let it presage the ruin of your love 175 

And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 
Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words. 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins; 
And there is such confusion in my powers. 
As, after some oration fairly spoke 180 

By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
Among the buzzing pleased multitude; 
Where every something, being blent together. 
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
Express'd and not express'd. But when this 
ring 185 

Parts from this finger, then parts life from 

hence : 
O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead! 
Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time. 
That have stood by and seen our wishes pros- 
per. 
To cry, good joy: good joy, my lord and 



lady 



190 



Gra. My lord Bassanio and my gentle lady, 
I wish you all the joy that you can wish; 
For I am sure you can wish none from me: 
And when your honours mean to solemnise 
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech 
you, 195 

Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a 
wife. 

Gra. I thank your lordship, you have got me 
one. 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: 
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 200 
You loved, I loved; for intermission 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Your fortune stood upon the caskets there. 
And so did mine too, as the matter falls; 
For wooing here until I sweat again, 205 

And swearing till my very roof was dry 
With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, 
I got a promise of this fair one here 
To have her love, provided that your fortune 
Achiev'd her mistress. 

Por. Is this true, Nerissa? 210 



109 



24 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act III. SC. II. 



Ker. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 

Bass. And do you, Gratiano^ mean good faith? 

Gra. Yes, faith, my lord. 

Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your 
marriage. 

Gra. We'll play with them the first boy for a 
thousand ducats. 

Ner. What, and stake down? 

Gra. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and 
stake down. But who comes here? Lo- 
renzo and his infidel? What^ and my old 
Venetian friend Salanio? 222 

Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salanio. 

Bass. Lorenzo and Salanio, welcome hither; 
If that the j'^outh of my new interest here 
Have power to bid you welcome. By your 
leave, 225 

I bid my very friends and countrymen. 
Sweet Portia, welcome. 
Por. So do I, my lord: 

They are entirely welcome. 
Lor. I thank your honour. For my part, my 
lord. 
My purpose was not to have seen jou 
here ; 230 

But meeting with Salanio by the way. 
He did intreat me, past all saying nay. 
To come with him along. 
Sal. I did, my lord; 

And I have reason for it. Signor Antonio 
Commends him to you. \_Gives Bassanio a 
letter.] 
Bass. Ere I ope his letter, 235 

I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 
Sal. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; 
Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there 
Will show you his estate. 

[Bassanio] opens the letter. 
Gra. Nerissa^ cheer yond stranger; bid her wel- 
come. 240 
Your hand, Salanio: what's the news from 

Venice? 
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio ? 
I know he will be glad of our success ; 
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. 
Sal. I would you had won the fleece that he 
hath lost. 245 

Por. There are some shrewd contents in yond 
same paper. 
That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek: 

1 



Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the 

world 
Could turn so much the constitution 
Of any constant man. What, worse and 

worse ! 250 

With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself. 
And I must freely have the half of anything 
That this same paper brings you. 
Bass. O sweet Portia, 

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words 
That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady, 255 
When I did first impart my love to you, 
I freely told you, all the wealth I had 
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman; 
And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady. 
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 260 
How much I was a braggart. When I told 

you 
My state was nothing, I should then have told 

you 
That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, 
I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, 
Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy, 265 
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady; 
The paper as the body of my friend. 
And every word in it a gaping wound. 
Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salanio? 
Hath all his ventures fail'd? What, not one 

hit ? 270 

From Tripolis, from Mexico and England, 271 
From Lisbon, Barbary and India ? 
And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch 
Of merchant-marring rocks ? 
Sal. Not one, my lord. 

Besides, it should appear, that if he had 275 
The present money to discharge the Jew, 
He would not take it. Never did I know 
A creature, that did bear the shape of man. 
So keen and greedy to confound a man: 
He plies the duke at morning and at night. 
And doth impeach the freedom of the state, 280 
If they deny him justice: twenty merchants. 
The duke himself, and the magnificoes 
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with 

him ; 
But none can drive him from the envious 

plea 
Of forfeiture, of justice and his bond. 285 
Jes. When I, was with him I have heard him 

swear 
To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, Jj 

That he would rather have Antonio's flesh % 
10 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



25 



Than twenty times the value of the sum 
That he did owe him : and I know^ my lord, 290 
If law, authority, and power deny not. 
It will go hard with poor Antonio. 
Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in 

trouble ? 
Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest 

man. 
The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit 295 
In doing courtesies, and one in whom 
The ancient Roman honour more appears 
Than any that draws breath in Italy. 
Por. What sum owes he the Jew.^ 
Bass. For me three thousand ducats. 
Por. What, no more? 300 

Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond; 
Double six thousand, and then treble that. 
Before a friend of this description 
Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault. 
First go with me to church and call me 

wife, 305 

And then away to Venice to your friend; 
For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
To pay the petty debt twenty times over: 
When it is paid, bring your true friend 

along. 310 

My maid Nerissa and myself meantime 
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ! 
For you shall hence upon your wedding- 
day: 
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry 

cheer : 314 

Since you are dear bought, I will love you 

dear. 
But let me hear the letter of your friend. 
Bass. [Reads] 'Sweet Bassanio, my ships have 
all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my 
estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is 
forfeit; and since in paying it, it is impossible 
I should live, all debts are cleared between you 
and I, if I might bat see you at my death. 
Notwithstanding, use your pleasure; if your 
love do not persuade you to come, let not my 
letter.' 324 

Por. O love, dispatch all business, and be 

gone! 
Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away 

I will make haste : but, till I come again. 
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay. 

Nor rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. 330 

Exeunt. 
11 



[Scene III. — Venice, A street.] 
Enter Shi/lock, Salarino, Antonio, and Gaoler. 

Shy. Gaoler, look to him: tell not me of mercy; 
This is the fool that lends out money gratis: 
Gaoler, look to him. 
^'nt. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 

Shy. I'll have my bond; speak not against my 
bond: 
I have sworn an oath that I will have my 

bond. 
Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a 
cause; 6 

But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs: 
The duke shall grant me justice. I do won- 
der. 
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond 
To come abroad with him at his request. 10 

Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. 
Shy. I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee 
speak: 
I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no 

more. 
I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool. 
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and 

yield 
To Christian intercessors. Follow not; 16 
I'll have no speaking: I will have my bond. 

Exit Jew. 
Salar. It is the most impenetrable cur 

That ever kept with men. 
Ant. Let him alone: 

I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
He seeks my life; his reason well I know: 21 
I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 
Many that have at times made moan to me ; 
Therefore he hates me. 
Salar. I am sure the duke 

Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 25 
Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law: 
For the commodity that strangers have 
With us in Venice, if it be denied. 
Will much impeach the justice of the state; 
Since that the trade and profit of the city 30 
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go: 
These griefs and losses have so bated me. 
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
To-morrow to my bloody creditor. 
Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come 35 
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not! 

Exeunt. 
1 



26 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act III. SC. IV. 



[Scene IV. — Belmont.] 

Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and 
[Balthasar], a man of Portia's. 

Lor. Madam^ although I speak it in your pres- 
ence, 
You have a noble and a true conceit 
Of god-like amity; which appears most 

strongly 
In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
But if you knew to whom you show this hon- 
our, 5 
How true a gentleman you send relief. 
How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
I know you would be prouder of the work 
Than customary bounty can enforce you. 

Por. I never did repent for doing good, lo 

Nor shall not now : for in companions 
That do converse and waste the time together. 
Whose souls do bear an egal yoke of love. 
There must be needs a like proportion 
Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit; 15 
Which makes me think that this Antonio, 
Being the bosom lover of my lord, 
]\Iust needs be like my lord. If it be so. 
How little is the cost I have bestow'd 
In purchasing the semblance of my soul 20 
From out the state of hellish cruelty ! 
This comes too near the praising of myself; 
Therefore no more of it: hear other things. 
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 
The husbandry and manage of my house 25 
Until my lord's return : for mine own part, 
I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow 
To live in prayer and contemplation. 
Only attended by Nerissa here. 
Until her husband and my lord's return: 30 
There is a monastery two miles off; 
And there we will abide. I do desire you 
Not to deny this imposition; 
The which my love and some necessity 
Now lays upon you. 

Lor. Madam, with all my heart; 

I shall obey you in all fair commands. 36 

Por. My people do already know my mind. 
And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
In place of Lord Bassanio and myself. 
So fare you well, till we shall meet again. 

Lor. Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on 
you! 

Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 



Por, I thank you for your wish, and am well 
pleas'd 
To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jessica. 
Exeunt [^Jessica and Lorenzo]. 
Now, Balthasar, 45 

As I have ever found thee honest-true. 
So let me find thee still. Take this same let- 
ter. 
And use thou all the endeavour of a man 
In speed to Padua: see thou render this 
Into my cousin's hand. Doctor Bellario; 50 
And, look, what notes and garments he doth 

give thee. 
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed 
Unto the tranect, to the common ferry 
Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in 

words. 
But get thee gone: I shall be there before thee. 
Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. 

\Exit.'] 56 
Por. Come on, Nerissa; I have work in hand 
That you yet know not of: we'll see our hus- 
bands 
Before they think of us. 
Ner, Shall they see us? 

Por. They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit, 60 
That they shall think we are accomplished 
With that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager, 
When we are both accoutred like young men, 
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
And wear my dagger with the braver grace, 65 
And speak between the change of man and boy 
With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps 
Into a manly stride, and speak of frays 
Like a fine bragging youth, and tell quaint lies, 
How honourable ladies sought my love, 70 • 
Which I denying, they fell sick and died; 
I could not do withal; then I'll repent. 
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd 

them; 
And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, 74 
That men shall swear I have discontinued 

school 
Above a twelvemonth. I have within my 

mind 
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, J 
Wliich I will practise. * 

Ner. Why, shall we turn to men? 

Por. Fie, what a question's that. 

If thou wert near a lewd interpreter! 80 

But come, I'll tell tliee all my whole device 
When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
12 



ACT III. SC. IV.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



27 



At the park gate ; and therefore haste away. 
For we must measure twenty miles to-day. 

Ea;eunt. 

[Scene V. — Portia's Garden.] 
Enter Clown and Jessica. 

Clown. Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the 
father are to be laid upon the children: there- 
fore, I promise you, I fear you. I was al- 
ways plain with you, and so now I speak my 
agitation of the matter: therefore be of good 
cheer, for truly I think you are damned. 
There is but one hope in it that can do you 
any good; and that is but a kind of bastard 
hope neither. 

Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee? lo 

Clown. Marry, you may partly hope that your 
father got you not, that you are not the Jew's 
daughter. 

Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed: 
so the sins of my mother should be visited 
upon me. i6 

Clown. Truly then I fear you are damned both 
by father and mother; thus when I shun 
Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdis, your 
mother; well, you are gone both ways. 20 

Jes. I shall be saved by my husband; he hath 
made me a Christian. 

Clown. Truly, the more to blame he: we were 
Christians enow before ; e'en as many as could 
well live, one by another. This making of 
Christians will raise the price of hogs ; if we 
grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly 
have a rasher on the coals for money. 

Enter Lorenzo. 

Jes. Ill tell my husband, Launcelot, what you 
say; here he comes. 30 

Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, 
Launcelot, if you thus get my wife into corn- 
ers. 

Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo: 
Launcelot and I are out. He tells me flatly, 
there is no mercy for me in heaven, because I 
am a Jew's daughter: and he says, you are no 
good member of the commonwealth, for in con- 
verting Jews to Christians, you raise the price 
of pork. 39 

Lor. I shall answer that better to the common- 
wealth than you can the getting up of the 

11 



negro's belly: the Moor is with child by you, 
Launcelot. 

Clown. It is much that the Moor should be more 
than reason: but if she be less than an honest 
woman, she is indeed more than I took her 
for. 47 

Lor. How every fool can play upon the word! 
I think the best grace of wit will shortly turn 
into silence, and discourse grow commendable 
in none only but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid 
them prepare for dinner. 

Clown. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. 

Lor. Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! 
then bid them prepare dinner. 56 

Clown. That is done too, sir; only 'cover' is the 
word. 

Lor. Will you cover then, sir? 59 

Clown. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. 

Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt 
thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an 
instant? I pray thee, understand a plain 
man in his plain meaning : go to thy fellows ; 
bid them cover the table, serve in the meat, 
and we will come in to dinner. 65 

Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in; 
for the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your 
coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as hu- 
mours and conceits shall govern. Exit Clown. 

Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are 
suited ! 70 

The fool hath planted in his memory 
An army of good words; and I do know 
A many fools, that stand in better place, 
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, 76 
How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife? 

Jes. Past all expressing. It is very meet 
The Lord Bassanio live an upright life; 
For, having such a blessing in his lady, 80 
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth; 
And if on earth he do not mean it, it 
Is reason he should never come to heaven. 
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly 

match 
And on the wager lay two earthly women, 85 
And Portia one, there must be something else 
Pawn'd with the other, for the poor rude 

world 
Hath not her fellow. 

Lor. Even such a husband 

Hast thou of me as she is for a wife. 

3 



28 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act III. SC. V. 



Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 90 
hor, I will anon: first, let us go to dinner. 
Jes, Nay, let me praise you while I have a 

stomach. 
Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk; 
Then, howso'er thou speak'st, 'mong other 

things 
I shall digest it. 
Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. Exeunt. 

ACT FOURTH 

[Scene I. — Venice. A court of justice.] 

Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, Bas- 
sanio, \_Salanio,] and Gratiano. 

Duke. What, is Antonio here.^ 

Ant. Ready, so pleasfe your grace. 

Duke. I am sorry for thee: thou art come to an- 
swer 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
Uncapable of pity, void and empty 5 

From any dram of mercy. 

Ant. I have heard 

Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
His rigorous course; but since he stands ob- 
durate 
And that no lawful means can carry me 
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 10 

My patience to his fury, and am arm'd 
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit. 
The very tyranny and rage of his. 

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 

Sal. He is ready at the door: he comes, my 
lord. 15 

Enter Shyloch, 

Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our 

face. 
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, 
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
To the last hour of act; and then 'tis thought 
Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse more 

strange 
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty; 21 
And where thou now exact'st the penalty, 
Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh. 
Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, 
But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, 
Forgive a moiety of the principal; . 26 

Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 

1 



That have of late so huddled on his back. 
Enow to press a royal merchant down 
And pluck commiseration of his state 30 

From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint. 
From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never 

train'd J 

To offices of tender courtesy. ^ 

We all expect a gentle answer, Jqw. 
Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I pur- 
pose; 3S 
Arid by our holy Sabbath have I sworn ^ 
To have the due and forfeit of my bond: I 
If you deny it, let the danger light | 
Upon your charter and your city's freedom. ^ 
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 40 
A weight of carrion flesh than to receive 
Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that: 
But, say, it is my humour: is it answer'd? 
What if my house be troubled with a rat 
And I be pleas 'd to give ten thousand ducats 45 
To have it ban'd.^ What, are you answer'd 

yet.? 
Some men there are love not a gaping pig; 
Some, that are mad if they behold a cat; 
And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose. 
Cannot contain their urine: for affection, 50 
Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood 
Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your 

answer : 
As there is no firm reason to be render'd, j 

Why he cannot abide a gaping pig; ■ 

Why he, a harmless necessary cat; 55 

Why he, a woollen bag-pipe; but of force 
Must yield to such inevitable shame 
As to offend, himself being offended; 
So can I give no reason, nor I will not. 
More than a lodg'd hate and a certain loath- 
ing 
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 61 

A losing suit against him. Are you an- 
swer'd .f^ 
Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 

To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 
Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my an- 
swers. 65 
Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not 

love? 
Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not 

kill.? 
Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 
Shy. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting 
thee twice? 
14 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



Ant. I pray you, think you question with the 
Jew : 70 

You may as well go stand upon the beach 
And bid the main flood bate his usual height; 
Or even as well use question with the wolf 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the 

lamb; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 75 
To wag their high tops and to make no noise^ 
When they are fretted with the gusts of 

heaven ; 
You may as well do any thing most hard. 
As seek to soften that — than which what's 

harder ? — 
His Jewish heart: therefore, I do beseech you. 
Make no more offers, use no farther means, 81 
But with all brief and plain conveniency 
Let me have judgment and the Jew his will. 
Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 
Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
Were in six parts and every part a ducat, 86 
I would not draw them; I would have my 
bond. 
Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, render- 
ing none.'* 
Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no 
wrong ? 
You have among you many a purchas'd slave. 
Which, like your asses and your dogs and 
mules, 91 

You use in abject and in slavish parts. 
Because you bought them: shall I say to you. 
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs ? 94 
Why sweat they under burthens? let their 

beds 
Be made as soft as yours and let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands.^ Yoa will an- 
swer, 
'The slaves are ours:' so do X answer you: 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him. 
Is dearly bought; 'tis mine and I will have it. 
If you deny me, fie upon your law ! loi 

There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 
I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? 
Duke. Upon my power I may dismiss this court, 
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, 105 

Whom I have sent for to determine this, 
Come here to-day. 
Sal. My lord, here stays without 

A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
New come from Padua. 
Duke. Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. 

11 



Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man, cour- 
age yet! Ill 
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and 

all. 
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 

Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me: 
You cannot better be employ'd Bassanio, 117 
Than to live still and write mine epitaph. 

Enter Nerissa [^dressed like a lawyer's clerk'\. 

Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? 
Ner, From both, my lord. Bellario greets your 
grace. [Presenting a letter.^ 120 

Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earn- 
estly ? 
Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt 

there. 
Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh 
Jew, 
Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can. 
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the 

keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce 
thee? 
Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to 

make. 
Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog ! 
And for thy life let justice be accus'd. 
Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith 130 
To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit 
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human 

slaughter. 
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, 135 
And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam. 
Infused itself in thee; for thy desires 
Are wolvish, bloody, starv'd and ravenous. 
Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off" my 
bond. 
Thou but ofl'end'st thy lungs to speak so loud : 
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 141 
To cureless ruin. I stand here for law. 
Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
A young and learned doctor to our court. 
Where is he? 
Ner. He attendeth here hard by, 145 

To know your answer, whether you'll admit 
him. 



i 



10 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act IV. SC. I. 



Duke. With all my heart. Some three or four 
of you 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. 
[Ei-eunt Nerissa and others.'] 
Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's let- 
ter. 
[Reads] 'Your grace shall understand that at 
the receipt of your letter I am very sick: but 
in the instant that your messenger came, in 
loving visitation was with me a young doctor 
of Rome; his name is Balthasar. I acquainted 
him with the cause in controversy between the 
Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned o'er 
many books together: he is furnished with my 
opinion; which, bettered with his own learn- 
ing, the greatness whereof I cannot enough 
commend, comes with him, at my importunity, 
to fill up your grace's request in my stead. I 
beseech you, let his lack of years be no impedi- 
ment to let him lack a reverend estimation ; for 
I never knew so young a body with so old a 
head. I leave him to your gracious accept- 
ance, whose trial shall better publish his com- 
mendation.' i66 

Enter Portia for Balthasar [tmth Nerissa and 
others]. 

Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he 
writes : 

And here, I take it, is the doctor come. 

Give me your hand. Came you from old Bel- 
lario ? 
Por. I did, my lord. 
Duke. You are welcome: take your place. 

Are you acquainted with the difference 171 

That holds this present question in the court? 
Por. I am informed throughly of the cause. 

Which is the merchant here, and which the 
Jew? 
Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both sta,nd 
forth. 175 

Por. Is 3^our name Shylock? 
Shy. Shylock is my name. 

Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; 

Yet in such rule that the Venetian law 

Cannot impugn you as you do proceed. 

You stand within his danger, do you not? 180 
Ant. Ay, so he says. 

Por. Do you confess the bond? 

Ant. I do. 

Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

1 



Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me that. 

Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd, 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 185 
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest; 
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown; 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power. 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 191 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above this sceptred sway; 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself; 195 

And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice. ^Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this. 
That, in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to 
render 201 

The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea; 
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Ven- 
ice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant 
there. 205 

Shy. My deeds ujDon my head! I crave the 
law. 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? 

Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the 
court ; 
Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, 210 . 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, I 

On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech | 
you, _ " 

Wrest once the law to your authority: 215 

To do a great right, do a little wrong, 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Por. It m.ust not be; there is no power in 
Venice 
Can alter a decree established; 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent, 220 

And many an error by the same example 
Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 

Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Dan- 
iel! 
O wise young judge, how do I honour thee ! 224 

Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shy. Here 'tis, m.ost reverend doctor, here it is. 
16 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



31 



Por. Shylock^ there's thrice thy money ofFer'd 
thee. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? 
No, not for Venice. 

Por. Why, this bond is forfeit; 230 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful: 
Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour. 
It doth appear you are a worthy judge; 236 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound: I charge you by the 

law. 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar. 
Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear 240 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 

Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

Por. Why then, thus it is: 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 245 

Shy. O noble judge! O excellent young man! 

Por. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

Shy. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright 

j udge ! 250 

How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

Por. Therefore lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. Ay, his breast ! 

So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge.^ 
'Nearest his heart:' those are the very words. 

Por. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh 
The flesh.?* 

Shy. I have them ready. 256 

Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your 
charge. 
To stop his wounds, lest he should bleed to 
death. 

Shy. It is not nominated in the bond. 

Por. It is not so express'd; but what of that? 
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 261 

Shy. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. 

Por. Come, merchant, have you. anything to say? 

Ant. But little: I am arm'd and well prepar'd. 
Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well! 
Grieve not that I am f all'n to this for you ; 266 
For herein Fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom: it is still her use 
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 

1 



To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow 270 
An age of poverty; from which lingering pen- 
ance 
Of such misery doth she cut me ofl*. 
Commend me to your honourable wife: 
Tell her the process of Antonio's end; 
Say how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge 276 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
Repent not you that you shall lose your friend. 
And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 280 
I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 

Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife 
Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
But life itself, my wife, and all the world. 
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life: 285 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. 

Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for 
that. 
If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 

Gra, I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love: 
I would she were in heaven, so she could 291 
Entreat some power to change this currish 
Jew. 

Ner. 'Tis well you ofl'er it behind her back; 
The wish would make else an unquiet house. 

Shy. These be the Christian husbands. I have 
a daughter; 295 

Would any of the stock of Barrabas 
Had been her husband rather than a Christian ! 
We trifle time : I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

Por. A pound, of that same merchant's flesh is 
thine : 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shy. Most rightful j udge ! 301 

Por, And you must cut this flesh from oS his 
breast: 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, 
prepare ! 

Por. Tarry a little; there is something else. 305 
This bond doth give thee here no j ot of blood ; 
The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh:' 
Then take thy bond, take thou thjr pound of 

flesh; 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and 



Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 



3" 



17 



i 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act IV. SC. I. 



Gra. O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned 
j udge ! 

Shy. Is that the law? 

For. Thyself shalt see the act: 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd 315 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou de- 
sirest. 

Gra. O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned 
judge! 

Shy. I take this offer, then ; pay the bond thrice 
And let the Christian go. 

Bass. Here is the money. 

For. Soft! . 320 

The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste: 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. O Jew ! an upright j udge, a learned j udge ! 

Por. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more 
But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more 
Or less than a just pound, be it so much 327 
As makes it light or heavy in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair, 331 

Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate. 

Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
Now infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

Por. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy for- 
feiture. 335 

Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

Bass. I have it ready for thee; here it is. 

Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court: 
He shall have merely justice and his bond. 339 

Gra. A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel ! 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal? 

Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture. 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 344 

Shy. Why, then the devil give him good of it ! 
I'll stay no longer question. 

Por. Tarry, Jew: 

The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
If it be prov'd against an alien 
That by direct or indirect attempts 350 

He seek the life of any citizen, 
The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive 
Shall seize one half his goods: the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 355 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st; 

1 



For it appears, by manifest proceeding. 
That indirectly and directly too 
Thou hast contriv'd against the very life 360 
Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd 
The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gra. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang 

thyself: 

And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state. 

Thou hast not let the value of a cord; 366 

Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's 

charge. 

Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our 
spirit, 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it: 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's; 370 

The other half comes to the general state. 
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine, 

Por, Ay, for the state, not for Antonio. 

Shy. Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that: 
You take my house when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house; you take my life . 
When you do take the means whereby I live. 

Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 

Gra. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's 
sake. 

Anf. So please my lord the duke and all the 
court 380 

To quit the fine for one half of his goods, 
I am content; so he will let me have 
The other half in use, to render it. 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter : 385 

Two things provided more, that, for this fa- 
vour, 
He presently become a Christian; 
The other, that he do record a gift, a 

Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, 1 

Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. 390 

Duke. He shall do this, or else I do recant 
The pardon that I late pronounced here. 

Por. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou 
say? 

Shy. I am content. 

Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from 
hence ; 395 

I am not well : send the deed after me. 
And I will sign it. 

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gra. In christening thou shalt have two god- 
fathers ; 
18 



ACT IV. 



SC. I.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had 

ten more. 
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 400 

Eojit [Shylock^. 
Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to din- 
ner. 
Por. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon: 
I must away this night toward Padua, 
And it is meet I presently set forth. 
I Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you 
not. 405 

Antonio, gratify this gentleman. 
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 
Exeunt Duke and his train. 
Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof, 410 

Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 
Ant. And stand indebted, over and above. 

In love and service to you evermore. 
Por. He is well paid that is well satisfied; 415 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied 
And therein do account myself well paid : 
My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
I pray you, know me when we meet again : 
I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 420 
Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you 
further : 
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute. 
Not as fee: grant me two things, I pray you. 
Not to deny me, and to pardon me. 
Por. You press me far, and therefore I will 
yield. 425 

[To Ant.] Give me your gloves, I'll wear 

them for your sake; 
[To Bass.~\ And, for your love, I'll take this 

ring from you: 
Do not draw back your hand: I'll take no 

more; 
And you in love shall not deny me this. 
Bass. This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle ! 

I will not shame myself to give you this. 431 
Por. I will have nothing else but only this; 

And now methinks I have a mind to it. 
Bass. There's more depends on this than on the 
value. 
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, 435 
And find it out by proclamation: 
Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. 
Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers: 

You taught me first to beg; and now methinks 



You teach me how a beggar should be an- 
swer'd. 
Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my 
wife ! 441 

And when she put it on, she made me vow 
That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it. 
Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their 
gifts. 
And if your wife be not a mad-woman, 445 
And know how well I have deserv'd this ring. 
She would not hold out enemy for ever. 
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you ! 
Exeunt [Portia and Nerissa']. 
Ant. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring: 
Let his deservings and my love withal 450 
Be valued against your wife's commandment. 
Bass. Go Gratiano, run and overtake him; 
Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou 

canst. 
Unto Antonio's house: away! make haste. 

Exit Gratiano. 
Come, you and I will thither presently; 455 
And in the morning early will we both 
Fly toward Belmont: come, Antonio. Exeunt. 

[Scene 1 1. — A street in Venice. 1 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this 
deed 
And let him sign it: we'll away to-night 
And be a day before our husbands home: 
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 

Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en; 5 

My Lord Bassanio upon more advice 
Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat 
Your company at dinner. 

Por. That cannot be: 

His ring I do accept most thankfully: 
And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore, 10 
I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's 
house. 

Gra. That will I do. 

Ner. Sir, I would speak with you. 

[Aside to Por.] I'll see if I can get my hus- 
band's ring. 
Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. 

Por. [Aside to Ner.] Thou mayst, I warrant. 
We shall have old swearing 



119 



31 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act IV. SC. II. 



r 



That they did give the rings away to men ; 
But we'll outface them^ and outswear them 

too. 
Away ! make haste : thou know'st where I will 

tarry. 
Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this 

house } Exeunt. 

ACT FIFTH 

[Scene I. — Belmont. Portia's garden.'] 
Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 

Lor. The moon shines bright: in such a night as 
this. 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees 
And they did make no noise, in such a night 
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls 
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 5 
Where Cressid lay that night 

Jes. In such a night 

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew 
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself 
And ran dismay'd away. 

Lor. In such a night 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 10 

Upon the wild sea banks and wav'd her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

Jes. In such a night 

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
That did renew old Mson. 

Lor. In such a night 

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew 15 
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice 
As far as Belmont. 

Jes. In such a night 

Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well. 
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith 
And ne'er a true one. 

Lor. In such a night 20 

Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 
Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 

Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come; 
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 

Enter Messenger. 

Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? 
Mes. A friend. 26 

Lor. A friend! what friend? your name, I pray 

you, friend? 
Mes. Stephano is my name; and I bring word 
My mistress will before the break of day 



Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about 30 

By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 

For happy wedlock hours. 
Lor. Who comes with her? 

Mes. None but a holy hermit and her maid. 

I pray you, is my master yet return'd? 
Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. 

But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 36 

And ceremoniously let us prepare 

Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Sola, sola ! wo ha, ho ! sola, sola ! '■ 

Lor. Who calls? 40 

Clo. Sola I did you see Master Lorenzo ? 

Master Lorenzo, sola, sola! 
Lor. Leave hollaing, man: here. 
Clo. Sola! where? where? 

Lor. Here. " 45 

Clo. Tell him there's a post come from my 
master, with his horn full of good news: my 
master will be here ere morning. \^Exit.] 

Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their 
coming. 
And yet no matter : why should we go in ? 50 
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you. 
Within the house, your mistress is at hand; 
And bring your music forth into the air. 

\_Exit Stephano.'] 
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this 

bank! 
Here will we sit and let the sounds of music 55 
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with pattens of bright gold: 
There's not the smallest orb which thou be- 

hold'st 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 61 

Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins; 
Such harmony is in immortal souls ; I 

But whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 65 

[Enter Musicians.'] 

Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn: 
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear 
And draw her home with music. Play music. 

Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 

Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: 70 
For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 



120 



ACT V. SC. 



I.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



35 



Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
E etching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing 

loud, 
Which is the hot condition of their blood; 
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 75 
Or any air of music touch their ears. 
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand. 
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze 
By the sweet power of music: therefore the 

poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and 

floods : 
Since nought so stockish, hard and full of 

rage. 
But music for the time doth change his nature. 
The man that hath no music in himself. 
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds. 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; 85 
The motions of his spirit are dull as night 
And his affections dark as Erebus: 
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. 
How far that little candle throws his beams ! 90 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 

Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the 
candle. 

Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: 
A substitute shines brightly as a king 
Until a king be by, and then his state 95 

Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
Into the main of waters. Music! hark! 

Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. 

Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect: 
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. 

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 

Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark 
When neither is attended, and I think 
The nightingale, if she should sing by day. 
When every goose is cackling, would be 
thought 105 

No better a musician than the wren. 
How many things by season season'd are 
To their right praise and true perfection ! 
Peace, ho ! the moon sleeps with Endymion 
And would not be awak'd. Music ceases. 

Lor. That is the voice, no 

Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. 

Por. He knows me as the blind man knows the 
• cuckoo. 



By the bad voice. 
Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 

Por. We have been praying for our husbands' 
welfare. 
Which speed, we hope, the better for our 
words. 115 

Are they return'd.f* 
Lor. Madam, they are not yet; 

But there is come a messenger before. 
To signify their coming. 
Por. Go in, Nerissa; 

Give order to my servants that they take 
No note at all of our being absent hence; 120 
Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you. 

A tucket sounds. 
Lor. Your husband is at hand; I hear his trum- 
pet: 
We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. 
Por. This night methinks is but the daylight 
sick; 
It looks a little paler: 'tis a day, 125 

Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 

Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their 
followers. 

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
If you would walk in absence of the sun. 

Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light ; 

For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 

And never be Bassanio so for me: 131 

But God sort all! You are welcome home, 

my lord. 

Bass. I thank you, madam. Give welcome to 
my friend. 
This is the man, this is Antonio, 
To whom I am so infinitely bound. 135 

Por. You should in all sense be much bound to 
him. 
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 

Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 

Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house: 
It must appear in other ways than words, 140 
Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. 

Gra. [To Ner.'j By yonder moon I swear you do 
me wrong; 
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk: 
Would he were gelt that had it, for my part. 
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 145 

Por. A quarrel, ho, already ! what's the matter ? 

Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
That she did give me, whose posy was 



121 



36 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



[act v. SC. I. 



For all the world like cutler's poetry 

Upon a knife, 'Love me, and leave me not.' 150 

Ner. What talk jou of the posy or the value? 
You swore to me, when I did give it you, 
That you would wear it till the hour of death 
And that it should lie with you in your grave: 
Though not for me, yet for your vehement 

oaths. 

You should have been respective and have kept 

it. 156 

Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God's my judge. 

The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that 

had it. 

Gra. He will, and if he live to be a man. 

Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 160 

Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, 
A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy. 
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk, 
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee: 
I could not for my heart deny it him. 165 

Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with 
you. 
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; 
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger 
And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. 
I gave my love a ring and made him swear 170 
Never to part with it ; and here he stands ; 
I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it 
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gra- 

tiano. 
You give your wife too unkind a cause of 

grief: 
And 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. 176 

Bass. [Aside] Why, I were best to cut my left 
hand off 
And swear I lost the ring defending it. 

Gra. My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
Unto the judge that begg'd it and indeed 180 
Deserved it too ; and then the boy, his clerk 
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd 

mine: 
And neither man nor master would take aught 
But the two rings. 

Por. What ring gave you, my lord ? 

Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. 185 

Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
I would deny it; but you see my finger 
Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone. 

Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 190 
Until I see the ring. 



2Ver. Nor I in yours 

Till I again see mine. 

Bass. Sweet Portia, 

If you did know to whom I gave the ring. 
If you did know for whom I gave the ring 
And would conceive for wl^at I gave the ring 
And how unwillingly I left the ring, 196 

When nought would be accepted but the ring. 
You would abate the strength of your dis- 
pleasure. 

Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring. 
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 200 
Or your own honour to contain the ring. 
You would not then have parted with the ring. 
What man is there so much unreasonable. 
If you had pleas'd to have defended it 
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 205 
To urge the thing held as a ceremony? 
Nerissa teaches me what to believe: 
I'll die for't but some woman had the ring. 

Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul. 
No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 210 

Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me 
And begg'd the ring ; the which I did deny him 
And sufFer'd him to go displeas'd away; 
Even he that had held up the very life 
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet 
lady ? 215 

I was enforc'd to send it after him; 
I was beset with shame and courtesy; 
My honour would not let ingratitude 
So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady; 
For, by these blessed candles of the night, 220 
Had you been there, I think you would have 

begg'd 
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my 
house: 
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd. 
And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
I will become as liberal as you; 226 

I'll not deny him any thing I have. 
No, not my body nor my husband's bed: 
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it: 
Lie not a night from home; watch me like 
Argus : 230 

If you do not, if I be left alone, 
Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, 
I'll have the doctor for my bedfellow. 

Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd 
How you do leave me to mine own protec- 
tion. 



122 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



S7 



Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him, 
thtn ; 236 

For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. 

Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 

Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome not- 
withstanding. 

Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; 
And, in the hearing of these many friends, 241 
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes. 
Wherein I see myself — 

Por. Mark you but that! 

In both my eyes he doubly sees himself; 
In each eye, one: swear by your double self. 
And there's an oath of credit. 245 

Bass. Nay, but hear me: 

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear 
I never more will break an oath with thee. 

Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth; 
Which, but for him that had your husband's 
ring, 250 

Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again, 
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
Will never more break faith advisedly. 

Por. Then you shall be his surety. Give him 
this 
And bid him keep it better than the other. 255 

Ant. Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep this 
ring. 

Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doc- 
tor ! 

Por. I had it of him; pardon me, Bassanio; 
For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me. 259 

Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano; 

For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, 
In lieu of this last night did lie with me. 

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways 

In summer, where the ways are fair enough : 

What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserv'd 

it } 265 

Por. Speak not so grossly. You are all amaz'd: 
Here is a letter; read it at your leisure; 
It comes from Padua, from Bellario: 
There you shall find that Portia was the doc- 
tor, 
Nerissa there her clerk; Lorenzo here 270 



Shall witness I set forth as soon as you 
And but even now return'd; I have not yet 
Enter'd my house. Antonio, you are wel- 
come ; 
And I have better news in store for you 
Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; 275 
There you shall find three of your argosies 
Are richly come to harbour suddenly: 
You shall not know by what strange accident 
I chanced on this letter. 

Ant. I am dumb. 

Bass. Were you the doctor and I knew you 
not ? 280 

Gra. Were you the clerk that is to make me 
cuckold ? 

Ner. Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it. 
Unless he live until he be a man. 

Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bed-fellow: 
When I am absent, then lie with my wife. 285 

Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and 
living : 
For here I read for certain that my ships 
Are safely come to road. 



Por. 



How now, Lorenzo! 



My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 

Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. 
There do I give to you and Jessica, 291 

From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift. 
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. 

Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
Of starved people. 

Por. It is almost morning, 295 

And yet I am sure you are not satisfied 
Of these events at full. Let us go in; 
And charge us there upon inter'gatories. 
And we will answer all things faithfully. 

Gra. Let it be so: the first inter'gatory 300 

That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is. 
Whether till the next night she had rather 

stay. 
Or go to bed now, being two hours to day; 
But were the day come, I should wish it dark. 
Till I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
Well, while I live I'll fear no other thing 306 
So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. Exeunt. 



FINIS 



123 



38 



NOTES 



Names of the Characters. The first list of 'The 
Actors' Names' (not quite complete) appeared in 
the Third Quarto (1637). The acts were indicated 
m the 1623 Folio. The first division into scenes was 
made by Rowe (1709). 

ACT I 

i. 8 ocean, a trisjdlable. 

9 arg-Qsies, trading vessels, which derived their 
name from the Austrian town of Ragusa on the 
Adriatic, three hundred miles south-east of Venice. 

12 overpeer, lord it over. 

17 still, continually; the usual meaning in Shake- 
speare. 

27 wealthy Andrew, the name of Salarino's imag- 
inary ship. Some have supposed that a compli- 
ment is intended to the great Genoese admiral, An- 
drea Doria; but Doria, a formidable enemy of 
Venetian maritime supremacy, is not likely to have 
had Venetian ships named in his honor. Probably 
the fancy name was suggested by the common 
phrase, 'merry Andrew.' dock'd] Rowe; docks Q F. 

28 vailing-, lowering. Vail is derived from avale, 
which is said to come from Latin ad vallem, 'to the 
valley.' Compare the adverb down, adown, from 
of dune, 'off the hill.' 

50 two-headed Janus, the Roman god of war, rep- 
resented with one frowning and one smiling face. 
The oath is used by another Venetian, lago; see 
Othello I. ii. 33. 

56 Nestor, the oldest and gravest of the Greek 
heroes. 

61 prevented, come before, anticipated; from Latin 
'prae-venire. 

79 play the fool, play the part of the ^fool' or chief 
mirth-maker. 

84 his grandsire cut in alablaster, the e.^gy on his 
grandfather's tomb; 'alablaster' is Shakespeare's 
regular spelling of this word. 

89 do cream and mantle, produce a skim and cov- 
ering of stagnant growth. 

93 Sir Oracle] Q; sir an Oracle F. 

08 ears, used figuratively (synecdoche) for the per- 
sons who hear. The passage means that if these 
persons, reputed wise because of their silence, 
should ever speak, they would exhibit such gross 
folly as to cause all who heard them to incur dam- 
nation by calling their brother mortals (the speak- 
ers) fools. Shakespeare alludes to Matthew V. 22: 
'Whosoever shall say (to his brother), Thou fool, 
shall be in danger of hell fire.' 
102 this fool gudgeon. The gudgeon is a foolish 
fish, easily cauglit. this opinion, the reputation of 
wisdom gained by melancholy silence. 
108 moe, more. 

110 for this gear, for this stuff; namely, the 'infinite 
deal of nothing' that Gratiano has just spoken. 



124 something, somewhat, port, demeanor, manner 

of life. 
130 g-ag'd, engaged, bound. 
136 still. See note on I. i. 17. 
141 flight, the range of an arrow. 
148 self, same. 
160 prest, ready. 
163 sometimes, formerly. 

165 nothing undervalued, in worth not at all in- 
ferior. 

166 Brutus' Portia. This lady was known to the poet 
particularly from Sir Thomas North's translation 
of Plutarch's Life of Brutus, of which the second 
edition appeared in 1595. Three or four years 
later Shakespeare made her the heroine of Julius 
Ccesar. 

170-172 golden fleece . . . Colchos' strand , . . Ja- 
sons. Shakespeare probably learned the story of 
the golden fleece, while a schoolboy at Stratford, in 
connection with the seventh book of Ovid's Meta- 
morphoses, one of the regular text-books of the 
day. Shakespeare's own copy of Ovid is thought 
to be preserved in the Bodleian Library. A met- 
rical translation of the poet by Arthur Golding ap- 
peared in 1567. 

183 presently, at once. 

185 of my trust, on my credit as a merchant. 

ii. 36 who you, whom you. In Shakespeare's lan- 
guage 'who' is very frequently use'd for the ob- 
jective case. The fraudulent Roberts quarto omits 
'you,' thus making 'who' the subject of the sentence. 

41 level at, aim at, estimate. 

49 County Palatine. 'County' for 'Count' occurs 
eleven times in Romeo and Juliet. A Count Pala- 
tine was one having special duties or privileges re- 
lating to the royal household. A Polish noble of 
this rank, Albertus Alasco, made a great stir in 
England in 1583. 

51 And, if; so often in Shakespeare. 

53 the weeping philosopher, Heraclitus of Ephesus. 

65 throstle, song-thrush. The old editions spell 
'trassell,' which probably represents the pronuncia- 
tion of the day. 

79 suited, dressed. 

80 doublet, a padded coat. 

round hose, a style of knee-breeches. An op- 
posed style in the same garment, with which Portia 
was doubtless more familiar, was called 'Venetians.' 

83 Scottish] Q; other F. The gibe at the Scottish 
lord which the anti-Scotch feeling during the last 
years of Elizabeth's reign called forth, would have 
been dangerous after the accession of James I 
(1603). 

92 vildly, vilely; the usual Shakespearean form. 

96 and. See note on line 51. 
116 Sibylla, another allusion to Ovid. In book XV 
of Metamorphoses is related how the Cumaean sibyl 



124 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



39 



obtained from Apollo the promise that she should 
live as many years as there were grains of sand in 
her hand. 
121 I pray God grant] Q; I wish F. In 1605 an Act 
of Parliament imposed a fme of ten pounds for 
each offense upon any person who should 'in any 
Stage-play, . . . jestingly or profanely speak or use 
the holy Name of God, or of Jesus Christ, or of 
the Holy Ghost, or of. the Trinity.' Hence, the 
Folio omits nearly everything in the nature of an 
oath. 

134 This line is omitted in the Folio, perhaps rightly. 

iii. 1 ducats, large coins, bearing the stamp of an 
Italian duchy (Latin, diicatus). The nominal value 
was about that of an American dollar, but the pur- 
chasing value was much greater. 
7 stead, help, accommodate. 

18 in supposition, in doubt. 

20 the Rialto, the Venetian Exchange. 

46 usance, interest. The lending of money on in- 
terest was regarded in Shakespeare's time as pe- 
culiarly unchristian. Bacon remarks quaintly in his 
essay on Riches: 'Usury is the certainest means 
of gain, though one of the worst, as that whereby 
a man doth eat his bread "m sudore vultus alieni," 
and beside doth plough on Sundays.' The points 
are elaborated in the essay on Usury. 

65 possess'd, informed. 

80 eanling-s, young lambs, 
pied, spotted. 

85 pil'd, peeled; spelled 'pilled' in the source of 
these lines. Genesis XXX, 38. 

me, the so-called 'ethical dative,' which merely 
suggests a certain degree of interest on the speak- 
er's part. 

86 kind, nature. 
89 Fall, let fall. 

106 beholding-, indebted. 

113 gaberdine, a long coarse cloak. Instead of be- 
ing distinctively a Jewish garment, the gaberdine 
seems originally to have been a pilgrim's cloak. 

135 a breed for barren metal. The usurer made bar- 
ren gold and silver breed or increase like live 
stock. This was thought contrary to nature, hence 
sinful. 

141 doit, a very small Dutch coin. Eight doits made 

a stiver or Dutch penny. 
143 This . . . offer. As often, a relative pronoun is 

omitted: 'This, which I offer, is kind.' 
162 suspect, to suspect. 
167 A six-foot line. 

ACT II 

i. 14 nice, capricious. 

17 scanted, restricted. 

18 wit, wisdom. 

25 Sophy, the ruler of Persia. The term 'Shah' did 
not come in till late in the eighteenth century. 

26 Sultan Solyman, 'the Magnificent,' died 1560; he 
was concerned in an unsuccessful campaign against 
the Persians in 1535. 

S2 Hercules and Lichas are characters in the ninth 
book of the Metamorphoses. Lichas, page of Her- 



cules., innocently presents his master with the pois- 
oned shirt of Nessus and is thrown by the dying 
hero into the Euboean Sea. 
35 page]" Theobald; rage Q F. 

ii. 11 Via] Rowe; fia Q F.. 
29 incarnation. Launcelot blunderingly thinks of 
the word as a prepositional phrase, 'in carnation'; 
he means, of course, 'incarnate.' The Roberts 
Quarto reads incarnall. 
47 God's sonties, perhaps mimicking the Scotch pro- 
nunciation of 'God's saints' (saunties). 

100 fill-horse, corruption of 'thill-horse,' draft-horse. 

110 set up my rest, made up my mind; a gaming 
phrase of uncertain origin. 

115 me. See note on I. iii. 85. 

128 gramercy, much thanks; French, grand merci. 

139 cater-cousins, a very rare word, apparently 
meaning 'good friends.' 

164 guarded, trimmed. 

167 table, the palm of the hand; a term in palmistry. 

197 misconsterd, misconstrued. 

205 sad ostent, serious appearance. 

iii. 12 did] F^; do Q F^. 

iv. 5 spoke us yet of, yet bespoken. F^ changes 'us' 
to 'as,' which gives a different sense. 

V. 18 to-night, during the past night. 
25 Black-Monday, the day after Easter. 
46 patch, the regular nickname for a professional 
fool. 

vi. 1 pent-house, a projecting shed or roof. 

5 Venus' pigeons. The aerial car of Venus was 
drawn by doves. Shakespeare is probably again in- 
debted to Ovid for the classical allusion, though 
Chapman's continuation of Marlowe's Hero and 
Leander, published in 1598, gives a detailed descrip- 
tion of Venus's doves. 
11 unbated, unwearied. 

14 younker] Rowe; younger Q F. 

15 scarfed, adorned with flags or sails. 
21 abode, delay. 

31 yours, your love. 

vii. 36 grav'd, engraved. 

41 Hyrcanian deserts, a large district south of the 
Caspian Sea, known to the Elizabethans as the home 
of tigers. 

42 throughfares, the logical spelling of 'thorough- 
fares,' 'through' being generally employed as prepo- 
sition and 'thorough' as adjective. They are really 
the same word. 

56 coin . . . angel. This gold coin was so called 
from the image of the Archangel Michael which it 
bore. The nominal value fluctuated between a third 
and a half of a pound sterling. See 1 Henry IV 
IV. ii. 6. 

57 insculp'd upon, engraved on the outside. 
69 tombs] Johnson; timber Q F. 



viii. 10 certified, assured. 
39 Slubber, soil by haste. 



125 



40 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



45 conveniently, properly. 

ix. 19 address'd me, prej^ared myself. 

27 fond, foolish. 

28 martlet, swallow. 
38 cozen, cheat. 

46 peasantry] Q; pleasantry F. 

68 I wis, really a participial adverb, cognate with 
the German 'gewiss,' certainly. Shakespeare mis- 
takes it for a verb and j^ronoun. 

72 sped, done for. 

85 my lord, a jesting answer to the messenger's 'my 
lady.' 

89 sensible regreets, substantial greetings. 

ACT III 

1. 4 the Goodwins, sandbanks off the eastern coast 
of Kent, seven miles from Ramsgate. Though now 
provided with light-ships, the Goodwins still cause 
several wrecks every year, 

10 knapped, munched or nibbled. Ginger was a fa- 
vorite delicacy. See 1 Henry IV II. i. 37. 

30 the wing's she flew withal, 'the boy's clothes she 
wore when she eloped' (Rolfe). 

33 complexion, disposition. 

43 rhenish, Rhine-wine, which is white. 

ii. 6 quality, manner. 

15 o'erlook'd, bewitched. 

22 peize, weigh down, retard. 

26 Upon the rack. Portia perhaps plays upon a 
second meaning of the word 'rack': a moving mass 
of cloud; hence an emblem of inconstancy. 

54 presence, distinction of body. 

55 Alcides, Hercules. His rescue of Hesione from 
the sea-monster is related by Ovid, Metamorphoses, 
XI. 109, etc. 

58 Dardanian, Trojan. 
61 Live thou, if thou live. 
82 his, its. 

87 excrement, excrescence. 
91 lig-htest, most frivolous. 

94 Upon supposed fairness, on the heads of sup- 
posedly fair ladies. 
97 guiled, full of guile. 
102 Hard food for Midas. The embarrassing conse- 
quences of the boon granted by Bacchus, that all 
which Midas touched should turn to gold, are re- 
lated in Ovid, Metamorphoses, Bk. XI. John 
Lyly's play of Midas, published in 1593, dramatized 
the situation. 
106 paleness. A great many editors follow War- 
burton in altering this word to plainness. 
127 unfurnish'd, unaccompanied by the other fea- 
tures, which the blind painter would be unable to 
depict. 
131 continent, containing vessel. 
150 me, Lord] Q; my Lord F. 
160 nothing] F; something Q. 

163 happier than this. The Second Folio substitutes 
happier than in this and a great many emendations 
have been suggested, but .the original is probably 
correct. The pause after 'hearn' Alls out the line. 
Portia means 'happier than this (is the fact that) 

1 



she is not bred.' See 'Happiest of all, etc.,* m 
line 165. 

165 is] Q F; in Collier. 

176 vantage, opportunity. 

183 blent, blended. 

201 intermission, delay. 

205 again indicates the intensity of the action. 

222 Salanio] Rowe; Salerio Q F. The old editions 
persist in spelling Salerio throughout the scene, but 
there is no reason to suppose that Shakespeare in- 
tended to introduce a new character. 'Salerio' is 
doubtless a printer's contamination of 'Salanio' and 
'Salarino.' 

226 very, true. 

244 Jasons . . . fleece. See note on I. i. 170-173. 

246 shrewd, evil; literally, cursed. 

265 mere, unmixed, complete; the original sense. 

270 Hath, have; a southern English plural form. 

282 magnificoes, the contemporary name of the chief 
men in Venice. 

283 port, influence, social position. 
314 cheer, countenance. 

301 deface, cancel. 

iii. 9 naughty, good for naught, fond. See note on 
II. ix. 37. 
27 commodity, comfortable intercourse. 
32 bated, reduced, weakened. 

iv. 2 conceit, conception, understanding. 

25 husbandry and manage, care and management. 

49 Padua] Theobald; Mantua Q F. In IV. i. Bel- 
lario is three times said to live in Padua, the great] 
seat of legal learning in northern Italy. 

52 imagin'd speed, the speed of imagination. 

53 tranect, a word of unknown origin. Rowe sul 
stituted traject, which he assumed to be the En^ 
lish form of traghetto, the contemporary Venetiaij 
name of a ferry. 

72 I could not do withal, I could not help it. 

84 twenty miles. Whether this represents the dis 
tance from Belmont to Venice or the total distance 
covered on the journey and return is disputed. 
K. Elze points out (Essays on Shakespeare, p. 
379) that the fashionable residential district of 
Dolo on the Brenta river is exactly twenty miles 
from Venice and within a short distance of Padua. 
On evidence of this kind it is assumed that Shake- 
speare had visited Italy. 

V. 3 fear you, fear for you. 
57 cover, cover the table, lay the cloth. When 
Lorenzo repeats the word in the next line, Launce- 
lot pretends to think he means 'cover the head, put 
on his hat,' which, in the presence of a superior, 
would be against his 'duty.' 

74 tricksy, sportive, full of tricks. 

75 How cheer'st thou, what cheer. The Roberts 
Quarto changes 'cheer'st' into the commonplace 
'far'st.' 

82,83 it Is reason, it is right; the Folio reading. 
The original (Ileycs) Quarto misprints in for Is, 
which the later (Roberts) Quarto retained, alter- 
ing the preceding word it into then in the effort to 
make sense. 
26 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



41 



ACT IV 

i. 20 remorse, pity. 
24 loose. Whether the modern 'lose' or 'loose' is 
meant can hardly be determined; both will make 
sense here, and in Shakespeare's time both were 
commonly spelled as in the text. 
26 moiety, a portion; properly a half, but not al- 
ways so used by Shakespeare. See note on 1 Henry 
IV III. i. 96. 
35 possess'd, informed. See I. iii. 65. 
43 is it answer'^d? is it not sufficient answer to say 
that it is merely my humor? 
46 ban'd, poisoned, as with rats-bane. 
51 Mistress] Thirlby; Masters Q F. 
56 of force, necessarily. 
72 main, ocean. 

73, 74 This is a very corrupt passage. Line 73 is 
given as in the Folio; different copies of the first 
(Heyes) Quarto differ among themselves, some 
omitting entirely the first words, Or even as, while 
other copies, followed by the later (Roberts) 
Quarto, substitute You may as. In line 74 some 
copies of the Heyes Quarto-, followed by the 
Folio, omit the first words, Why he hath made, 
which other copies of the Heyes Quarto, followed 
by the Roberts Quarto, insert. 

128 inexecrable, if not a misprint for inexorable, 
probably a strengthened form of execrable. 

142 cureless, incurable. The folios read endless. 

162 to let him lack, such as may cause him to lack. 

130 danger, power. 

251 more elder. Double comparatives and superla- 
tives, like double negatives, are in Shakespeare's 
language regular means of emphasis. 

255 balance, scales; thought of as a plural. 

268 use, habit. For still see note on I. i. 17. 

275 speak me fair, speak favorably of me. 

278 not] F; but Q. 

328 substance, amount. This word is to be taken 
with line 330: 'in the amount of one poor scru- 
ple, or even in the division of the twentieth part 
of one.' 

331 estimation, value, weight. 

368 the difference of our spirit, our difference in 
disposition. 

399 ten more; i. e., to make up a jury. 

412 cope, match, offer as an equivalent or reward. 

ii. 15 old, great; a common Shakespearean meaning. 



ACT V 

1.4-6 Troilus . . . Cressid. These lines are a remin- 
iseence of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseide, bl^. V. 
666, etc.: 

'Upon the walles faste ek wolde he walke, 

And on the Grekes oost (host) he wolde see. 

And to himself right thus he wolde talke, 

"Lo, yonder is myn owne lady free ! 

Or elles yonder ther (where) the tentes be! 

And thennes (thence) com'th this eir (air) is so 

swote (sweet), 
That in my soule I fele it doth me bote!'" 



127 



7 Thisbe. Shakespeare had already made less 
romantic use of the story of Thisbe in the 'tedious 
brief scene of young Pyramus and his love Thisbe' 
which Bottom and his fellows act in A Midsummer 
Night's Dream. This legend, like those of Dido 
and Medea, alluded to in the lines following, is 
treated both by Shq.kespeare's favorite Ovid and 
by Chaucer in the Legend of Good Women. It 
seems clear that Shakespeare wrote with a remem- 
brance of both poets. 

11 wav'd] Theobald; waft Q F. 

14 -ffison. The rejuvenation of old vEson is re- 
lated in the seventh book of the Metamorphoses. 
The following passage in Arthur Golding's trans- 
lation was probably in Shakespeare's mind, when 
he wrote the lines in the text: 

'Before the Moon should circle-wise close both her 

horns in one. 
Three nights were yet as then to come. As soon as 

that she shone 
Most full of light, and did behold the earth with 

fulsome face, 
Medea with her hair not trussed so much as in a 

lace. 
But flaring on her shoulders twain, and barefoot, 

with her gown 
Ungirdled, gate (got) her out of doors and wan- 
dering up and down, 
Alone the dead time of the night. Both man and 

beast and bird 
Were fast asleep, the serpents fly in trailing for- 
ward stirred 
So softly as ye would have thought they still asleep 

had been. 
The moisting air was whist (still), no leaf ye could 

have moving seen. 
The stars alonely fair and bright did in the welkin 

shine, 
To which she lifting up her hands did thrice herself 

encline: 
And thrice with water of the brook her hair be- 
sprinkled she: 
And gasping thrice she oped her mouth, and bowing 

down her knee 
Unto the bare hard ground, she said: O trusty 

time of night. 
Most faithful unto privities (secrets), O golden 

stars whose light 
Doth jointly with the Moon succeed the beams that 

blaze by day, 
And thou three-headed Hecate, who knowest best 

the way 
To compass this our great attempt and act our 

chief est stay: 
Ye Charms and Witchcrafts, and thou Earth which 

both with herb and weed 
Of mighty working furnishest the wizards at their 

need: 
Ye Airs and Winds, ye Elves of Hills, of Brooks, 

of Woods alone, 
Of standing Lakes, and of the Night, approach ye 

every chone (every one), 
Through help of whom, the crooked banks much 

wondering at the thing. 



42 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



I have compelled streams to run clean backward to 

their spring. 
By charms I make the calm seas rough, and make 

the rough seas plain, 
And cover all the sky with clouds and chase them 

thence againe; 
By charms I raise and lay the winds, and burst the 

viper's jaw. 
And from the bowels of the earth both stones and 

trees do draw; 
Whole woods and forests I remove; I make the 

mountain shake, 
And even the earth itself to groan and fearfully 

to quake. 
I call up dead men from their graves, and thee, O 

lightsome Moon, 
I darken oft, though beaten brass abate thy peril 

soon. 
Our sorcery dimmes the morning fair, and darks 

the sun at noon.' 

The lasting hold which Golding's dashing version 
of Ovid had over Shakespeare's imagination is in- 
dicated by the fact that, while the first part of the 
passage quoted suggested the lines in the text of 
The Merchant of Venice, the last fifteen verses 
many lears later inspired one of the most eloquent 
speeches in Shakespeare's valedictory play. The 
Tempest (See Tempest V. i. 33-50 and the note on 
that passage). 



42 Master] Roberts Q; & Master Heyes Q F; and 

Mrs. F3. 
49 expect, await. 

59 pattens, patines, thin plates of metal. Furness 
explains it as alluding to the bits of moonlit cloud, 
rather than to the stars. F2 reads patterns, which 
may be right. 
62 quiring-, singing in unison. 

79 the poet, Ovid, who relates the legends. Meta- 
morphoses bk. X, XI. 
99 without respect, irrespectively of circumstances. 
121 S. D. tucket, a trumpet call. 

127, 128 If you would walk about at night, we should 
have day when the Antipodes have it (i. e., from 
sunset to sunrise). 
132 sort, dispose. 
141 breathing courtesy, courtesy of mere breath or 

words. 
148 posy, the same word as poesy, and so spelled 
in F. 

156 respective, careful. 

157 no, God's my judge] Q; but well I know F. 
See note on I. ii. 121. 

162 scrubbed, stunted, scrubby. 

201 contain, retain. 

249 wealth, welfare. 

288 road, harbor. 

306 fear, feel anxiety about; a common meaning. 



12s 



RICHARD II 



SOURCES— The good and ill fortunes of Richard 
the Second fill some of the best pages of Raphael 
Holinshed's . C/iromc/e5 of England. The first edition 
of this famous book had appeared in 1578; Shake- 
speare evidently used the second edition of 1586-7, 
as is shown by his use of a note in that issue, which 
tells of the bay-trees withering, a portent related by 
the Welsh Captain in the play (II. iv. 8). The fidel- 
ity with which the historian's account is followed by 
tlie dramatist is remarkable; in this play, perhaps 
more than in any other of the chronicle plays, history 
is really dramatized. The scenes which supplement 
the unrelieved narrative of Holinshed are chiefly epi- 
sodes in which women may appear, notably the Duch- 
ess of Gloucester (I. ii.), the Duchess of York (V. ii. 
and iii.), and Queen Isabel (II. ii.. III. iv. and V. i.) ; 
while the character-studies of Gaunt and Boling- 
broke, both of whom are shown in distinctly favor- 
able lights, were provided to enhance the dramatic 
appeal to patriotic feeling. For several alterations 
Shakespeare seems to have found hints in Samuel 
Daniel's historical poem. The Civil Wars between the 
Tico Houses of Lancaster and York, entered in the 
Stationers' Register in October, 1594, and published 
(in four of the seven books) in 1595. From this 
work Shakespeare appears, as Knight suggested, to 
have got the conception of introducing the Queen as 
a young bride (in reality she was a child of eight), 
and of placing upon the stage the affecting interview 
between her and Richard. Bolingbroke's subtle cam- 
paign for popularity; his entry in triumph into Lon- 
don, bringing in his train the disgraced Richard; and 
King Richard's soliloquy just before his murder are 
other points in which Shakespeare's play and Daniel's 
poem agree, and other accounts differ from them. 
The hints, if taken from Daniel, were, however, only 
of the barest kind; and here as elsewhere we see the 
skill with which all knowledge becomes tributary to 
genius. 

The events portrayed in the drama cover only the 
last two years of Richard's reign. Thus few changes 
were needed in order to meet the demands of dra- 
matic time. Richard's remission of four years' exile 
to Bolingbroke did not take place immediately upon 



the announcement of the sentence, but some time 
later. Richard was already in Northumberland's 
hands when Bolingbroke arrived at Flint Castle (III. 
iii.). The rivals entered London on successive days, 
not on the same day. " Finally, the proceedings in 
Parliament (Act IV.) occupied three sessions which 
are here telescoped into one. Modern stage versions 
of Shakespeare's play have justified these condensa- 
tions. To-day, one scene is made of I. i. and I. iii.; 
and the Parliament scene is confined to the abdication. 

To Shakespeare's intuition alone must be ascribed 
the picture of Richard as a weak Italianate prince, 
despising English fashions and men. Still more cer- 
tainly his are the deft touches by which Bolingbroke 
becomes, though losing none of his own individuality, 
the instrument of English greatness to come; his 
somewhat theatrical claims to being "a gentleman," 
"a true-born Englishman"; and most of all John of 
Gaunt's speech of prophecy. This last, theatrically 
one of the most effective pieces of fine-writing in all 
the plays, was early recognized as a masterpiece; it 
was extracted and printed separately in 1600, in 
Allot's England's Parnassus, and has since become 
the favorite patriotic declamation of English school- 
boys. Thus the essentially selfish jand crafty natures 
of both men are rhetorically colored, to make Lan- 
caster appear a worthy means of Heaven's wrath 
upon Richard. 

In one slight detail, the story of Mowbray's life as 
a Crusader, Shakespeare must have studied Stowe's 
Annals, or some similar source; for Holinshed men- 
tions only his death at Venice. The dramatist no 
doubt desired this incident as a suggestion of Boling- 
broke's proposal of like atonement for a like com- 
plicity in murder (V. vi. 49). 

To appreciate the dramatic feeling which was thus 
transforming history one must put single scenes side 
by side for comparison. The brief episode before 
Flint Castle (III. iii.), for instance, might be profit- 
ably studied with the following extract from Holin- 
shed on which it is based: 

"The king, accompanied with the bishop of Car- 
lisle, the earl of Salisbury, and Sir Stephen Scroop, 
knight, (who bore the sword before him,) and a few 



129 



RICHARD II 



other, came forth into the outer ward, and sat down 
in a place prepared for him. Forthwith, as the duke 
got sight of the king, he shewed a reverend duty as 
became him, in bowing his knee,, and, coming for- 
ward, did so likewise the second and third time, till 
the king took him by the hand, and lifted him up, 
saying: 'Dear cousin, ye are welcome.' The duke, 
humbly thanking him, said: 'My sovereign lord and 
king, the cause of my coming at this present, is 
(your honor saved) to have again restitution of my 
person, my lands and heritage, through your favor- 
able licence.' - The king hereunto answered: 'Dear 
cousin, I am ready to accomplish your will, so that 
you may enjoy all that is yours, without exception.' 
jNIeeting thus together, they came forth of the castle, 
and the king there called for wine, and after they 
had drunk, they mounted on horseback, and rode . . . 
to London." 

CHARACTER OF RICHARD //—"Thus," says 
Holinshed elsewhere, "was King Richard deprived of 
all kingh' honor and princely dignity, by reason he 
was so given to follow evil counsel, and used such 
inconvenient ways and means, through insolent mis- 
governance, and youthful outrage, though otherwise 
a right noble and worthy prince. . . . His chance 
verily was greatly unfortunate. . . . But such mis- 
fortune (or the like) oftentimes falleth unto those 
princes, which when they are aloft, cast no doubt for 
perils that may follow. He was prodigal, ambitious, 
and much given to pleasures of the body. . . , There 
resorted daily to his court above ten thousand per- 
sons that had meat and drink there allowed them. . . . 
But if I may boldly say what I think: he was a 
prince the most unthankfully used of his subjects, of 
any one of whom ye shall lightly read." 

The quarto editions of this play call it the "trag- 
edy" of Richard II; and in the lines just quoted 
Shakespeare found full ground for his characteriza- 
tion of the King, in many ways the most subtle and 
appealing of all his monarchs. Numerous episodes in 
his turbulent reign brought out the motives of vanity 
and vacillation, and the utter immaturity of will with 
which Richard's sudden changes of front were deter- 
mined on. The childish elements in his character, 
skilfully contrasted with Bolingbroke's masterful 
policy, must have struck Shakespeare as he read 
Holinshed's report of the archbishop of Canterbury's 
sermon at Henry's coronation, upon the grim text, " A 
man shall rule over the people." All the trouble, the 
archbishop held, had been " for lack of wisdom in the 
ruler, which deemed and taught as a child, giving sen- 
tence of wilfulness and not of reason." 

1 



Two qualities in Shakespeare's Richard mitigate our 
condemnation, and deepen the pity of his fate: his ex- 
treme youth (he was in reality thirty-one) ; and hi J 
poetic and sensitive imagination. He appears to us a ■, 
man of true feeling and false thought, who in another 
lot might have been happy. This aspect of the man is 
made clearer by the picture of the Queen, to whom the 
dramatist, disregarding Holinshed here, represents 
him as devotedly faithful. There is something of the 
young Elizabethan courtier-artist about Richard, by 
means of which he steps out of the old canvas, and 
wins the hearts of his audience with instant sympathy. 
Walter Pater called him "-an exquisite poet." 

CRITICAL COMMENT— Johnson thought the 
play could not " be said much to affect the passions, 
or enlarge the understanding." Coleridge, on the 
other hand, thought it "the first and most admirable 
of all Shakespeare's purely historical plays," in this 
category excluding the two parts of Henry IV. 
Other critics have stood between these extremes. The 
weakness of the King, has alienated many readers; and 
the repellent personality of Bolingbroke has not won 
much sympathy with the triumph of the new cause. 
Interest in the play, apart from the character-draw- 
ing, has rested chiefly in Shakespeare's purpose in the 
play as a whole. There can be little doubt that to 
the audiences of Elizabeth's time, and long after, the 
one absorbing topic in the action was the justice of 
deposing a divinely anointed monarch. To Richard 
this is unthinkable; to Bolingbroke the deposition is 
a regrettable but inevitable expedient; to Carlisle it 
must ever be a heinous crime. We are left with the 
question unanswered; Richard's prophecy of the pun- 
ishment which Northumberland must bear for his 
share in the fact becomes in S Henry IV the topic 
of a discussion between Bolingbroke and Warwick, 
in which a fatalistic attitude is finally reached, and 
"necessity" is blamed for all. 

POLITICAL HISTORY OF THE PLAY— This 
political problem, so freely discussed in the dialogue, ■ 
has more than once subjected the play to censorship, 
an honor almost unique in Shakespearean stage his- 
tory. Just as the first English tragedy, Gorboduc, 
was written at the beginning of Elizabeth's reign to 
reflect the dangers of civic dissension, so Richard II, 
in her last years, was taken as a mirror of instruc- 
tion, when Essex and his friends were planning the 
deposition of their sovereign. The printers of tlie 
first and second, quartos did not print the abdication 
scene; and there is other evidence to prove that Eliza- 
beth was highly sensitive on the topic of the tragedy. 
William Lambarde, Keeper of the Tower Rolls, had 
30 



INTRODUCTION 



3 



a conversation with her on August 4, 1601. In run- 
ning over his Pandecta of the Rolls, "her Majesty 
fell upon the reign of King Richard II, saying, 'I 
am Richard II, know ye not that?' W. L.: 'Such 
a wicked imagination was determined and attempted 
by a most unkind Gentleman the most adorned crea- 
ture that ever your Majesty made.' Her Majesty: 
'He that will forget God, will also forget his bene- 
factors; this tragedy was played forty times in open 
streets and houses.' " 

Testimony taken at the Essex trial in February, 
1601, shows that Shakespeare's play was the one 
Elizabeth had in mind. Sir Gilly Meyricke swore 
that "the play was of King Harry the Fourth and the 
killing of King Richard the Second, played by the 
Lord Chamberlain's players," at "the Globe over 
the water." Augustine Phillips, an actor in this com- 
pany, testified that he and his fellows had received 
from friends of Essex an extra fee of twenty shil- 
lings to have "the play of the deposing and killing 
of King Richard the Second to be played." The 
actors objected that it was an old play, and would 
no longer draw a house, but finally performed it on 
the afternoon before the revolt. It is curious that 
Essex should have seen in Richard II a reflection of 
the aged and crafty Queen, rather than an image 
of his own vain, improvident, and sentimental self. 

The publication of the fifth quarto in 1635, within 
three years of the second folio, argues for a continued 
interest in tlie political theme, at a time of still 
greater civic dissension. Nahum Tate's revision of 
the play in 1681, though carefully modified to avoid 
offense, and renamed The Sicilian Usur'per, did not 
escape the censor, and was stopped after two per- 
formances. Lewis Theobald's much greater changes 
were no less objected to, when his version, first acted 
in 1718, was revived in 1738, and interpreted as a 
continuance of stage attack on Sir Robert Walpole. 

LITERARY RELATIONS— M least three other 
plays on Richard II were acted in Shakespeare's time. 
A Tragedy of King Richard II (first printed by 
Halliwell, and recently in the Shakespeare Jahrbuch, 
XXXV) seems designed to supplement our play, as 
it ends with Gloucester's murder. The Life and 
Death of Jack Straw (1593, published in Dodsley's 
Old Plays) deals with the peasant insurrection of 
1381. Dr. Simon Forman noted in his diary, April 
30, 1611, seeing a play at the Globe, which dealt with 
the revolt of Wat Tyler. "Perce of Extone" is men- 
tioned in Henslowe's Diary, as the work of Wilson, 
Dekker, Drayton, and Chettle; it is possible that this 
dealt with the fate of Richard's murderer. 



Marlowe's Edward II has often been compared 
with Shakespeare's Richard II; and there are many 
parallels not only in the choice of a weak and self- 
willed king as theme, but in style as well. As com- 
pared with Richard III, however, this play marks what 
is realJy a turning away from the influence of the 
older dramatist. The action is more concentrated; 
the figures are less romantically drawn; and the style, 
especially in the more intense moments, has a real- 
istic ease unknown to Marlowe. One who comes to 
this play from a reading of Romeo and Juliet will at 
once recognize a closer kinship with that romantic 
tragedy in the character-drawing, the alternation of 
the highly colored style with the more dramatic sim- 
plicity of diction, and especially in the essentials of 
tragic form, than with the work of any other writer. 

STAGE HISTORY— Mentian has already been 
made of the versions of Tate and Theobald. It is 
a curious fact that the unrestrained adapter of the 
Restoration left far more of Shakespeare's original 
design than did the sagacious critic and editor. In 
altering the story to a Sicilian setting, Tate neces- 
sarily omitted much of the political scenes; and 
though retaining the plot intact, he added nearly a 
thousand lines of his own. Theobald's version, acted 
at Lincoln's Inn Fields in 1718, was announced as 
"alter'd from Shakespear." In it Theobald departed 
completely from the customary practice of redactors, 
and wrote with Shakespeare's lines an almost new 
play. The scene is confined to the Tower of London, 
and the unity of time is observed with equal close- 
ness. Lady Percy and Queen Isabella are given a 
large share in the intrigue; and a love-interest is pro- 
vided with the former through Aumerle. The con- 
spiracy of Act V is enlarged to take up the whole 
main action. In spite of all these changes, nearly 
one-half of the lines are Shakespeare's. 

Francis Gentleman, in 1754, produced at Bath an- 
other version, the MS. of which was lost. In 1773 
James Goodhall published at Manchester another 
adaptation, in which with engaging candor the new 
lines were marked lest they be mistaken for Shake- 
speare's own. A further sign of decorum was the 
removal of Richard's death behind the scenes. 

David Garrick gave up the play as hopeless; and 
it remained for Edmund Kean, in 1815, to restore to 
the stage the original text, with much compression and 
omission, it is true. This performance won Hazlitt's 
praise. Charles Kean, in 1857, staged the play in 
elaborate fashion at the Princess Theatre; but the 
attempt was a failure. It was produced at Sadler's 
Wells by Phelps in his series of revivals ; but in recent 



131 



4 



RICHARD II 



years no performances have surpassed those of F. R. 
Benson, whose performances at Stratford and else- 
where, beginning in 1896, have made Richard his best- 
known part. Sir Henry Irving and others have 
staged the play in spectacular fashion; and Sir Her- 
bert Tree's appearances in the title-role in 1903 were 
brilliantly revived in 1910. 

DA TE— The publication of the first quarto in 1597 
gives the only certain limit for its composition. The 
use in the play of Daniel's Civil Wars (1595), 
reference to which has been made, would set an early 
limit of 1595, if the circulation of books in MS. form 
were not so common at the time. Both poets enjoyed 
Southampton's patronage; and the fact that some of 
the Shakespearean parallels appear only in the later 
edition of Daniel argues for exchange in MS. The 
use of rhyme and verbal conceits in the play agrees 
weU with the limits of 1594-1596; and the play can 
therefore be grouped with Romeo and Juliet. 

TEXT— Richard II was entered in the Stationers' 
Register August 19, 1597. The first quarto appeared 



the same year, "as it hath beene publikely acted by 
the right Honourable the Lorde Chamberlaine his 
servants." Shakespeare's name appeared on the title- 
page of the second quarto, 1598. These editions, pub- 
lished by Andrew Wise, were evidently careful copies 
of the play as first performed (but without the abdi- 
cation scene), obtained through unauthorized means. 
In 1608 the third quarto appeared "with new addi- 
tions of the Parliament Sceane, and the deposing of 
King Richard, as it hath- been lately acted by the 
Kinges Majesties servantes, at the Globe." The 
fourth quarto (1615) was a reprint of Q3. The First 
Folio represents the quarto text, carefully revised. A 
fifth quarto (1635) followed the authority of the 
second folio (1632). 

Mr. P. A. Daniel, who has carefully studied these 
various texts, pronounces for the general authority 
of the First Folio, which is here taken as the chief 
authority throughout. Passages omitted from it are 
supplied from Qi, and, along with other important 
variations, are indicated in the Notes. 

M. 



132 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF 

KING RICHARD THE SECOND 



[Scene: England and Wales. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 



KiKG Richard the Second. 
John of Gaunt, Duke 

of Lancaster, 1 uncles to the King. 

Edmund or Langley, f 

Duke of York, J 

Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, 

son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV. 
Duke of Aumerle, son to the Duke of York. 
Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. 
Duke of Surrey. 
Earl of Salisbury. 
Lord Berkeley. 
Bushy, >. 

Bagot, I servants to King Richard. 
Green, J 

Earl of Northumberland. 
Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. 



Lord Ross. 

Lord Willoughby. 

Lord Fitzwater. 

Bishop of Carlisle. 

Abbot of Westminster. 

Lord Marshal. 

Sir Stephen Scroop. 

Sir Pierce of Exton. 

Captain of a band of Welshmen. 

Queen to King Richard. 

Duchess of York. 

Duchess of Gloucester. 

Lady attending on the Queen. 

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners, 
Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. 1 



ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [London. King Richard's palace.] 

Enter King Richard, John of Gaunt, with other 
Nobles and Attendants. 

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd 
Lancaster, 
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, 
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, 
Here to make good the boist'rous late appeal. 
Which then our leisure would not let us hear, 5 
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow- 
bray? 
Gaunt. I have, my liege. 

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded 
him. 
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; 
Or worthily, as a good subject should, 10 

On some known ground of treachery in him? 



Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu- 
ment. 
On some apparent danger seen in him 
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. 
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face 
to face, IS 

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will 

hear 
The accuser and the accused freely speak; 
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire. 
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 

Enter Bolinghrohe and Mowbray. 

Boling. Many years of happy days befal 26 
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege ! 

Mow. Each day still better other's happiness; 
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap. 
Add an immortal title to your crown ! 

K. Rich. We thank you both; yet one but flat- 
ters us, 25 
As well appeareth by the cause you come; 



133 



6 



RICHARD II 



[act 



SC. I. 



Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. 
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow- 
bray ? 
Boling. First, heaven be the record to my 
speech ! 30 

In the devotion of a subject's love, 
Tendering the precious safety of my prince. 
And free from other misbegotten hate. 
Come I appellant to this princely presence. 
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, 35 
And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak 
My body shall make good upon this earth, 
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant. 
Too good to be so and too bad to live, 40 

Since the more fair and crystal is the sky. 
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. 
Once more, the more to aggravate the note. 
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; 
And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move. 
What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword 
may prove. 46 

Mow. Let not my cold words here accuse my 
zeal; 
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war. 
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues. 
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain ; 50 
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this ; 
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast 
As to be hush'd and nought at all to say ; 
First, the fair reverence of your 

curbs me 
From giving reins and spurs to my free 
speech; S5 

Which else would post until it had return'd 
These terms of treason doubled down his 

throat. 
Setting aside his high blood's royalty. 
And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 
I do defy him, and I spit at him; 60 

Call him a slanderous coward and a villain; 
Which to maintain I would allow him odds. 
And meet him, were I tied to run afoot 
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
Or any other ground inhabitable, 65 

Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. 
Mean time let this defend my loyalty, 
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 
Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw 
my gage. 
Disclaiming here the kindred of a king, 70 



highness 



And lay aside my high blood's royalty. 
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to ex- 
cept. 
If guilty dread have left thee so much strength 
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop ; 
By that and all the rites of knighthood else, 75 
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm. 
What I have spoken, or thou canst devise. 
Moiv. I take it up; and by that sword I swear, 
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoul- 
der, 
I'll answer thee in any fair degree, 80 

Or chivalrous design of knightly, trial ; 
And when I mount, alive may I not light. 
If I be traitor or unjustly fight! 
K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's 
charge ? 
It must be great that can inherit us 85 

So ipuch as of a thought of ill in him. 
Boling. Look, what I speak, my life shall prove 
it true; 
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand 

nobles 
In name of lendings for your highness' sol- 
diers. 
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employ- 
ments, 90 
Like a false traitor and injurious villain. 
Besides I say and will in battle prove. 
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge 
That ever was survey'd by English eye. 
That all the treasons for these eighteen years 
Complotted and contrived in this land 96 
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head 

and spring. 
Further I say and further will maintain 
Upon his bad life to make all this good, 
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's 
death, 100 

Suggest his soon-believing adversaries. 
And consequently, like a traitor coward, 
Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams 

of blood; 
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries. 
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth. 
To me for justice and rough chastisement; 106 
And, by the glorious worth of my descent, 
This arm shall do it, or tliis life be spent. 
K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars ! 
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? 
Mow. O, let my sovereign turn away his face m 
And bid liis ears a little while be deaf, 
134 



ACT I. SC. 



I.] 



RICHARD II 



Till I have told this slander of his blood. 

How God and good men hate so foul a liar. 

K, Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and 

ears; "S 

Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, 
As he is but my father's brother's son. 
Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, 
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood 
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul; 
He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou; 122 
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. 
Mow. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, 
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou 

liest. 125 

Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais 
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers; 
The other part reserv'd I by consent. 
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt 
Upon remainder of a dear account, 130 

Since last I went to France to fetch his queen ; 
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's 

death, 
I slew him not; but to my own disgrace 
Neglected my sworn duty in that case. 
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, 135 

The honourable father to my foe. 
Once did I lay an ambush for your life, 
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul; 
But ere I last receiv'd the sacrament 
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd 140 

Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. 
This is my fault; as for the rest appeal'd. 
It issues from the rancour of a villain, 
A recreant and most degenerate traitor; 
Which in myself I boldly will defend ; 145 

And interchangeably hurl down my gage 
Upon this overweening traitor's foot. 
To prove myself a loyal gentleman 
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. 
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 150 

Your highness to assign our trial day. 
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by 

me; 
Let's purge this choler without letting blood; 
This we prescribe, though no physician; 
Deep malice makes too deep incision; 155 

Forget, forgive ; conclude and be agreed ; 
Our doctors say this is no time to bleed. 
Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your 



son. 



Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my 
age ; 160 

Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's 
gage. 

K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. 

Gaunt. When, Harry, when ? 

Obedience bids I should not bid again. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is 
no boot. 

Moii): Myself I throw, dread . sovereign, at thy 

foot. 165 

My life thou shalt command, but not my 

shame ; 
The one my duty owes ; but my fair name. 
Despite of death that lives upon my grave. 
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. 
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd and baffled here, 170 
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd 

spear. 
The which no balm can cure but his heart- 
blood 
Which breath'd this poison. 
K. Rich, Rage must be withstood ; 

Give me his gage ; lions make leopards tame. 
Mow. Yea, but not change his spots ; take but 

my shame, 175 

And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord. 
The purest treasure mortal times afford 
Is spotless reputation; that away. 
Men are but gilded loam or painted claj^ 
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 180 

Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; 
Take honour from me, and my life is done; 
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let nie try; 
In that I live and for that will I die. 185 

K. Rich. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you 

begin. 
Baling. O, God defend my soul from such foul 

sin! 
Shall I seem crest- fall'n in my father's sight .^ 
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height 
Before this out-dar'd dastard.^ Ere my 

tongue 190 

Shall wound my honour with such feeble 

wrong, 
Or sound so base a parle, m}^ teeth shall tear 
The slavish motive of recanting fear, 
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, 
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's 

face. 195 

Exit Gaunt. 



135 



8 



RICHARD II 



[act I. SC. I. 



K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com- 
mand; 
Which since we cannot do to make you friends. 
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it. 
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day; 
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
The swelling difference of your settled hate; 
Since we can not atone you, we shall see 202 
Justice design the victor's chivalry. 
Lord marshal, command our officers at arms 
Be ready to direct these home alarms. 205 

Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [The Duke of Lancaster's palace.] 

Enter [John of] Gaunt, [with the] Duchess of 
Gloucester. 

Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Gloucester's 

blood 
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, 
To stir against the butchers of his life ! 
But since correction lieth in those hands 
Which made the fault that we cannot correct, 5 
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; 
Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth. 
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 
Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper 

spur? 
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ? 10 
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one. 
Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, 
Or seven fair branches springing from one 

root; 
Some of those seven are dried by nature's 

course. 
Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; 
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glou- 
cester, 16 
One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, 
One flourishing branch of his most royal root, 
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, 
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all 

faded, 20 

By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. 
Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine ! that bed, that 

womb. 
That metal, that self mould, that fashion'd 

thee 
Made him a man; and though thou livest and 

breathest, 

136 



Yet art thou slain in him; thou dost consent 25 
In some large measure to thy father's death, 
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die. 
Who was the model of thy father's life. 
Call it not patience. Gaunt; it is despair; 
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd. 
Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, 31 
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee ; 
That which in mean men we intitle patience 
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
What shall I say.^ to safeguard thine own life. 
The best way is to venge my Gloucester's 
death. 36 

Gaunt. God's is the quarrel ; for God's substi- 
tute. 
His deputy anointed in His sight. 
Hath caus'd his death; the which if wrong 

fully. 
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift 40 
An angry arm against His minister. 
Duch. Where then, alas, may I complain my- 
self? 
Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and de 

fence. 

Duch. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. 

Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold 45 

Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight; 

O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's 

spear. 
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! 
Or, if misfortune miss the first career. 
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, 50 
That they may break his foaming courser's 
back, . ; 

And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! 
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's 

wife 
With her companion grief must end her life. 55 
Gaunt. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry; 
As much good stay with thee as go with me ! 
Duch. Yet one word more; grief boundeth where 
it falls, 
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight; 
I take my leave before I have begun, 60 

For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. 
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 
Lo, this is all; — nay, yet depart not so; 
Though this be all, do not so quickly go ; 
I shall remember more. Bid him — ah, 
what? — 6s 

With all good speed at Flashy visit me. 



ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



RICHARD II 



9 



Alack, and what shall good old York there 
; see 

But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls;, 
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? 
And what hear there for welcome but my 

groans ? 70 

Therefore commend me; let him not come 

there. 
To seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere. 
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die; 
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. 

Ea;eunt. 



Scene III. — [The lists at Coventry.] 

Enter [the Lord] Marshal and [the Duke of] 
Aumerle. 

Mar. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford 

arm'd } 
Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. 
Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and 

bold. 
Stays but the summons of the appellant's 

trumpet. 
Aum. Why, then, the champions are prepar'd, 

and stay s 

For nothing but his majesty's approach. 

^The trumpets sound, and the King enters with 
his nobles. Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and 
others. When they are set, enter Mowbray in 
arms, defendant, with a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 
The cause of his arrival here in arms; 
Ask him his name and orderly proceed 
To swear him in the justice of his cause. 10 
Mar. In God's name and the king's, say who 

thou art 
And why thou comest thus knightly clad in 

arms, ^ 
Against what man thou comest, and what thy 

quarrel : 
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; 
As so defend thee heaven and thy valour ! 15 
Mow. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of 

Norfolk; 
Who hither come engaged by my oath — 
Which God defend a knight should violate! — 
Both to defend my loyalty and truth 



To God, my king and his succeeding issue, 20 
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals 

me; 
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm. 
To prove him, in defending of myself, 
A traitor to my God, my king, and me; 
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! 25 

^The trumpets sound. Enter Bolingbroke, ap- 
pellant, in armour, with a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms. 
Both who he is and why he cometh hither 
Thus plated in habiliments of war. 
And formally, according to our law. 
Depose him in the justice of his cause. 30 

Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore comest 
thou hither, 
■ Before King Richard in his royal lists ? 
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy 

quarrel ? 
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee 
heaven ! 
Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and 
Derby 35 

Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, 
To prove, by God's grace and my body's 

valour. 
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Nor- 
folk, 
That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous. 
To God of heaven. King Richard and to me ; 40 
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! 
Mar, On pain of death, no person be so bold 
Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists. 
Except the marshal and such officers 
Appointed to direct these fair designs. 45 

Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sove- 
reign's hand. 
And bow my knee before his majesty; 
For Mowbray and myself are like two men 
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; 
Then let us take a ceremonious leave 50 

And loving farewell of our several friends. 
Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your 
highness, 
And craves to kiss your hand and take his 
leave. 
K. Rich. We will descend and fold him in our 



Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, 55 
So be thy fortune in this royal fight! 



137 



10 



RICHARD II 



[act 



SC. III. 



Farewell,, my blood; which if to-day thou 

shed^ 
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 

Boling. O, let no noble eyt profane a tear 
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear; 
As confident as is the falcon's flight 6i 

Against a bird, do I w4th Mowbray fight. 
My loving lord, I take my leave of you; 
Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; 
Not sick, although I have to do with death, 65 
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. 
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet 
The daintiest last, to make the end most 

sweet ; 
O thou, the earthly author of my blood. 
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, 70 
Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up 
To reach at victory above my head. 
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ; 
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point. 
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, 75 
And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, 
Even in the lusty haviour of his son. 

Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee pros- 
perous ! 
Be swift like lightning in the execution; 
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, 80 

Fall like amazing thunder on the casque 
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy; 
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and 
live. 

Boling. Mine innocency and Saint George to 
thrive ! 

Mow. However God or fortune cast my lot, 85 
There lives or dies, true to King Richard's 

throne, 
A loyal, just and upright gentleman; 
Never did cajitive with a freer heart 
Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace 
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, 90 
]\Iore than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
This feast of battle with mine adversary. 
Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, 
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years ; 
As gentle and as jocund as to jest 95 

Go I to fight; truth hath a quiet breast. 

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord; securely I espy 
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. 
Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, 
Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right ! 

Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. 

1 



Mar. Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of 
Norfolk. 103 

First Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and 
Derby, 
Stands here for God, his sovereign and him- 
self, 105 
On pain to be found false and recreant. 
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow- 
bray, 
A traitor to his God, his king and him ; 
And dares him to set forward to the fight. 
Sec. Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, 
Duke of Norfolk, no 
On pain to be found false and recreant. 
Both to defend himself and to approve 
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal; 
Courageously and with a free desire 115 
Attending but the signal to begin. 
Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, com- 
batants. A charge sounded. 
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. 
K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and 
their spears. 
And both return back to their chairs again ; 120 
Withdraw with us ; and let the trumpets sound 
While we return these dukes what we decree. 

A long flourish. 
Draw near. 

And list what with our council we have done. 
For that our kingdom's earth should not be 
soil'd 125 

With that dear blood which it hath fostered; 
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' 

sword ; 
And for we think the eagle-winged pride 
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, 130 
With rival-hating envy, set on you 
To wake our peace, which in our country's 

cradle 
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ; 
Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd 

drums, 
With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful 
bray, 135 

And grating shock of wrathful iron arms. 
Might from our quiet confines fright fair 

peace 
And make us wade even in our kindred's 

blood ; 
Therefore^ we banish you our territories ; 
38 



ACT I. SC. 



III.] 



RICHARD II 



11 



Yoiij, cousin Hereford^, upon pain of death^ 140 
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our 

fields 
Shall not regreet our fair dominions, 
But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 
Boling. Your will be done; this must my com- 
fort be. 
That sun that warms you here shall shine on 

me ; 145 

And those his golden beams to you here lent 
Shall point on me and gild my banishment. 
K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier 

doom. 
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce; 
The sly slow hours shall not determinate 150 
The dateless limit of thy dear exile; 
The hopeless word of 'never to return' 
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. 
Mow. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign 

liege. 
And all unlook'd for from your highness' 

mouth ; 155 

A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 
As to be cast forth in the common air, 
Have I deserved at your highness' hands. 
The language I have learn'd these forty years. 
My native English, now I must forego; 160 
And now my tongue's use is to me no more 
Than an unstringed viol or a harp. 
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up. 
Or, being open, put into his hands 
That knows no touch to tune the harmony; 165 
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my 

tongue, 
Doubl}^ portcullis'd with my teeth and lips ; 
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance 
Is made my gaoler to attend on me. 
• I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 170 

Too far in years to be a pupil now; 
What is thy sentence then but speechless 

death. 
Which robs my tongue from breathing native 

breath } 
K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate; 
After our sentence plaining comes too late. 175 
Mow. Then thus I turn me from my country's 

light. 
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. 
K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with 

thee. 
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; 
Swear by the duty that you owe to God — 180 



Our part therein we banish with yourselves — 

To keep the oath that we administer; 

You never shall, so help you truth and God! 

Embrace each other's love in banishment; 

Nor ever look upon each other's face; 185 

Nor ever write, regreet, nor reconcile 

This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; 

Nor ever by advised purpose meet 

To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 

'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 

Boling. I swear. 191 

Mow. And I, to keep all this. 

Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy: — 
By this time, had the king permitted us. 
One of our souls had wander'd in the air, 195 
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh. 
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land; 
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; 
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. 200 

Mow. No, Bolingbroke, if ever I were traitor. 
My name be blotted from the book of life. 
And I from heaven banish'd as from hence ! 
But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know ; 
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue, 205 
Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; 
Save back to England, all the world's my 
way. Exit. 

K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine 
eyes 
I see thy grieved heart; thy sad aspect 
Hath from the number of his banish'd years 210 
Pluck'd four away. \_To Boling.^ Six frozen 

winters spent. 
Return with welcome home from banishment. 

Boling. How long a time lies in one little word ! 
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs 
End in a word: such is the breath of kings. 215 

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me 
He shortens four years of my son's exile; 
But little vantage shall I reap thereby; 
For, ere the six years that he hath to spend 
Can change their moons and bring their times 
about, 220 

My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light 
Shall be extinct with age and endless night ; 
My inch of taper will be burnt and done. 
And blindfold death not let me see my son. 

K» Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to 
live. 225 

Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst 
give: 



139 



12 



RICHARD II 



[act 



Shorten my days thou canst with sudden sor- 
row^ 
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a 

morrow ; 
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, 
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; 230 

Thy word is current Mith him for my death. 
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 
K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, 
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave; 
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? 
Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in diges- 
tion sour. 236 
You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather 
You would have bid me argue like a father. 
O, had it been a stranger, not my child. 
To smooth his fault I should have been more 
mild : 240 
A partial slander sought I to avoid, 
And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. 
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, 
I was too strict to make mine own away; 
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue 245 
Against my will to do myself this wrong. 
K, Rich. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him 
so: 
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 
Flourish. Exeunt [King Richard and train], 
Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not 
know. 
From where you do remain let paper show. 250 
Mar. My lord, no leave take I ; for I will ride. 

As far as land will let me, by your side. 
Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy 
words. 
That thou return'st no greeting to thy 
friends } 
Baling. I have too few to take my leave of you. 
When the tongue's office should be prodigal 256 
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. 
Gaujit. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 
Baling. Joy absent, grief is present for that 

time. 
Gaunt. What is six winters ? they are quickly 
gone. 260 

Baling. To men in joy; but grief makes one 

hour ten. 
Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou takest for 

pleasure. 
Baling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so. 
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. 264 



Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set 
The precious jewel of thy home return. 

Baling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
Will but remember me what a deal of world 
I wander from the jewels that I love. 270 

Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
To foreign passages, and in the end. 
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else 
But that I was a journeyman to grief .^ 

Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits 
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. 276 
Teach thy necessity to reason thus; 
There is no virtue like necessity. 
Think not the king did banish thee, 
But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier 

sit. 
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 281 
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour 
And not the king exiled thee ; or suppose 
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air 
And thou art flying to a fresher clime ; 285 

Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou 

comest ; 
Suppose the singing birds musicians. 
The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence 

strew'd. 
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more 
Than a delightful measure or a dance; 291 
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 
The man that mocks at it and sets it light. 

Baling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand 

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus.'* 295 

Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite 

By bare imagination of a feast.? 

Or wallow naked in December snow 

By thinking on fantastic summer's heat.? 

O, no ! the apprehension of the good 300 

Gives but the greater feeling to the worse; 

Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more 

Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore, 

Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on. 
thy way; 
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. 

Baling. Then, England's ground, farewell; 

sweet soil, adieu; 306 

My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! 

Where'er I wander, boast of this I can. 

Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. 

[Ea;eunt.] 



140 



ACT I. SC. 



IV.] 



RICHARD II 



13 



Scene IV. — [The court.] 

f Enter the King, with Bagot and Green, at one 
door; and the Duke of Aumerle at another. 

K. Rich. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, 
How far brought you high Hereford on his 

way? 
Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him 

so. 
But to the next highway, and there I left him. 
K. Rich. And say, what store of parting tears 

were shed.^* s 

Aum. Faith, none for me; except the northeast 

wind. 

Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 

Awak'd the sleepy rheum, and so by chance 

Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 

K. Rich. What said our cousin when you parted 

with him? lo 

Aum. 'Farewell!' 

And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
Should so profane the word, that taught me 

craft 
To counterfeit oppression of such grief 
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's 

grave. is 

Marry, would the word 'farewell' have length- 

en'd hours 
And added years to his short banishment, 
He should have had a volume of farewells; 
But since it would not, he had none of me. 
K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt. 
When time shall call him home from banish- 
ment, 21 
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. 
Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green 
Observ'd his courtship to the common people; 
How he did seem to dive into their hearts 25 
With humble and familiar courtesy, 
What reverence he did throw away on slaves. 
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of 

smiles 
And patient underbearing of his fortune. 
As 'twere to banish their affects with him. 30 
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; 
A brace of draymen bid God speed him well 
And had the tribute of his supple knee. 
With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving 

friends ;' 
As were our England in reversion his, 35 



And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 
Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these 
thoughts. 
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, 
Expedient manage must be made, my liege. 
Ere further leisure yield them further means 40 
For their advantage and your highness' loss. 
K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war; 
And, for our coffers, with too great a court 
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light. 
We are inforc'd to farm our royal realm; 45 
The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
For our affairs in hand ; if that come short. 
Our substitutes at home shall have blank char- 
ters; 
Whereto, when they shall know what men are 

rich. 
They shall subscribe them for large sums of 
gold 50 

And send them after to supply our wants ; 
For we will make for Ireland presently. 

Enter Bushy. 

Bushy, what news? 

Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is very sick, my lord. 
Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste 55 
To entreat your majesty to visit him. 

K. Rich. Where lies he? 

Bushy. At Ely House. 

K. Rich. Now put it, God, in the physician's 
mind 
To help him to his grave immediately! 60 

The lining of his coffers shall make coats 
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. 
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: 
Pray God we may make haste, and come too 
late ! 

All. Amen. Exeunt, 



ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — [Ely House.] 

Enter [John of] Gaunt sick, with [the Duke of] 
York. 

Gaunt. Will the king come, that I may breathe 
my last 
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? 



141 



11 



RICHARD II 



[act 



II. sc. 



York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your 
breath ; 
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. 
Gaunt. O, but they say the tongues of dying 
men 5 

Enforce attention like dee23 harmony; 
Where words are scarce^ they are seldom spent 

in vain;, 
For they breathe truth that breathe their 

words in pain. 
He that no more must say is listen'd more 
Than they whom youth and ease have 
taught to glose; 10 

jSIore are men's ends mark'd than their lives 
before: 
The setting sun, and music at the close. 
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, 
Writ in remembrance more than things long 

past; 
Though Richard my life's counsel would not 
hear, 15 

My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 
York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering 
sounds. 
As praises of his state; then there are found 
Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound 
The open ear of youth doth always listen; 20 
Report of fashions in proud Italy, 
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation 
LimjDS after in base imitation. 
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity — 
So it be new, there's no respect how vile — 25 
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? 
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard. 
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
Direct not him whose way himself will choose ; 
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt 
thou lose. 30 

Gaunt. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir'd 
And thus expiring do foretell of him; 
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last. 
For violent fires soon burn out themselves ; 
Small showers last long, but. sudden storms 
are short; 35 

He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; 
With eager feeding food doth choke the 

feeder ; 
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant. 
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, 
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 41 
This other Eden, demi-paradise, 

1 



This fortress built by Nature for herself 
Against infection and the hand of war. 
This happ3^ breed of men, this little world, 45 
This precious stone set in the silver sea. 
Which serves it in the office of a wall 
Or as a moat defensive to a house. 
Against the envy of less happier lands. 
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this 

England, 50 

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
Fear'd by their breed and famous by their 

birth. 
Renowned for their deeds as far from home. 
For Christian service and true chivalry. 
As is the sejjulchre in stubborn Jewry 55 

Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, 
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear 

land. 
Dear for her reputation through the world, 
Is now leas'd out, I die pronouncing it, 
Like to a tenement or pelting farm; 60 

England, bound in with the triumphant sea, 
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious 

siege 
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with 

shame. 
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds; 
That England, that was wont to conquer 

others, 65 

Hath made a shameful conquest of itself 
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, 
How happy then were my ensuing death! 

Enter King [Richard and] Queen, Aumerlc, 
Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross, and Willoughhy. 

York. The king is come: deal mildly with his 

youth ; 

For young hot colts being rag'd do rage the 

more. 70 

Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster .f* 

K, Rich. What comfort, man.^ how is't with 

aged Gaunt? 
Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition ! 
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old; 
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; 75 
And who abstains from meat that is not 

gaunt? 
For sleeping England long time have I 

watch'd ; 
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all 
gaunt ; 
12 



ACT II. SC. I 



RICHARD II 



15 



The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, 
Is my strict fast ; I mean, my children's looks ; 
And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt; 
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, 82 
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. 

K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their 
names } 84 

Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself; 
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. 

K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those 
that live.^ 

Gaunt. No, no, men living flatter those that die. 

K. Rich. Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flat- 
terest me. 90 

Gaunt. O, no ! thou diest, though I the sicker be. 

K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee 
ill. 

Gaunt. Now He that made me knows I see thee 
ill; 
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land 95 
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; 
And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure 
Of those physicians that first wounded thee; 
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, 100 
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; 
And yet, incaged in so small a verge, 
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye 
Seen how his son's son should destroy his 

sons, 
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy 
shame, 106 

Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd. 
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. 
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world. 
It were a shame to let this land by lease; no 
But for thy world enjoying but this land. 
Is it not more than shame to shame it so? 
Landlord of England art thou, and not king; 
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ; 
And thou — 

K. Rich. And thou, a lunatic lean-witted fool, 115 
Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
Darest with thy frozen admonition 
Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood 
With fury from his native residence. 
Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, 120 

Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son. 
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head 



Should run thy head from thy unreverent 
• shoulders. 
Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's 

son. 
For that I was his father Edward's son; 125 
That~blood already, like the pelican, 
Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly carous'd ; 
My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning 

soul, 
(Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy 

souls !) 
May be a precedent and witness good 130 

That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's 

blood ; 
Join with the present sickness that I have; 
And thy unkindness be like crooked age. 
To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. 
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with 

thee ! 13s 

These words hereafter thy tormentors be ! 

Convey me to my bed, then to my grave; 

Love they to live that love and honour have. 

Exit [borne off by his Attendants]. 

K. Rich. And let them die that age and sullens 

have; 
For both hast thou, and both become the 

grave. 140 

York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his 

words 
To wayward sickliness and age in him; 
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. 
K, Rich. Right, you say true: as Llereford's 

love, so his; 145 

As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. 

Enter Northumberland. 

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to 

your majesty. 
K. Rich. What says he? 

North. Nay, nothing; all is said; 

His tongue is now a stringless instrument; 
Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 
York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt 
so ! 151 

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. 
K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so 
doth he; 
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. 
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars; 
We must supplant those rough rug-headed 
kerns, 156 



143 



16 



RICHARD II 



[act II. sc. 



Which live like venom where no venom else 
But only they have privilege to live. • 

And for these great affairs do ask some 

charge^ 
Towards our assistance we do seize to us i6o 
The plate^ coin^ revenues and moveables. 
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. 
York. How long shall I be patient? ah, how 
long 
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? 
Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's ban- 
ishment, 165 
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor. England's private 

wrongs. 
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke 
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace. 
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek. 
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. 
I am the last of noble Edward's sons, 171 

Of whom thy father. Prince of Wales, was 

first; 
In war was never lion rag'd more fierce. 
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild. 
Than was that young and princely gentleman. 
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, 176 
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ; 
But when he frown'd, it was against the 

French 
And not against his friends ; his noble hand 
Did win what he did spend and spent not that 
Which his triumphant father's hand had won; 
His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, 182 
But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 
O Richard ! York is too far gone with grief. 
Or else he never would compare between. 185 
K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter ? 
York. O my liege, 

Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd 
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. 
Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands 
The royalties and rights of banish'd Here- 
ford ? 190 
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford 

live ? 
Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? 
Did not the one deserve to have an heir? 
Is not his heir a well-deserving son? 
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from 
Time 195 

His charters and his customary rights ; 
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-da}'^; 
Be not thyself; for how art thou a king 

1 



But by fair sequence and succession? 

Now, afore God — God forbid I say true ! — 200 

If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights. 

Call in the letters patents that he hath 

By his attorneys-general to sue 

His liverj^, and deny his offer'd homage. 

You pluck a thousand dangers on your head. 

You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts 206 

And prick my tender patience to those 

thoughts 
Which honour and allegiance cannot think. 
K. Rich. Think what you will, we seize into our 
hands 
His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. 
York. I'll not be by the while: my liege, fare- 
well; 211 
What will ensue hereof, there's none can 

tell; 
But by bad courses may be understood 
That their events can never fall out good. 

Exit. 
K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire 
straight: 215 

Bid him repair to us to Ely House 
To see this business. To-morrow next 
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: 
And we create, in absence of ourself. 
Our uncle York lord governor of England; 220 
For he is just and always lov'd us well. 
Come on, our queen; to-morrow must we part; 
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. 

"l Flourish. Exeunt King, Queen, Aumerle^ 

Bushy, Green, and Bagot. 

North. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is 

dead. 
Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke. 
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenues. 226 

North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 
Ross. My. heart is great; but it must break with 
silence, 
Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. 
North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er 
speak more 230 

That speaks thy words again to do thee harm ! 
Willo. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the 
Duke of Hereford? 
If it be so, out with it boldly, man; 
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards 
him. 
Ross. No good at all that I can do for him; 235 
Unless you call it good to pity him, 
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. 
44 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



RICHARD II 



17 



North. Now^ afore God_, 'tis shame such wrongs 
are borne 
In him^ a royal prince^ and many moe 
Of noble blood in this declining land. 240 

The king is not himself^ but basely led 
By flatterers ; and what they will inform^ 
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all^ 
That will the king severely prosecute 
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our 
heirs. 245 

Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous 
taxes. 
And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath 

he fin'd 
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their 
hearts. 
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd. 
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what; 
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this } 
North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he 
hath not, 252 

But basely yielded upon compromise 
That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows : 
More hath he spent in peace than they in 
wars. 255 

Ross. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in 

farm. 
Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken 

man. 
North. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over 

him. 
Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, 
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, 260 
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. 
North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate 
king! 
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing. 
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm; 
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, 265 
And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 
Ross. We see the very wreck that we must 
suffer ; 
And unavoided is the danger now. 
For suffering so the causes of our wreck. 
North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of 
death 270 

I spy life peering; but I dare not say 
How near the tidings of our comfort is. 
Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou 

dost ours. 
Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: 
We three are but thyself ; and, speaking so, 275 



Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be 

bold. 
North. Then thus; I have from Port le Blanc, a 

bay 
In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence 
That Harry Duke of* Hereford, Rainold Lord 

Cobham, 
[Thomas, the son of the Earl of Arundel] 280 
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, 
His brother. Archbishop late of Canterbury, 
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, 
Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and 

Francis Quoint, 
All these well furnish'd by the Duke of 

Bretagne 285 

With eight tall ships, three thousand men of 

war. 
Are making hither with all due expedience 
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore ; 
Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay 
The first departing of the king for Ireland. 290 
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke. 
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing. 
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd 

crown. 
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's 

gilt 
And make high majesty look like itself, 295 
Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; 
But if you faint, as fearing to do so. 
Stay and.be secret, and myself will go. 
Ross. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to them 

that fear. 
Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be 

there. Exeunt. 300 



Scene II. — [Windsor Castle.'] 

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 

Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: 
. You promis'd, when you parted with the king. 
To lay aside self-harming heaviness 
And entertain a cheerful disposition. 
Queen. To please the king I did; to please my- 
self 5 
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause 
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief. 
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
As my sweet Richard; yet again, methinks. 
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb^ 



145 



18 



RICHARD II 



[act II. sc. 



nward sjduI h 
my lord the 



Is coming towards me, and my 
With nothing trembles^ at 

grieves, " ?. ; -- 

More than with parting from 

king. 
Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty 

shadows, 
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; 15 
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears. 
Divides one thing entire to many objects; 
Like jjerspectives, which rightly gaz'd upon 
Show nothing but confusion, ey'd awry 
Distinguish form; so jowy sweet majesty, 20 
Looking awry upon your lord's departure. 
Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to 

wail ; 
Which, look'd on as it is, is noilght but shad- 
ows 
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious 

queen. 
More than your lord's departure weep not; 

more's not seen ; 25 

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, 
Which for things true weeps things imaginary. 
Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul 
Persuades me it is otherwise; howe'er it be, 
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad 30 

As, though on thinking on no thought I think, 
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and 

shrink. 
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious 

lady. 
Queen. 'Tis nothing less; conceit is still deriv'd 
From some forefather grief; mine is not so, 35 
For nothing hath begot my something grief; 
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve; 
'Tis in reversion that I do possess; 
But what it is, that is not yet known ; what 
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. 40 

Enter Green. 



Green. God save your majesty! and well met, 

gentlemen ; 

I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. 

Queen. Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope 

he is; 

For his designs crave haste, his haste good 

hope; 
Then wherefore dost thou liope he is not 
shipp'd } 
Green. That he 
his power, 

146 



our hope, might have 



45 
retir'd 



And driven into despair an enemy's hope^ 
Who strongly hath set footing in this land; 
The banisli'd Bolingbroke repeals himself. 
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd 50 

At Ravenspurgh. •^' 

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid ! 

Green. Ah, madam, 'tis too true; and that is 
worse. 
The Lord Northumberland, his son young 

"Henry Percy, 
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Wil- 

loughby. 
With all their powerful friends, are fled to 
him. 55 

Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd North- 
umberland 
And all the rest revolted faction traitors ? 

Green. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worces- 
ter 
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship. 
And all the household servants fled with liim 
To Bolingbroke. 61 

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my 
woe, 
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal feeir; 
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy. 
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, 65 
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 

Bushy. Despair not, madam. 

Queen. Who shall hinder me? 

I will despair, and be at enmity 
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer, 
A parasite, a keeper back of death, 70 

Who gently would dissolve the bands of life. 
Which false hopes linger in extremity. 

Enter Yorh. 

Green. Here comes the Duke of York. 
Queen. Witli signs of war about his aged neck; 
O, full of careful business are his looks ! 75 
Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable 
words. 
York. Should 
thoughts : 
Comfort's in heaven 



I do so, I should belie my 



and we are on the earth, 
Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and 

grief. 
Your liusband, he is gone to save far off, 80 
Whilst others come to make him lose at home; 
Here am I left to underprop his land. 
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself; 



ACT II. SC. 



II.] 



RICHARD II 



19 



I 



Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit 

made; 
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd 

him. • 85 

Enter a Servant. 



Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. 
York. He was .^ Why, so ! go all which way it 
will! 
The nobles they are fled, the commons they 

are cold. 
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. 
Sirrah, get thee to Flashy, to my sister Glou- 
cester ; 90 
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: 
Hold, take my ring. 
Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lord- 
ship. 
To-day, as I came by, I called there; 
But I shall grieve you to report the rest. 95 
York. What is't, knave.? 

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. 
York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes 
Comes rushing on this woful land at once ! 
I know not what to do; I would to God, 100 
So my untruth had not provok'd him to it. 
The king had cut off my head with my 

brother's ! 
What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ire- 
land.? 
How shall we do for money for these wars ? 
Come, sister, — cousin, I would say, — pray, 
pardon me. 105 

Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts 
And bring away the armour that is there. 

[^Exit Servant.'] 
Gentlemen, will you go muster men? 
If I know how or which way to order these 

affairs 
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, no 

Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen; 
The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath 
And duty bids defend; the other again 
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd. 
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to 
right. 115 

Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, 

I'll 
Dispose of you. 

Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, 
And meet me presently at Berkeley. 



I should to Flashy too; 120 

But time will not permit; all is uneven. 
And every thing is left at six and seven. 

\Exeunt York and Queen. 
Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to 
Ireland, 
But none returns. For us to levy power 
Froportionable to the enemy 125 

Is all unpossible. 
Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love 

Is near the hate of those love not the king. 

Bagot. And that's the wavering commons; for 

their love 

Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them 

By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. 

Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- 

demn'd, 132 

Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, 

Because we ever have been near the king. 
Green. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol 
castle; . 135 

The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. 
Bushy. Thither will I with you; for little office 
The hateful commons will perform for us. 
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. 
Will you go along with us ? 140 

Bagot. No; I will to Ireland to his majesty. 
Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain. 
We three here part that ne'er shall meet 
again. 
Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back 

Bolingbroke, 
Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he under- 
takes 145 
Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry; 
Where one on his side fights, thousands will 

fly- 

Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. 
Bushy. Well, we may meet again. 
Bagot. 1 fear me, never. 

Exeujit. 



Scene III. — \_Wilds in Gloucestershire.] 

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, 
[with Forces]. 

Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley 

now.? 
North. Believe me, noble lord, 

I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire; 



147 



20 



RICHARD II 



[act II. SC. III. 



These high wild hills and rough uneven ways 
Draws out our miles, and makes them weari- 
some ; 5 
And yet your fair discourse hath been as 

sugar, 
Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
But I bethink me what a weary way 
From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found 
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your com- 
pany, 10 
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd 
The tediousness and process of my travel; 
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have 
The present benefit which I possess; 
And hope to joy is little less in joy 15 
Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords 
Shall make their way seem short, as mine 

hath done 
By sight of what I have, your noble company. 
Baling. Of much less value is my company 
Than your good words. But who comes here ? 

Enter Henry Percy. 

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 21 
Sent from my brother Worcester, whenceso- 

ever. 
Harry, how fares your uncle? 
Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd 

his health of you. 
North, Why, is he not with the queen .^ 25 

Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the 
court, 
Broken his staff of office and dispers'd , 

The household of the king. I 

North. What was his reason ? 

He was not so resolv'd when last we spake 
together. 
Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed 
traitor. 30 

But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh, 
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford, 
And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover 
What power the Duke of York had levied 

there ; 
Then with directions to repair to Ravens- 
purgh. 35 
North. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, 

boy? 
Percy. No, my good lord, for that is not forgot 
Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowl- 
edge, 



I never in my life did look on him. 
North. Then learn to know him nov/; this is the 
duke. 40 

Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my serv- 
ice. 
Such as it is, being tender, raw and young; 
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm 
To more approved service and desert. 
BoUng. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure 
I count myself in nothing else so happy 46 
As in a soul remembering my good friends ; 
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, 
It shall be still thy true love's recompense; 
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus 
seals it. 50 

North. How far is it to Berkeley? and what 
stir 
Keeps good old York there with his men of 
war ? 
Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of 
trees, 
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have 

heard ; 
And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, 
and Seymour; 55 

None else of name and noble estimate. 

Enter Ross and Willoughhy. 

North. Here come the Lords of Ross and Wil- 
loughhy, 
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 
Boling. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love 
pursues 
A banish'd traitor: all my treasury 60 

' Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd 

Shall be your love and labour's recompense. 
Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble 

lord. 

Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. 

Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the 

poor ; 65 

Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, 

Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? 

Enter Berkeley. 

North. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess. 
Berk. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to 

you. 
Boling. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster ; 70 
And I am come to seek that name in England ; 



148 



ACT II. SC. III.] 



RICHARD II 



21 



And I must find that title in your tongue. 
Before I make reply to aught you say. 
Berk. Mistake me not;, my lord; 'tis not my 

meaning 
To raze one title of your honour out; 75 

To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will. 
From the most gracious regent of this land. 
The Duke of York, to know what pricks you 

on 
To take advantage of the absent time 
And fright our native peace with self-borne 

arms. 80 

Enter York [^attended'], 

Boling. I shall not need transport my words by 

you; 
Here comes his grace in person. 

My noble uncle! [Kneels.] 
York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy 

knee. 
Whose duty is deceivable and false. 
Boling. My gracious uncle- — 85 

York. Tut, tut ! 

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle: 
I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace' 
In an ungracious mouth is but profane. 
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs 90 
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's 

ground ? 
But then more 'M^hy.^' why have they dar'd to 

march 
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom. 
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war 
And ostentation of despised arms? 95 

Comest thou because the anointed king is 

hence? 
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind. 
And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth 
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself 
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars 

of men, loi 

From forth the ranks of many thousand 

French, 
O, then how quickly should this arm of mine. 
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee 
And minister correction to thy fault! 105 

Boling. Mv gracious uncle, let me know my 

fault;' 
On what condition stands it and wherein? 
York. Even in condition of the worst degree. 
In gross rebellion and detested treason: 



Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come no 
Before the expiration of thy time. 
In braving arms against thy sovereign. 
Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd 
Hereford; 
But as I come, I come for Lancaster. 
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace 115 

Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye: 
You are my father, for methinks in you 
I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father. 
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
A wandering vagabond; my rights and royal- 
ties 120 
Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given 

away 
To upstart unthrif ts ? Wherefore was I born ? 
If that my cousin king be King of England, 
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. 
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin; 125 
Had you first died, and he been thus trod 

down. 
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a 

father. 
To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the 

bay. 
I am denied to sue my livery here. 
And yet my letters-patents give me leave ; 130 
My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold. 
And these and all are all amiss employ'd. 
What would you have me do? I am a sub- 
ject. 
And I challenge law ; attorneys are denied me ; 
And therefore personally I lay my claim 135 
To my inheritance of free descent. 
North. The noble duke hath been too much 

abus'd. 
Ross. It stands your grace upon to do him right. 
JVillo. Base men by his endowments are made 

great. 
York. My lords of England, let me tell you this ; 
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs 141 
And labour'd all I could to do him right; 
But in this kind to come, in braving arms. 
Be his own carver and cut out his way. 
To find out right with wrong, it may not be; 
And you that do abet him in this kind 146 

Cherish rebellion and are rebels all. 
North. The noble duke hath sworn his coming is 
But for his own ; and for the right of that 
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; 150 
And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that 
oath! 



149 



22 



RICHARD II 



[act 



H. SC. III. 



York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms; 
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, 
Because my power is weak and all ill left; 
But if I could, by Him that gave me life, 155 
I would attach you all and make you stoop 
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king; 
But since I cannot, be it known to you 
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; 
Unless you please to enter in the castle 160 
And there repose j^ou for this night. 

Bol'nig. An off'er, uncle, that we will accept; 
But we must win your grace to go with us 
To Bristol castle, which they say is held 
By Bushy, Bagot and their complices, 165 

The caterpillars of the commonwealth. 
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. 

York. It may be I will go with you; but yet I'll 

pause; 

For I am loath to break our country's laws. 

Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are; 

Things past redress are now with me past 

care. Exeunt. 171 



Scene IV. — [A camp in Wales.'] 

Enter Salisbury and a [Welsh] Captain. 

Cap. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten 
days. 
And hardly kept our countrymen together, 
And yet we hear no tidings from the king; 
Therefore we will disperse ourselves; fare- 
well. 
Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welsh- 
man : . 5 
The king reposeth all his confidence in thee. 
Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not 
stay. 
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd 
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; 
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth 
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful 
change ; n 
Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and 

leap. 
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy. 
The other to enjoy by rage and war; 
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. 
Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled, 
A,s well assur'd Richard their king is dead. 17 

Exit. 
1 



Sal, Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind 
I see thy glory like a shooting star 
Fall to the base earth from the firmament. 20 
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west. 
Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest; 
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes. 
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. 

Exit. 

ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — [Bristol. Before the castle.] 

Enter Bolinghrohe, York, Not thumb erland, 
Ross, Percy, Willoughby, with Bushy and 
Green, prisoners. 

Boling. Bring forth these men. 

Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls — 
Since presently your souls must part your 

bodies — 
With too much urging your pernicious lives. 
For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your 

blood 5. 

From off my hands, here in the view of men J 
I will unfold some causes of your deaths. " 
You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments. 
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean ; 10 

You have in manner with your sinful hours 
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him. 
Broke the possession of a royal bed 
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul 

wrongs. 15 

Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth. 
Near to the king in blood, and near in love 
Till you did make him misinterpret me, 
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries. 
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign 

clouds, 20 

Eating the bitter bread of banishment; 
Whilst you have fed upon my signories, 
Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest 

woods. 
From my own windows torn my household 

coat, 
Raz'd out my imprese, leaving me no sign, 25 
Save men's opinions and my living blood. 
To show the world I am a gentleman. 
This and much more, much more than twice 

all this, 
50 



ACT III. SC. I.] 



RICHARD II 



Condemns you to the death. See them de- 

liver'd over 
To execution and the hand of death. 30 

Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to 
me 
Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords^ fare- 
well. 
Green. My comfort is that heaven will take our 
souls 
And plague injustice with the pains of hell. 
Boling. My Lord Northumberland^ see them dis- 
patch'd. 35 

\_Exeunt Northumberland and others^ 
with the prisoners.^ 
Uncle, you say the queen is at your house; 
For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated; 
Tell her I send to her my kind commends; 
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 
York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd 
With letters of your love to her at large. 41 
Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, 
away. 
To fight with Glendower and his complices; 
Awhile to work, and after holiday. Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [^The coast of Wales. A castle in 

viexv.'] 

Drums: flourish and colours. Enter King Rich- 
ard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, and 
Soldiers, 

K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call they this at 

hand ? 
Aum: Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace 

the air. 
After your late tossing on the breaking seas,^ 
K. Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep for 

joy 

To stand upon my kingdom once again. 5 

Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand. 
Though rebels w^ound thee with their horses' 

hoofs ; 
As a long-parted mother with her child 
Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in 

meeting, 
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, 10 
And do thee favours with my royal hands. 
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth. 
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous 

sense; 



But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom. 
And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way, 15 
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet 
Which with usurping steps do trample thee; 
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; 
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower. 
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder 20 
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. 
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords; 
This earth shall have a feeling and these 

stones 
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 25 
Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. 
Car. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made 
you king 
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. 
The means that heaven yields must be em- 

brac'd. 
And not neglected; else, if heaven would, 30 
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse. 
The profFer'd means of succour and redress. 
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too re- 
miss ; 
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security. 
Grows strong and great in substance and in 
friends. 35 

K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou 
not 
That when the searching eje of heaven is hid, 
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world. 
Then thieves and robbers range abroad un- 
seen 
In murders and in outrage, boldly here; 40 
But when from under this terrestrial ball 
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines 
And darts his light through every guilty hole. 
Then murders, treasons and detested sins. 
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off 
their backs, 45 

Stand bare and naked, trembling at them- 
selves ? 
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, 
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night 
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes. 
Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, 50 
His treasons will sit blushing in his face. 
Not able to endure the sight of day. 
But self-afFrighted tremble at his sin. 
Not all the water in the rough rude sea 
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; 
The breath of worldly men cannot depose 56 



151 



24 



RICHARD II 



[act III. SC. II. 



The deputy elected by the Lord; 
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd 
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 60 
A glorious angel; then, if angels fight, 
Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards 



the right. 



Enter Salisbury. 



Welcome, my lord; how far oiF lies your 

power } 
Sal. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord. 
Than this weak arm; discomfort guides my 

tongue 6s 

And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 
One day too late, I fear me, noble lord. 
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth ; 
O, call back yesterday, bid time return. 
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting 

men ! 70 

To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, 
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy 

state ; 
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert 

dead. 
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd and fled. 
Aum. Comfort, my liege; why looks your grace 

so pale? 75 

K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand 

men 
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; 
And, till so much blood thither come again. 
Have I not reason to look pale and dead ? 
All souls that will be safe fly from my side, 80 
For time hath set a blot upon my pride. 
Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you 

are. 
K. Rich. I had forgot myself: am I not king.^ 
Awake, thou sluggard maj esty ! thou sleepest. 
Is not the king's name twenty thousand 

names ? . 85 

Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subj ect strikes 
At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, 
Ye favourites of a king; are we not high? 
High be our thoughts; I know my uncle York 
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But 

who comes here? 90 

Enter Scroop. 

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my 
liege 

1 



Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him! 
K. Rich. Mine ear is open and my heart pre- 

par'd: 
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. 
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my 

care ; 95 

And what loss is it to be rid of care? 
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? 
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, 
We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so. 
Revolt our subj ects ? that we cannot mend ; 100 
They break their faith to God as well as us: 
Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay; 
The worst is death, and death will have his 

day. 
Scroop. Glad am I that your highness is so 

arm'd 
To bear the tidings of calamity. 105 

Like an unseasonable stormy day. 
Which makes the silver rivers drown their 

shores. 
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears, 
So high above his limits swells the rage 
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land no 
With hard bright steel and hearts harder than 

steel. 
White-beards have arm'd their thin and hair- 
less scalps 
Against thy majesty; boys, with women's 

voices. 
Strive to speak big and clap their female 

j oints 
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown. 115 
Thy very beadsmen learn to ben^ their bows 
Of double-fatal yew against thy state; 
^ Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills 
Against thy seat; both young and old rebel. 
And all goes worse than I have power to 

tell. 
K. Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so 

ill. 121 

Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is 

Bagot? 
What is become of Bushy? where is Green? 
That they have let the dangerous enemy 
Measure our confines with such peaceful 



steps 



125 



If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it; 
I warrant they have made peace with Boling- 
broke. 
Scroop. Peace have they made with him indeed, 
my lord. 
52 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



RICHARD II 



25 



K, Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re- 
demption ! 
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! 130 

Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting 

my heart! 
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than 

Judas ! 
Would they make peace? terrible hell make 

war 
Upon their spotted souls for this offence! 
Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his prop- 
erty, 135 
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate; 
Again uncurse their souls ; their peace is made 
With heads, and not with hands; those whom 

you curse 
Have felt the worst of death's destroying 

wound 
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. 
Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wilt- 
shire dead? 141 
Scroop. Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their 

heads. 
Aum. Where is the duke my father with his 



power 



K, Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man 
speak: 
Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs ; 
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes 146 
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
Let's choose executors and talk of wills; 
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath 
Save our deposed bodies to the ground? 150 
Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's^ 
And nothing can we call our own but death 
And that small model of the barren earth 
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground 155 
And tell sad stories of the death of kings: 
How some have been depos'd; some slain in 

war; 
Some haunted by the ghosts they have de- 
pos'd; 
Some poison'd by their wives; some sleeping 

kill'd; 
All murder'd; for within the hollow crown 160 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king 
Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, 
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, 
Allowing him a breath, a little scene. 
To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks,' 
Infusing him with self and vain conceit, 166 



As if this flesh which walls about our life 
Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus 
Comes at the last and with a little pin 
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell 

king ! 170 

Cover your heads and mock not flesh and 

blood 
With solemn reverence; throw away respect. 
Tradition, form and ceremonious duty. 
For you have but mistook me all this while; 
I live with bread like you, feel want, 175 

Taste grief, need friends; subjected thus. 
How can you say to me, I am a king? 
Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present 

woes. 
But presently prevent the ways to wail. 
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth 

strength, 180 

Gives in your weakness strength unto your 

foe. 
And so your follies fight against yourself. 
Fear, and be slain; no worse can come to 

fight; 
And fight and die is death destroying death; 
Where fearing dying pays death servile 

breath. 185 

Aum. My father hath a power; inquire of him. 

And learn to make a body of a limb. 
K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well; proud Boling- 

broke, I come 
To change blows with thee for our day of 

doom. 
This ague fit of fear is over-blown; 190 

An easy task it is to win our own. 
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his 

power ? 
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be 

sour. 
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the 
sky 

The state and inclination of the day; 195 
So may you by my dull and heavy eye. 

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
I play the torturer, by small and small 
To lengthen out ' the worst that must be 

spoken ; 
Your uncle York is join'd with Boling- 

broke. 
And all your northern castles yielded up, 201 
And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
Upon his faction. 
K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. 



153 



26 



RICHARD II 



[act III. sc. 



Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me 

forth [To Aumerle,'] 

Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! 205 
What say you now? what comfort have we 

now? 
By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly 
That bids me be of comfort any more. 
. Go to Flint castle; there I'll pine away; 
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 210 
That power I have, discharge; and let them 

go 
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, 
For I have none: let no man speak again 
To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 
Aum. My liege, one word. 

K. Rich. He does me double wrong 215 

That wounds me with the flatteries of his 

tongue. 
Discharge my followers ; let them hence away. 
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair 

day. Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [Wales. Before Flint castle.'] 

Enter, with drum and colours, Bolinghroke, 
York, Northumberland, Attendants, [and 
forces]. 

Baling. So that by this intelligence we learn 
The Welshmen are dispers'd, and Salisbury 
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed 
With some few private friends upon this coast. 
North. The news is very fair and good, my 
lord : 5 

Richard not far from hence hath hid his head. 
York. It would beseem the Lord Northumber- 
land 
To say 'King Richard:' alack the heavy day 
When such a sacred king should hide his head. 
North. Your grace mistakes; only to be brief, 

Left I his title out. 
York. The time hath been, n 

Would you have been so brief with him, he 

would 
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, 
For taking so the head, your whole head's 
length. 
Boling. Mistake not, uncle, further than you 

sliould. 
Ydrk. Take not, good cousin, further than you 
should, 16 

1 



Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er your 
head. 
Boling. I know it, uncle, and oppose not my- 
self 
Against their will. But who comes here? 

Enter Percy. 

Welcome, Harry; what, will not this castle 

yield ? 20 

Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord. 

Against thy entrance. 
Boling. Royally! 

Why, it contains no king? 
Percy. Yes, my good lord. 

It doth contain a king; King Richard lies 25 
Within the limits of yon lime and stone; 
And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord 

Salisbury, 
Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman 
Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn. 
North. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. 30 
Boling. Noble lords. 

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; 
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of 

parley 
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver; 
Henry Bolingbroke 3s 

On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's 

hand 
And sends allegiance and true faith of heart 
To his most royal person, hither come 
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power, 
Provided that my banishment rcpeal'd 40 

And lands restor'd again be freely granted; 
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power 
And lay the summer's dust with showers of 

blood 
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Eng- 
lishmen ; 
The which, how far off from the mind of 
Bolingbroke 45 

It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's 

land. 
My stooping duty tenderly shall show. 
Go, signify as much, while here we march 
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. 51 

Let's march without the noise of threatening 

drum. 
That from this castle's tatter'd battlements 
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. 



54 



ACT III. SC. III.] 



RICHARD II 



27 



Methinks King Richard and myself should 

meet 
With no less terror than the elements 55 

Of fire and water^, when their thundering 

shock 
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. 
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water; 
The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain 
My waters ; on the earth, and not on him. 60 
jMarch on_, and mark King Richard how he 

looks. 

Parle without, and answer within. Then a 
flourish. Enter on the walls. King Richard, 
the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop, and 
Salisbury. 

See, see. King Richard doth himself appear, 
As doth the blushing discontented sun 
From out the fiery portal of the east. 
When he perceives the envious clouds are 

bent 65 

To dim his glory and to stain the track 
Of his bright passage to the Occident. 
York. Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye. 
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth 
Controlling majesty; alack, alack, for woe, 70 
That any harm should stain so fair a show ! 
K. Rich. We are amaz'd; and thus long have 

we stood 
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, 

[To North.'] 
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king; 
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 75 
To pay their awful duty to our presence ? 
If we be not, show us the hand of God 
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship; 
For well we know, no hand of blood and 

bone 
Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, 80 
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
And though you think that all, as you have 

done. 
Have torn their souls by turning them from 

us. 
And we are barren and bereft of friends; 
Yet know, my master, God omnipotent, 85 
Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf 
Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike 
Your children yet unborn and unbegot. 
That lift your vassal hands against my head 
And threat the glory of my precious crown. 90 

1 



Tell Bolingbroke — for yond methinks he 

stands — 
That every stride he makes upon my land 
Is dangerous treason; he is come to open 
The purple testament of bleeding war; 
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, 95 
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 
Shall ill become the flower of England's 

face. 
Change the complexion of her maid-pale 

peace 
To scarlet indignation and bedew 
Her pastures' grass with faithful English 

blood. 100 

North. The king of heaven forbid our lord the 

king 
Should so with civil and uncivil arms 
Be rush'd upon ! Thy thrice noble cousin 
Harry Bolingbroke doth humbl}^ kiss thy 

hand ; 
And by the honourable tomb he swears, 105 
That stands upon your royal grandsire's 

bones. 
And by the royalties of both your bloods. 
Currents that spring from one most gracious 

head. 
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, 
And by the worth and honour of himself, no 
Comprising all that may be sworn or said. 
His coming hither hath no further scope 
Than for his lineal royalties and to beg 
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees ; 
Which on thy royal party granted once, ns 
His glittering arms he will commend to rust. 
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
To faithful service of your majesty. 
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; 
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. 120 
K. Rich. Northumberland, say thus the king re- 
turns ; 
His noble cousin is right welcome hither; 
And all the number of his fair demands 
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction; 
With all the gracious utterance thou hast 125 
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. 
We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not, 

[To Aumerle.] 

To look so poorly and to speak so fair? 

Sliall we call back Northumberland, and send 

Defiance to the traitor, and so die? 130 

Aum. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle 

words 
55 



28 



RICHARD II 



[act III. SC. III. 



Till time lend friends and friends their help- 
ful swords. 
K. Rich. O God, O God! that e'er this tongue 

of mine, 
That laid the sentence of dread banishment 
On Yon proud man, should take it off again 135 
With words of sooth ! O that I were as great 
As is my grief, or lesser than my name ! 
Or that I could forget what I have been, 
Or not remember what I must be now! 
Swell'st thou, proud heart .^ I'll give thee 

scope to beat, 140 

Since foes have scope to beat both thee and 

me. 
Aum. Northumberland comes back from Boling- 

broke. 
K. Rich. What must the king do now ? must he 

submit ? 
The king shall do it; must he be depos'd? 
The king shall be contented: must he lose 145 
The name of king? o' God's name, let it go; 
I'll give my jewels for a set of beads. 
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage. 
My gay apparel for an almsman's gown. 
My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood, 150 

My sceptre for a palmer's walking-stafF, 
My subjects for a pair of carved saints 
And my large kingdom for a little grave, 
A little little grave, an obscure grave; 
Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, 155 
Some way of common trade, where subjects' 

feet 
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head ; 
For on my heart they tread now whilst I live ; 
And buried once, why not upon my head ? 
Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted 

cousin ! 160 

We'll make foul weather with despised tears; 
Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer 

corn, 
And make a dearth in this revolting land. 
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, 
And make some pretty match with shedding 

tears ? 165 

As thus, to drop them still upon one place, 
Till they liave fretted us a pair of graves 
Within the earth; and, therein laid, — there 

lies 
Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weep- 
ing eyes. 
Would not this ill do well.? Well, well, I 

see 170 

1 



I talk but idly, and you mock at me. 
Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumber- 
land, 
What says King Bolingbroke ? will his maj esty 
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die.? 
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay. 175 
North. My lord, in the base court he doth at- 
tend 
To speak with you; may it please you to come 
down. 
K. Rich. Down, down I come; like glistering 
Phaethon, 
Wanting the rnanage of unruly jades. 
In the base court.? Base court, where kings 
grow base, 180 

To come at traitors' calls and do them grace. 
In the base court? Come down? Down, 

court! down, king! 

For night-owls shriek where mounting larks 

should sing. [Ea;it from above.] 

Boling. What says his majesty? 

North. Sorrow and grief of heart 

Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man; 

Yet he is come. 186 

[Enter King Richard and his attendants below.] 

Boling. Stand all apart. 

And show fair duty to his majesty. 

f He kneels down. 
My gracious lord, — 
K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely 
knee 190 

To make the base earth proud with kissing it; 
Me rather had my heart might feel your love 
Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. 
Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know. 
Thus high at least, [pointing to his crown], 
although your knee be low. 195 

Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine 

own. 
K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, 

and all. 
Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted 
lord, 
As my true service shall deserve your love. 
K. Rich. Well you deserve: they well deserve 
to have, 200 

That know the strong'st and surest way to 

get. 
Uncle, give me your hands; nay, dry your 
eyes ; 
56 



ACT III. SC. 



HI.] 



RICHARD II 



29 



Tears show their love^ but want their reme- 
dies. 
Cousin, I am too young to be your father. 
Though you are old enough to be my heir. 205 
What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; 
For do we must what force will have us do. 
Set on towards London, cousin, is it so.^ 

Boling. Yea, my good lord. 

K. Rich. Then I must not say no. 

Flourish. Exeunt. 



Scene IV.- 



■\_Langley. The 
garden.^ 



Duke of York' 



Enter the Queen and two Ladies. 

Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this 
garden, 

To drive away the heavy thought of care.f* 
Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. 
Queen. 'Twill make me think the world is full 
of rubs. 

And that my fortune runs against the bias. 5 
Lady. Madam, we'll dance. 
Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight. 

When my poor heart no measure keeps in 
grief; 

Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. 
Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. 10 

Queen. Of sorrow or of joy? 
Lady. Of either, madam. 

Queen. Of neither, girl: 

For if of joy, being altogether wanting, 

It doth remember me the more of sorrow; 

Or if of grief, being altogether had, 15 

It adds more sorrow to my want of joy; 

For what I have I need not to repeat; 

And what I want it boots not to complain. 
Lady. Madam, I'll sing. 
Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause; 

But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst 

thou weep. 20 

Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you 

good. 
Queen. And I could sing, would weeping do me 
good. 

And never borrow any tear of thee. 

Enter a Gardener, and two Servants. 
But stay, here come the gardeners : 



Let's step into the shadow of these trees. 25 
My wretchedness unto a row of pins. 
They'll talk of state; for every one doth so 
Against a change ; woe is forerun with woe. 

l^Queen and Ladies retire.] 

Gard. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apri- 
cocks. 
Which, like unruly children, make their sire 30 
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal 

weight: 
Give some supportance to the bending twigs. 
Go thou, and like an executioner. 
Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays, 
That look too lofty in our commonwealth : 35 
All must be even in our government. 
You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
The noisome weeds, which without profit suck 
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 

Serv. Why should we in the compass of a pale 
Keep law and form, and due proportion, 41 
Showing, as in a model, our firm estate. 
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land. 
Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers chok'd 

up. 
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges 
ruin'd, 45 

Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs 
Swarming with caterpillars? 

Gard. Llold thy peace. 

He that hath sufFer'd this disorder'd spring 
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf; 
The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves 
did shelter, 50 

That seem'd in eating him to hold him up. 
Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke, 
I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 

Serv. What, are they dead? 

Gard. They are; and Bolingbroke 

Hath seiz'd the wasteful kii^g. O, what pity 

is it 55 

That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his 

land 
As we this garden ! We at time of year 
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit- 
trees. 
Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood. 
With too much riches it confound itself; 60 
Had he done so to great and growing men. 
They might have liv'd to bear and he to taste 
Their fruits of duty; superfluous branches 
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live; 
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown. 



157 



30 



RICHARD II 



[act III. SC. IV. 



Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown 

down. 66 

Serv. What;, think jou then the king shall be 

depos'd ? 

Gard. Depress'd he is already, and depos'd 

'Tis doubt he will be; letters came last night 

To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's, 

That tell black tidings. 71 

Queen. O, I am press'd to death through want 

of speaking! [^Coming forward.'] 

Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this 

garden. 
How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this 

unpleasing news? 
What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee 
To make a second fall of cursed man? 76 

Why dost thou say King Richard is depos'd? 
Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth, 
Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and 

how, 
Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou 

wretch. 80 

Gard. Pardon me, madam; little joy have I 
To breathe this news; yet what I say is true. 
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are 

weigh'd ; 
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, 85 
And some few vanities that make him light; 
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
Besides himself, are all the English peers, 
And with that odds he weighs King Richard 

down. 
Post you to London, and you will find it so; 90 
I speak no more than every one doth know. 
Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of 

foot. 
Doth not thy embassage belong to me. 
And am I last that knows it ? O, thou think'st 
To serve me last, that I may longest keep 95 
Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go, 
To meet at London London's king in woe. 
What, was I born to this, that my sad look 
Should grace the triumph of great Boling- 
broke ? 
Gardener, for telling me these news of woe, 100 
Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never 

grow. 

Exeunt [Queen and Ladies.] 
Gard, Poor queen ! so that thy state might be 

no worse, 
I would my skill were subject to thy curse. 



Here did she fall a tear; here in this place 
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace; 105 
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen. 
In the remembrance of a weeping queen. 

Exeunt. 



ACT FOURTH 

Scene I. — [Westminster Hall.] 

Enter, as to the Parliament, Bolingbroke, Au- 
merle, Northumberland, Percy, Fitztvater, 
Surrey, the Bishop of Carlisle, the Abbot of 
Westminster, [and another Lord,] Herald, 
Officers, and Bagot. 

Boling. Call forth Bagot. 

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; 

What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's 

death. 
Who wrought it with the king, and who per- 

form'd 
The bloody office of his timeless end. s 

Bagot. Then set before my face the Lord Au- 
merle. 

Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that 
man. 

Bagot. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring 
tongue 
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. 
In that dead time when Gloucester's death 
was plotted, 10 

I heard you say, 'Is not my arm of length, 
That reacheth from the restful English court 
As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?' 
Amongst much other talk, that very time, 
I heard you say that you had rather refuse 15 
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns 
Than Bolingbroke's return to England; 
Adding withal, how blest this land would be 
In this your cousin's death. 

Aum. Princes and noble lords. 

What answer shall I make to this base man ? 20 
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars. 
On equal terms to give him chastisement? 
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd 
With the attainder of his slanderous lips. 
There is my gage, the manual seal of death, 25 
That marks thee out for hell ; I say, thou Best, 
And will maintain what thou hast said is false 
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 



158 



ACT IV. SC. 



^.] 



RICHARD II 



31 



To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 
Boling. Bagot^ forbear; thou shalt not take it 
up. 30 

Aum. Excepting one^ I would he were the best 

In all this presence that hath mov'd me so. 
Fit2. If that thy valour stand on sympathy^, 
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine; 
By that fair sun which shows me where thou 
stand'st, 35 

I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest 

it, 
That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's 

death. 
If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest; 
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, 
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. 40 
Aum. Thou darest not, coward, live to see that 

day. 
Fits. Now, by my soul, I would it were this 

hour. 
Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for 

this. 
Percy. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true 
In this appeal as thou art all unjust; 45 

And that thou art so, there I throw my gage. 
To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou darest. 
Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off 
And never brandish more revengeful steel 50 
Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! 
Another Lord. I task the earth to the like, for- 
sworn Aumerle; 
And spur thee on with full as many lies 
As may be holloa'd in thy treacherous ear 
From sun to sun ; there is my honour's pawn ; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. 56 

Aum. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw 
at all! 
I have a thousand spirits in one breast. 
To answer twenty thousand such as you. 
Surrey. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well 
The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 61 
Fitz. 'Tis very true, you were in presence then; 

And you can witness with me this is true. 
Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is 

true. 
Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. 

Surrey. Dishonourable boy ! 65 

That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword. 
That it shall render vengeance and revenge 
Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie 
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull; 

1 



In proof whereof, there is my lionour's pawn ; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. 71 

Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward 
horse ! 
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness. 
And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies, 75 
And lies, and lies; there is my bond of faith. 
To tie thee to my strong correction. 
As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal; 
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say 80 
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy 

men 
To execute the noble duke at Calais. 

Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a 
gage. 
That Norfolk lies ; here do I throw down this. 
If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour. 85 

Boling. These differences shall all rest under 
gage 
Till Norfolk be repeal'd; repeal'd he shall be. 
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
To all his lands and signories; when he's re- 
turn 'd. 
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 90 

Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. 
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, 
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross 
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens ; 95 
And toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself 
To Italy; and there at Venice gave 
His body to that pleasant country's earth. 
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
Under whose colours he had fought so long. 100 

Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead.^ 

Car. As surely as I live, my lord. 

Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to 
the bosom 
Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants. 
Your differences shall all rest under gage 105 
Till we assign you to your days of trial. 

Enter York, [attended^. 

York. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee 
From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with will- 
ing soul 
Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields 
To the possession of thy royal hand. no 

Ascend his throne, descending now from him; 
59 



S2 



RICHARD II 



[act IV. SC. I. 



to 



125 



it, 



130 



And long live Henry, of that name the fourth ! 
Baling . In God's name, I'll ascend the regal 

throne. 
Car. Marry, God forbid! 

Worst in this royal presence may I speak, 115 
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. 
Would God that any in this noble presence 
Were enough noble to be upright judge 
Of noble Richard! then true noblesse would 
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 
Wliat subject can give sentence on his king.^ 
And who sits here that is not Richard's sub- 
ject.? 122 
Thieves are not judg'd but they are by 

hear. 
Although apparent guilt be seen in them; 
And shall the figure of God's majesty. 
His captain, stcAvard, deputy-elect. 
Anointed, crowned, planted many years. 
Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, 
And he himself not present? O, forfend 

God, 
That in a Christian climate souls refin'd 
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed ! 
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king. 
My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call 

king, 
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king; 135 
And if you crown him, let me prophesy; 
The blood of English shall manure the ground. 
And future ages groan for this foul act; 
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels. 
And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars 140 
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind con- 
found ; 
Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny 
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. 
O, if you raise this house against this house. 
It will the wofullest division prove 146 

That ever fell upon this cursed earth. 
Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so. 
Lest child, child's children, cry against you 
'woe !' 
North. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your 
pains, 150 

Of capital treason we arrest you here. 
My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge 
To keep him safely till his day of trial. 
May it please you, lords, to grant the com- 
mons' suit. 



155 



Exit. 



Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common 
view 

He may surrender; so we shall proceed 

Without suspicion. 
^orh. I will be his conduct. 

Boling. Lords, you that here are under our ar- 
rest. 

Procure your sureties for your days of answer. 

Little are we beholding to your love, 160 

And little look'd for at your helping hands. 

Re-enter York, with Richard, [and Officers hear- 
ing the regalia']. 

K, Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king. 
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts 
Wherewith I reign'd.? I hardly yet have 

learn'd 
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs ; 
Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me 166 

To this submission. Yet I well remember 
The favours of these men; were they not 

minp: ? 



Did they not sometime cry, 'all hail!' to me.? 
So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve, 170 
Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thou- 
sand, none. 
God save the king! Will no man say amen.? 
Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. 
God save the king! although I be not he; 
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. 175 
To do what service am I sent for hither? 

York. To do that office of thine own good will 
Which tired majesty did make thee ofFer, 
The resignation of thy state and crown 
To Henry Bolingbroke. iSo 

K, Rich. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, 
seize the crown; 
Here cousin; 

On this side my hand, and on that side yours. 
Now is this golden crown like a deep well 
That owes two buckets, filling one another, 185 
The emptier ever dancing in the air, 
The other down, unseen and full of water; 
That bucket down and full of tears, am I, 
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on 
high. 

Boling. I thought you had been willing to re- 
sign. 190 

K. Rich. My crown I am ; but still my griefs are 
mine ; 
You may my glories and my state depose, 
160 



ACT IV. SC. 



I.] 



RICHARD II 



33 



But not my griefs ; still am I king of those. 
Boling. Part of your cares you give me with 

your crown. 
K. Rich. Your cares set up do not pluck my 
cares down. 195 

My care is loss of care, by old care done; 
Your care is gain of care, by new care won; 
The cares I give I have, though given away; 
They tend the crown, yet still with me they 
stay. 
Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown .f* 
K. Rich. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be; 
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. 202 

Now mark me, how I will undo myself; 
I give this heavy weight from off my head 
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, 205 
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; 
With mine own tears I wash away my balm, 
With mine own hands I give away my crown. 
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, 
With mine own breath release all duty's rites; 
All pomp and majesty I do forswear; 211 

My manors, rents, revenues I forego; 
My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny; 
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! 
God keep all vows unbroke that swear to 
thee ! 215 

Make me, that nothing have, with nothing 

griev'd. 
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all 

achiev'd ! 
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit. 
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit! 219 
God save King Harry, unking'd Richard says, 
And send him many years of sunshine days ! 
What more remains ? 
North. No more, but that you read 

These accusations and these grievous crimes 
Committed by your person and your follow- 
ers 
Against the state and profit of this land; 225 
That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 
K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out 
My weav'd-up folly? Gentle Northumber- 
land, 
If thy offences were upon record, 230 

Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop 
To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, 
There shouldst thou find one heinous article, 
Containing the deposing of a king 
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath. 



Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of 
heaven ; 236 

Nay, all of you that stand and look upon. 
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait my- 
self. 
Though some of you with Pilate wash your 

hands 
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates 240 
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross. 
And water cannot wash away your sin. 
North. My lord, dispatch; read o'er these arti- 
cles. 
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot 
see; 
And yet salt water blinds them not so much 
But they can see a sort of traitors here. 246 
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
I find myself a traitor with the rest; 
For I have given here my soul's consent 
To undecli the pompous body of a king; 250 
Made glory base and sovereignty a slave. 
Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. 
North. My lord, — 

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught insult- 
ing man. 
Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title. 
No, not that name was given me at the font. 
But 'tis usurp'd; alack the heavy day, 257 

That I have worn so many winters out. 
And know not now what name to call myself ! 
O that I were a mockery king of snow, 260 
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
To melt myself away in water-drops 1 
Good king, great king, and yet not greatly 

good. 
And if my word be sterling yet in England, 
Let it command a mirror hither straight, 265 
That it may show me what a face I have. 
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 
Boling. Go some of you and fetch a looking- 
glass. [Ea;it an attendant.] 
North. Read o'er this paper while the glass 

doth come. 
K. Rich. Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I come 
to hell! 27a 

Boling. Urge it no more, my Lord Northum- 
berland. 
North. The commons will not then be satisfied. 
K. Rich. They shall be satisfied; I'll read 
enough. 
When I do see the very book indeed 
Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. 



161 



34 



RICHARD II 



[act IV. SC. I. 



Enter one, with a glass. I K. 

Give me the glass, and therein will I read. 276 
No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck 
So many blows upon this face of mine. 
And made no deeper wounds? O flattering 

glass. 
Like to my followers in prosperity, 280 

Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face 
That every day under his household roof 
Did keep ten thousand men ? was this the face 
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? 
Was this the face that fac'd so many follies, 
And was at last out-f ac'd by Bolingbroke ? 286 
A brittle glory shineth in this face; 
As brittle as the glory is the face ; 

[Dashes the glass against the ground.] 
For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. 
]\Iark, silent king, the moral of this sport, 290 
How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. 
Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath de- 
stroy'd 
The shadow of your face. 
K, Rich. Say that again. 

The shadow of my sorrow! ha! let's see; 
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within; 295 
And these external manners of laments 
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief 
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul ; 
There lies the substance; and I thank thee, 

king. 
For thy great bounty, that not only givest 300 
Me cause to wail but teachest me the way 
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, 
And then be gone and trouble you no more. 
Shall I obtain it? 
Boling. Name it, fair cousin. 

K. Rich. 'Fair cousin'? I am greater than a 
king ; 305 

For when I was a king, my flatterers 
Were then but subj ects ; being now a subj ect, 
I have a king here to my flatterer. 
Being so great, I have no need to beg. 
Boling. Yet ask. 310 

K. Rich. And shall I have? 
Boling. You shall. 
K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. 
Boling. Whither? 

K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your 
sights. 31S 

Boling. Go, some of you convey him to the 
Tower. 



Rich. 
all. 



O, good! convey? conveyers are you 



That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 

[Exeunt King Richard, some Lords, 
and a Guard.] 
Boling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set 
down 
Our coronation; lords, prepare yourselves. 320 
Exeunt [all except the Bishop of Carlisle, the 
Abbot of Westminster, and Aumerle], 
Abbot. A woful pageant have we here beheld. 
Car. The woe's to come; the children yet un- 
born 
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 
Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 

To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? 325 
Abbot. My lord, 

Before I freely speak my mind herein. 
You shall not only take the sacrament 
To bury mine intents, but also to eff"ect 
Whatever I shall happen to devise. 330 

I see your brows are full of discontent. 
Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tears ; 
Come home with me to supper; and I'll lay. 
A plot shall show us all a merry day. Exeunt, 



Scene I.- 



ACT FIFTH 

[London. A street 
Tower.] 



leading to the 



Enter Queen and Ladies. 

Queen. This way the king will come; this is 
the way 
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, 
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke; 
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 5 

Have any resting for her true kinp-'s queen. 

Enter Richard and Guard. 

But soft, but see, or rather do not see. 
My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold, 
That you in pity may dissolve to dew, 
And wash him fresh again with true-love 

tears. ^° 

Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand, 
Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's 

tomb. 



162 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



RICHARD II 



35 



And not King Richard; thou most beauteous 

inn^ 
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in 

thee. 
When triumph is become an alehouse guest? 15 
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do 

not so. 
To make my end too sudden; learn, good 

soul. 
To think our former state a happy dream; 
From which awak'd, the truth of what we 

are 
Shows us but this ; I am sworn brother, sweet. 
To grim Necessity, and he and I 21 

Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to 

France 
And cloister thee in some religious house; 
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown. 
Which our profane hours here have stricken 

down. 25 

Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and 

mind 
Transform'd and weakened? hath Bolingbroke 

depos'd 
Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? 
The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw. 
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with 

rage 30 

To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like. 
Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod. 
And fawn on rage with base humility. 
Which art a lion and a king of beasts ? 
^. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but 

beasts, 35 

I had been still a happy king of men. 
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for 

France : 
Think I am dead and that even here thou 

takest. 
As from my death-bed, thy last living leave. 
In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire 40 
With good old folks and let them tell thee 

tales 
Of woful ages long ago betid; 
And ere thou bid good night, to quit their 

griefs. 
Tell thou the lamentable tale of me 
And send the hearers weeping to their beds ; 
For why the senseless brands will sympa- 
thize 
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue 
And in compassion weep the fire out; 



And some will mourn in ashes, some coal- 
black. 
For the deposing of a rightful king. 50 

Enter Northumberland [attended']. 

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is 
chang'd ; 
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. 
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you; 
With all swift speed you must away to 
France. 
K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where- 
withal 55 
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne. 
The time shall not be many hours of age 
More than it is ere foul sin gathering head 
Shall break into corruption; thou shalt think. 
Though he divide the realm and give thee half. 
It is too little, helping him to all; 61 
And he shall think that thou, which know'st 

the way 
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again. 
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way 
To pluck him headlong from the usurped 
throne. 65 

The love of wicked men converts to fear; 
That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both 
To worthy danger and deserved death. 
North. My guilt be on my head, and there an 
end. 
Take leave and part; for you must part forth- 
with. 70 
K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, you vio- 
late 
A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me. 
And then betwixt me and my married wife. 
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; 
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. 75 
Part us, Northumberland; I towards the 

north. 
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the 

clime ; 
My wife to France; from whence, set forth 

in pomp. 
She came adorned hither like sweet May, 
Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day. 
Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? 
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and 
heart from heart. 82 

Queen. Banish us both and send the king with 
me. 



163 



RICHARD II 



[act 



SC. I.. I 



North. That were some love but little policy. 
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me 

85 
one 



K. 



go- 
Rich. 



So two. 



together 



weeping, 



make 



woe. 



Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; 
Better far ofF than near, be ne'er the near. 
Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with 

groans. 
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest 

moans. 90 

K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way 

being short. 
And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief. 
Since, wedding it, there is such length in 

grief; 
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly 

part ; 95 

Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. 

Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no 

good part 
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. 
So, now I have mine own again, be gone. 
That I may strive to kill it with a groan 



K 



Rich. We 

delay ; 

Once more. 



make 



wanton with this fond 



adieu; the rest let sorrow say. 

Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [The Duke of York's palace.] 

Enter York and his Duchess. 

Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell the 
rest. 
When weeping made you break the story off, 
Of our two cousins coming into London. 
York, Where did I leave? 

Buch. At that sad stop, my lord, 

Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' 
tops 5 

Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's 
head. 
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling- 
broke, 
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed 
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know. 
With slow but stately pace kept on his course, 
Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Bol- 
ingbroke!' " 



on gentle 
save him !' 



Richard; no man cried 



You would have thought the very windows 

spake. 
So many greedy looks of young and old 
Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
Upon his visage, and that all the walls if 

With painted imagery had said at once 
*Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke !' 
Whilst he, from the one side to the other 

turning. 
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's 

neck, 
Bespake them thus; 'I thank you, country- 
men ;' 20 
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 
Duch. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the 

whilst .^ 
York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men. 
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage. 
Are idly bent on him that enters next, 25 

Thinking his prattle to be tedious; 
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's 

eyes 
Did scowl 

'God 

No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home; 
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; 30 
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off. 
His face still combating with tears and smiles. 
The badges of his grief and patience. 
That had not God, for some strong purpose, 

steel'd 
The hearts of men, they must perforce have 
melted 35 

And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
But heaven hath a hand in these events. 
To whose high will we bound our calm con- 
tents. 
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now. 
Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 40 
Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. 
York. Aumerle that was; 

But that is lost for being Richard's friend. 
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now; 
I am in parliament pledge for his truth 
And lasting fealty to the new made king. 45 

Enter Aumerle. 



Duch. Welcome, my 
now 
That strew the green 



son; who are the violets 



lap of the new come 



sprmg! 



164 



ACT V. SC. 



II.] 



RICHARD II 



37 



Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care 
not; 
God knows I had as lief be none as one. 
York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of 
time, 50 

Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. 
What news from Oxford? hold those justs and 
triumphs } 
Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 
Yoj'k. You will be there, I know. 
Aum. If God prevent not, I purpose so. 55 

York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy 
bosom ? 
Yea, look'st thou pale ? let me see the writing. 
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing. 
Yoj'k. No matter, then, who see it; 

I will be satisfied; let me see the writing. 
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; 60 
It is a matter of small consequence. 
Which for some reasons I would not have 
seen. 
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to 
see. 
I fear, I fear, — 
Duch. What should you fear ? 

'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd 
into 65 

For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day. 
York. Bound to himself! what doth he with a 
bond 
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. 
Boy, let me see the writing. 
Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not 
show it. 70 

]York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. 
^He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it. 
Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! 
slave ! 
Duch. What is the matter, my lord? 
lYork. Ho! who is within there? 

[Enter a Servant.^ 



Saddle my horse. 
God for his mercy, what treachery is here ! 75 
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ? 
York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my 
horse. [Exit Servant.] 

Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth, 
I will appeach the villain. 
Duch. What is the matter? 

York. Peace, foolish woman. 80 

165 



Duch. I will not peace. What is the matter, 

Aumerle ? 
Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more 

Than my poor life must answer. 
Duch. Thy life answer ! 

York, Bring me my boots ; I will unto the king. 

Enter Servant with boots, 

Duch, Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art 
amaz'd. 85 

Hence, villain ! never more come in my sight. 
York. Give me my boots, I say. 
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? 

Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? 

Have we more sons ? or are we like to have ? 90 

Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? 

And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine 
age. 

And rob me of a happy mother's name? 

Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? 
York. Thou fond mad woman, 95 

Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? 

A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacra- 
ment. 

And interchangeably set down their hands. 

To kill the king at Oxford. 
Duch. He shall be none; 

We'll keep him here : then what is that to him ? 

York. Away, fond woman ! were he twenty 

times my son, loi 

I would appeach him. 
Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him 

As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. 

But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect 

That I have been disloyal to thy bed, 105 

And that he is a bastard, not thy son; 

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that 
mind: 

He* is as like thee as a man may be. 

Not like to me, or any of my kin. 

And yet I love him. 
York. Make way, unruly woman! no 

Exit. 
Duch. After, Aumerle ! mount thee upon his 
horse ; 

Spur post, and get before him to the king, 

And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. 

I'll not be long behind; though I be old, 

I doubt not but to ride as fast as York; 115 

And never will I rise up from the ground 

Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, 
be gone! Exeunt. 



38 



RICHARD II 



[act v. sc. 



III. 



Scene III. — [Windsor.] 

Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lords, 

Boling. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty 
son? 
'Tis full three months since I did see him last; 
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 
I would to God, my lords, he might be found; 
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there. 
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, 6 
With unrestrained loose companions. 
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes. 
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; 
Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy. 
Takes on the point of honour to support n 
So dissolute a crew. 
Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the 
prince. 
And told him of those triumphs held at Ox- 
ford. 
Boling. And what said the gallant? 15 

Percy. His answer was, he would unto the 
stews. 
And from the common'st creature pluck a 

glove. 
And wear it as a favour; and with that 
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 
Boling. As dissolute as desperate; yet through 
both 20 

I see some sparks of better hope, which elder 

years 
May happily bring forth. But who comes 
here ? 

Enter Aumerle. 

Aum: Where is the king? 

Boling. What means our cousin, that he stares 
and looks 
So wildly? 25 

Aum. God save your grace! I do beseech your 
majesty. 
To have some conference with your grace 
alone. 
Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here 
alone. [Exeunt Percy and Lords.] 

What is the matter with our cousin now? 
Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth. 
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth. 
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. 32 

Boling. Intended or committed was this fault? 



If on the first, how heinous e'er it be. 
To win thy after-love I pardon thee. 35 

Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the 
l^ey. 
That no man enter till my tale be done. 
Boling. Have thy desire. 

I 1: ork knocks at the door and crieth (within^, 
York. My liege, beware; look to thyself; 

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 40 
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. 

[Drawing.] 
Aum: Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no 

cause to fear. 
York. [Within] Open the door, secure, fool- 
hardy king: 
Shall I for love speak treason to thy face? 
Open the door, or I will break it open. 



45 



Enter York. 

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; 
Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, 
That we may arm us to encounter it. 

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt 

know 

The treason that my haste forbids me show. 50 

Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise 
pass'd: 
I do repent me; read not my name there; 
My heart is not confederate with my hand. 

York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it 
down. 
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king; 55 
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence; 
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. 

Boling. O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy! 
O loyal father of a treacherous son ! 60 

Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain. 
From whence this stream through muddy pas- 
sages 
Hath held his current and defil'd himself! 
Thy overflow of good converts to bad, 
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 65 
This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 

York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; 
And he shall spend mine honour with his 

shame. 
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, 70 
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies; 
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, 



166 



ACT V. SC. 



III.] 



RICHARD II 



39 



The traitor lives^ the true man's put to death. 
Duch. Within. What ho^ my liege ! for God's 

sake, let me in. 
Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this 
eager cry? 75 

Duch. A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 
'tis I. 
Speak with me, pity me, open the door; 
A beggar begs that never begg'd before. 
Boling. Our scene is alter'd from a serious 
thing. 
And now chang'd to 'The Beggar and the 
King.' 80 

My dangerous cousin, let your mother in; 
I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. 
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray. 
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. 
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound; 
This let alone will all the rest confound. 86 

Enter Duchess. 

Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted 
man! 
Love loving not itself none other can. 
York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou 
make here.^ 
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear ? 90 
Duch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gen- 
tle liege. [Kneels.'] 
Boling. Rise up, good aunt. 

Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech: 

For ever will I walk upon my knees. 
And never see day that the happy sees. 
Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, 95 
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 
Aum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my 

knee. 

York. Against them both my true joints bended 

be. 

Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! 

Duch. Pleads he in earnest.^ look upon his face; 

His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in 

jest; loi 

His words come from his mouth, ours from 

our breast; 
He prays but faintly and would be denied; 
We pray with heart and soul and all beside; 
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; 
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they 
grow : 106 

His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; 



Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. 

Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them 
have 

That mercy which true prayer ought to have. 
Boling. Good aunt, stand up. m 

Duch. Nay, do not say, 'stand up ;' 

Say 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.' 

And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 

'Pardon' should be the first word of thy 
speech. 

I never long'd to hear a word till now; 115 

Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how; 

The word is short, but not so short as sweet; 

No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so 
meet. 
York. Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonne 

moi.' 
Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to de- 
stroy ? 120 

Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord. 

That set'st the word itself against the word ! 

Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land; 

The chopping French we do not understand. 

Thine eye begins to speak; set thy tongue 
there ; 125 

Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; 

That hearing how our plaints and praj^ers do 
pierce. 

Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse. 
Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 
Duch. I do not sue to stand; 

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 130 

Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. 
Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! 

Yet am I sick for fear; speak it again; 

Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain. 

But makes one pardon strong. 
Bolijig. With all my heart 135 

I pardon him. 
Duch. A god on earth thou art. 

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law and 
the abbot. 

With all the rest of that consorted crew, 

Destruction 'straight shall dog them at the 
heels. 

Good uncle, help to order several powers 140 

To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are ; 

They shall not live within this world, I swear, 

But I will have them, if I once know where. 

Uncle, farewell; and cousin too, adieu; 

Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you 
true. 145 



167 



40 



RICHARD II 



[act v. SC. III. 



Duck. Come, my old son; I pray God make 
thee new. Exeunt, 



Scene IV. — [^Tlie same.'] 

Enter Exton and Servant. 

Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what 
words he spake, 
'Have I no friend will rid me of this living 

fear.^' 
Was it not so .^ 
Serv. These were his very words. 

Exton. 'Have I no friend.^' quoth he; he spake 
it twice, 
And urg'd it twice together, did he not? 5 
Serv. He did. 

Exton. And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me; 
As Mdio should say, 'I would thou wert the 

man 
That would divorce this terror from my heart;' 
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's 
go ; ^ 10 

I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. 

Exeunt. 



Scene [V. — Pomfret castle.] 

Enter King Richard. 

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may com- 
pare 
This prison where I live unto the world; 
And for because the world is populous 
And here is not a creature but myself, 
I cannot do it; yet I'll hamnfer it out. 5 

My brain I'll prove the female to my soul. 
My soul the father; and these two beget 
A generation of still-breeding thoughts. 
And these same thoughts people this little 

world. 
In humours like the people of this world, 10 
For no thought is contented. The better sort, 
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd 
With scruples and do set the word itself 
Against the word; 

As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and then again, 15 
'It is as hard to come as for a camel 
To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.' 
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 



Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails 
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 20 
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls. 
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 
Thoughts tending to content flatter them- 
selves 
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, 
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars 25 
Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame, 
That many have and others must sit there ; 
And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 
Bearing their own misfortunes on the back 
Of such as have before endur'd the like. 30 
Thus play I in one person many people. 
And none contented: sometimes am I king; 
Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar. 
And so I am; then crushing penury 
Persuades me I was better when a king; 35 
Then am I king'd again; and by and by 
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 
And straight am nothing; but whate'er I be, 

Music. 
Nor I nor any man that but man is 
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd 
With being nothing. Music do I hear.? 41 

Ha, ha ! keep time ; how sour sweet music is, 
When time is broke and no proportion kept! 
So is it in the music of men's lives. 
And here have I the daintiness of ear 45 

To hear time broke in a disorder'd string; 
But for the concord of my state and time 
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; 
For now hath time made me his numbering 

clock ; 50 

My thoughts are minutes ; and with sighs they 

jar 
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward 

watch, 
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point. 
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is 55 
Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my 

heart. 
Which is the bell; so sighs and tears and 

groans 
Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time 
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy. 
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the 

clock. 60 

This music mads me; let it sound no more; 
For though it have holp madmen to their witSj 



168 



ACT V. SC. 



v.] 



RICHARD II 



41 



In me it seems it will make wise men mad. 
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard 65 
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. 

^Entei^ a Groom of the Stable. 

Groom. Hail^ royal prince! 

K, Rich. Thanks, noble peer; 

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
What art thou.^ and how comest thou hither. 
Where no man never comes but that sad dog 70 
That brings me food to make misfortune live ? 
Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, 
When thou wert king ; who, travelling towards 

York, 
With much ado at length have gotten leave 
To look upon my sometimes royal master's 
face. 75 

O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld 
In London streets, that coronation-day. 
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, 
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid. 
That horse that I so carefully have dress'd ! 80 
K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary.^ Tell me, gentle 
friend. 
How went he under him? 
Groom. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. 
K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his 
back! 
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; 
This hand hath made him proud with clapping 
him. 86 

Would he not stumble.^ would he not fall 

down. 
Since pride must have a fall, and break the 

neck 
Of that proud man that did usurp his back? 
Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee, 90 
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man. 
Wast born to bear ? I was not made a horse ; 
And yet I bear a burthen like an ass, 
Spurr'd, gall'd and tir'd by jauncing Boling- 
broke. 

Enter Keeper with a dish. 

Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer 
stay. 95 

K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert 
away. 

Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my 
heart shall say. Ea;it. 



Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? 
K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou wert wont to 

do. 99 

Keep. My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, 
who lately came from the king, commands the 
contrary. 
K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster 
and thee! 
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. 

[Beats the keeper.] 
Keep. Help, help, help ! 105 

Enter Exton and Servants, [armed]. 

K. Rich. How now ! what means death in this 
rude assault? 
Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's in- 
strument. 

[Snatching an axe from' a Servant and 

killing him.] 
Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 

[He kills another. Then] Exton strikes 

him down. 

That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire 

That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy 

fierce hand no 

Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's 

own land. 
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on 

high; 
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here 
to die. [Dies.] 

Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood: 
Both have I spill'd; O would the deed were 
good! 115 

For now the devil, that told me I did well. 
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
This dead king to the living king I'll bear; 
Take hence the rest, and give them burial 
here. Exeunt. 



Scene [VI. — Windsor castle.] 

Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, York, with other 
Lords, and Attendants. 

Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we 

hear 
Is that the rebels have consumed with fire 
Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire; 
But whether they be ta'en or slain, we hear 

not. 



169 



42 



RICHARD II 



[act v. SC. VI. 



Enter Northumberland. 

Welcome, my lord; what is the news? 5 

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all 
happiness. 
The next news is, I have to London sent 
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and 

Kent : 
The manner of their taking may appear 
At large discoursed in this paper here. 10 

Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy 
pains ; 
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 

Enter Fitzwater. 

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to Lon- 
don 
The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, 
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors 15 
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 
Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be for- 
got; 
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 

Enter Percy, and the Bishop of Carlisle, 

Percy. The grand conspirator. Abbot of West- 
minster, 
AVith clog of conscience and sour melancholy 
Hath yielded up his body to the grave; 21 
But here is Carlisle living, to abide 
Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. 

Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom: 

Choose out some secret place, some reverend 

room, 25 

More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; 



So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife; 
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been. 
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. 

Enter Exton, with {^persons hearing'] a coffin. 

Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present 30 
Thy buried fear; herein all breathless lies 
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. 
Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast 

wrought 
A deed of slaughter with thy fatal hand 35 
Upon my head and all this famous land. 
Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I 

this deed. 
Boling. They love not poison that do poison 

need. 
Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, 
I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 40 
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy 

labour. 
But neither my good word nor princely 

favour ; 
With Cain go wander through the shade of 

night, 
And never show thy head by day nor light. 
Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe, 45 

That blood should sprinkle me to make me 

grow; 
Come, mourn with me for that I do lament, 
And put on sullen black incontinent. 
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, 
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand: 50 
March sadly after ; grace my mournings here. 
In weeping after this untimely bier. Exeunt. 



FINIS 



NOTES 



F indicates the reading of the First Folio; Q the 
virtual agreement of the quartos. 
Title. life and Death] F; Tragedy Q. 

ACT I 

i. 1 John of Gaunt, (1340-1399), fourth son of Ed- 
ward III, born at Ghent in Flanders (Belgium), 
wlience his name. 
4 late appeal, at Shrewsbury, in March, 1398. 

12 sift, examine, argument, topic. 

19 deaf, that is, to obedience. 



32 tendering", holding dear. 

43 note, (accusative), stigma. 

58 royalty, royal descent. 

65 inhabitable, unhihabitable. 

70 a king] Q^ F ; the king Q^. 

72 except, hold out as an objection. 

74 pawn, the gauntlet, by which Bolingbroke 

pledged, 
77 spoken . . . canst] spoke . . , canst worse Q^. 
82 light, alight. 

85 inherit us, leave in our mind. 
88 nobles, gold coins worth 6s. 8d. 



170 



RICHARD II 



90 lewd, dishonest. 

91 injurious, insultingly bold. 
95 eighteen years, since Wat Tyler's rebellion, 1381 

100 Duke of Gloucester's death, in September, 1397, 
at Calais. The Duke, Thomas of Woodstock, 
Bolingbroke's uncle, had opposed Richard's favor- 
ites. 

101 suggest, prompt. 

102 consequently, afterwards. 
109 pitch, in falconry, the height of flight. 
113 slander of his blood, disgrace to his name. 

119 neighbour, used as adjective here. 

120 partialize, influence to partiality. 

126 receipt, amount received. 

127 duly] Q,; om. F. 
130 remainder, balance. 

130 dear account, heavy bill. 

131 since last, that is, in 1395. 
150 in haste whereof, to hasten which. 

152 gentlemen] Q, F; gentleman Q^.,. 

153 choler, the wrathful humor. 

156 conclude, come to terms. 

157 time] F; month Q^. 
162, 163 Obedience bids, repeated in Q^ F; corrected 

by Pope. 
164 no boot, no use, advantage, (in going on with 

the affair). 
168 that lives, referring to his name, that lives after 

him. 

170 baffled, punished as a recreant knight, meanly 
used. ° "^ 

184 try, put to trial, (in the lists). 
187 God] Q; Heaven F (and elsewhere). ' 
187 foul] F; deep Q,. ^ 

192 parle, trumpet-call for a parley. 

193 motive, means of action; the tongue is meant 
here. ^ 

202 atone, reconcile, 
we shall] Q,; you shall Q^ F. 

203 design the victor's chivalry, make clear the 
knightly truth of the victor. 

204 command] Q F; bid Pope (for the meter). 

U.^l^^Gloucester's] F; Woodstock's Q. See note on i. 

2 exclaims, exclamations. 

4 those hands, Richard's. See below 37-41. 

11 seven sons. These were 1. Edward, the Black 
Prince; 2. William of Hatfield (died younj?) • 3 
Lionel, Duke of Clarence (d. 1368) ; 4. John of 
Gaunt; 5. Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, (d 
1403); 6. William of Windsor (died youn^) • 7 
Thomas, Duke of Gloucester. 6^. . 

14 nature's course, a natural death. 

28 model, copy. 

42 complain] Q,; complaint F. 

43 and] Q,; to F. 

46 cousin, used vaguely. She was his aunt by mar- 
riage, and also his sister-in-law; for her sister was 
Duchess of Hereford. 

53 caitiff, wretched captive. 

62 my] Q F; thy; Q,. York, see note on line 11, 
above. ' 

66 Plashy, her seat in Essex. 
69 offices, servants' quarters. 



74 takes, takes prisoner (with tears), 
iii. 7 Stage directions marked with a dagger are from 

17 come] Q; comes F. 
20 bis] F; my Q. 

28 plated] Q; placed F. 

29 formally] Q; formerly F. 

30 depose him, take his affirmation. 

49 pilgrimage, the phrase seems to foreshadow the 
event (IV. i. 9-2). 

67 regreet, salute. 

75 v/axen, in this sense, yielding. 

82 adverse] Q; amaz'd F (from line above). 

84 mnocency] Capell; innocence Q F. 

95 jest, act out a play. 
112 approve, prove. 
129-133 Omitted in F. 

140 death] F; life Q; the meaning is the same. 
156 maim, penalty, loss. 
174 compassionate, self-pitying. 
210 banish'd years, years of exile. 
227 sudden] F; sullen Q. 
239-242 Omitted in P. 
241 partial slander, charge of partiality. 
266 as foil] Q,; a soil F. 

_ foil, the metal background in the setting of a 
J ewel. ° 

268-292 Omitted in F. 

289 presence, presence-chamber, strewed with rushes. 

292 gnarhng, snarling. 

iv. 1 Stage direction, from Q,. Bagot and Green] 
Bushy, etc., Q,. Duke of] Lord Q. 
8 sleepy] F; sleeping Q. 

23 Bagot here] Q^; here Bagot F. 

24 courtship courting. Bolingbroke tells the same 
story in 1 Henry IV III. ii. 

28 smiles] Q; souls F. 

48 blank charters, blank checks or notes, filled in at 
the king's discretion. 
58 Ely House, in London. 



ACT II 



171 



i. 2 unstaid, headstrong. 

Jiluet^ ^^^ alternate rhymes, as in Borneo and 
10 glose, flatter. 
12 music at the close, the final chords, returning to 

the tonic key are more satisfying to the ear. 
18 his state; then there are found] Q3 F; of whose 

taste the wise are found Q,. -" ^3 , 

22 still, always. 
26 buzz'd, whispered about. 
28 wit's regard, respect owed to reason. 
52 by, on account of. 
55 Jewry, Palestine. 

60 tenement, small holding, pelting, paltrv 
70 rag'd, enraged. ^ 

73 composition, state of health 
84 nicely, trivially. 
88 with] Q ; om. F. 
95 thy land] Q,; the land F. 



44 



RICHARD II 



102 verge, a legal term, the compass of the King's 
court, of 12 miles radius. 

103 waste, a legal term, the damage done by a tenant 
to the hurt of the heir. 

107 pcssess'd, that is, with a spirit of evil. 

115 And . . . K. Rich. And thou a] F; And thou . . . 
K. Rich.— a Q, Q^. 

118 chasingr] Q; chafing F. 

122 roundly, Mithout respect, unceremoniously. 

126 pelican, this bird, according to the natural his- 
tory of the time, fed its young on its blood. 

129 wliom fair befall, to whom may good come ! 

139 sullens, peevishness. 

144 As Harry, etc., as Harry would. Richard seizes 
the ambiguity as an offense. 

156 rng"-headed kerns, shock-headed Irish foot sol- 
diers. 

182 kindred] Q; kindred's F. 

197 ensue, follow, used transitively. 

202-204 call in the letters patents, recall the right 
that Bolingbroke possessed, being of age, through 
his attorneys 'to sue out a writ of ouster-le-main, — 
that is, his livery — that the king's hand might be 
taken off, and the land delivered to him' (Malone). 
Letters patents, a double plural. 

215 Earl of Wiltshire, Sir Wm. Scrope, treasurer of 
England, 

239 moe, more; an alternative form, though archaic 
in Shakespeare's day, and used only with a plural 
noun. 

243 merely in hate, entirely from hate. 

246 pill'd, pillaged. 

250 blanks, benevolences, blank charters and forced 
loans. 

280 A line is lost, according to Malone, who suggests 
a line like that inserted in brackets. Holinshed is 
the authority for the statement that it was Thomas 
of Arundel who escaped from Exeter. His father, 
Richard, was the Archbishop's brother (282). 

286 tall, strong. 

287 expedience, expedition, haste. 

292 imp out, patch out, piece out, as a hawk's broken 
wing is mended. 

296 Ravenspurgh, a port at the mouth of the Hum- 
be r. 

300 hold out, subjunctive, if my horse hold out. 

ii. 3 self -harming] F; life-harming Q^. 

17 to, into. 

18 perspectives, designs drawn in perspective. 

34 nothing- less, nothing less like, anything rather; 
the op])Osite of the modern sense. 
34 conceit, imagination. 
46 retir'd, wathdrawn. 
59 staff, i. e., of office. 
62 to] Q; of F. 
72 hopes linger] F; hope lingers Q. 

linger, prolong. 
77 Fine omitted in F. 
103 no] Qi; om. F. 

105 sister. Steevens points out that York has only 
Ills dead sister in mind. 

108 go] Q, ; om. F. 

119 Berkeley (Castle), in Gloucestershire on the 
Severn. 



128 those love, those who love. 

138 The hateful commons will] Pope; Will the hate- 
ful commons Q F. 

iii. 9 Cotswold, the Cotswold hills in the West of 
England. 

21 young Harry Percy, Hotspur, was then 37 years 
old. Either Shakespeare had already in mind a 
dramatic contrast with Prince Hal (b. 1388) in 1 
Henry IV, or else the contrast in the latter play 
was not deliberate. It should be noted that Dan- 
iel's Civil Wa7's (see Introduction) agrees with 
Richard II in this detail. 

22 whencesoever, from wherever (he may be). 
79 the absent time, the time of the absent king. 

87 no uncle] Q; orii. F (86-87 written as one line). 
116 indifferent, impartial. 

138 stands . . . upon, rests upon, is incumbent on. 

139 His property is bestowed on common favorites. 
145 wrong] Q; wrongs F. 

iv. 8 The superstitions of the Welsh are more strongly 
brought out in the career of Glendower, in 1 Henry 
IV. 



ACT III 

i. 23 dispark'd, broken down inclosed land. 
25 imprese] Q; impresse F; device, emblem. 
32 Lords, farewell] Q; om. F. 
38 commends, greetings, commendations. 

ii. 1 Barkloughly, Harlech, a strong Welsh fortress. 

29-32 Omitted in F. 

30 if] Pope; om. Q. 

34 security, Qarelessness. 

40 boldly] bouldy Q,; bloody F. 

63 power, army, force. 

76-81 Note the sestet, a lyrical form suited to the 
lyrical thought. 

85 twenty] Q; forty F. 
112 beards] beares F. 
114 female, weak. 
117 double-fatal, yew-berries were used as poison; 

the wood for arrows. 
162 antic, clown, fool. The allusion is probably to 
a popular picture, of the Dance of Death, in which 
Death rests in the king's crown. 
182 Omitted in F. 

198 by small and small, little by little. 
209 Flint Castle, in North Wales. 
212 ear, plow. 

iii. 14 taking so the head, taking precedence, by 
omitting the titles. 

17 your head] F; our heads Q. 

38 most] Q; om. F. 

56 shock] Qi; smoke F. 
117 barbed, armed over breast and flanks. 
136 sooth, cajoling. 
162 lodge, beat down, lay waste. 
167 fretted, worn away. 

175 make a leg, make obeisance, bow. 

176 base court, lower court of a castle. 



172 



RICHARD II 



45 



178 Phaethon, son of Apollo, lost control of the Sun's 
horses and fell to earth. 

179 jades, horses. 
185 fondly, foolishly. 

iv. 4 rubs, impediments which keep the bowl from 

rolling straight. 

5 bias, the protruding side of the bowl, which gives 

it an oblique course when thrown. 
40 pale, enclosure. 
46 knots, flower-plots of fanciful design. 

57 we at] Capell; at F. 

58 Do] Capell; and F. 

ACT IV 

i. 5 timeless, untimely. 

14 that very time. Bagot is wrong here; Boling- 
broke's exile followed his uncle's death at some 
interval. 

17 England, trisyllabic, 'Engeland.' 

26 I say] om. F. 

52-59 Omitted in F. 

52 task the earth, charge the earth as witness (by 
casting a glove on it). 

55 sun to sun] Capell; sin to sin Q. 

57 sets me, challenges me (in a game). 
112 of that name the fourth] F; fourth of that 

name Q. 
120 learn, teach. 
129 forfend] Q; forbid F. 
131 obscene, hideous. 
141 kind, common nature. 
144 Golgotha, 'The place of the skull,' Matthew XII. 

25. 
148 let] Q; and let F. 
154-318 Omitted in Q^ Qg. 
157 conduct, conductor, escort. 
168 favors, countenances. 
185 owes, owns. 

207 balm, consecrating oil, used in coronation. 
210 duty's rites] Qs, 4; dutious oaths F. 
246 sort, company. 
251 and] Q,; a F. 

254 haught, haughty. 

255 Nor] Q,; No, Nor F. 

281 was this the face, apparently based on the most 
famous lines in Marlowe's Dr. Faustus: 'Was this 
the face that launch'd a thousand ships. And burnt 
the topless towers of Ilium?' 

317 conveyers, thieves. 

326 My Lord] Q^ Q2; om. F. 

ACT V 

i. 2 Julius Caesar's Tower, the Tower of London, 
among other famous English castles, was by tradi- 
tion ascribed to Julius Caesar's time. 

11 model, outline in the ruins of Troy. 

39 thy] Qi; my F. 

42 betid] Hanmer; betide F, happened. 

43 quit their griefs, make return for their sad 
tales, 

46 sympathise, feel with, transitively used. 
52 Pomfret, Pontefract Castle, in Yorkshire. 



55 thou ladder, Bolingbroke recalls this speech in 

2 Henry IV III. i. 70-77. 
62 And he] Rowe; He F. 
78 wife] Q; Queen F. 

80 Hallowmas, November 1, All Saints' Day. 
88 ne'er the near, never the nearer. 'Near' is here 

the old comparative form of 'nigh.' 



ii. 66 day] Qi; om F. 
78 by my life, by my troth] Q^ 
troth F. 
91 teeming, bearing. 



my life, my 



iii. 16 stews, disorderly houses. 

21 years] Q; days F. 

22 happily, haply, perhaps. 
66 digressing, transgressing. 

80 'Beggar and the King,' 'King Cophetua,' a popu- 
lar ballad. 
99 Line omitted, F. 

119 pardonne moi, an affectation of regret at refus- 
ing, 'pardon me, no!' 

135 with all my heart I pardon him] Pope; I pardon 
him with all my heart F. 

137 brother-in-law, the Earl of Huntingdon, who 
does not appear in the play. He had married 
Henry's sister. 

137 and] Q^; om. F. 

144 cousin, too] Q5; cousin Q F. 

iv. 7 wistly, wistfully. 

V. 1 studying, pondering. 

8 still-breeding, ever-growing. 

9 little world, the microcosmos, or mind of man. 
10 humours, temperaments; the sanguine, phleg- 
matic, choleric, and melancholy. 

13 word, the divine word, the Bible. See Matthew 
XI. 28, XIX. 14. 
17 postern, little gate. 
21 ragged, rough. 

25 silly, harmless. The word originally meant 
'blessed.' 

26 refuge, secrete (in thought). 

29 misfortunes] Q; misfortune F. 

34 penury, poverty. 

38 be] Q; am F. 

43 proportion, rhythm. 

46 hear] F; check Q. 

51 jar, tick. 

58 times and hours] Q; hours and times F. 

60 Jack 0' the clock, a figure that struck the hours, 
such as were common on old churches. The most 
famous is that in Strasburg Cathedral; there are 
two on the Herald Building, New York City. 

62 holp madmen to their wits. Compare King 
Lear IV. vii. '26, where music is so employed. The 
classic instance was Saul's cure. 

66 brooch, sign; literally a buckle, worn in the hat 
as token. 

68 ten groats too dear, a punning allusion to the 
line above. The noble {Qs. Sd.) is 10 groats (1 
groat =:4(Z.) less than a royal (10*.); even half a 

noble (10 groats) is too high for either; in other 



173 



46 



RICHARD II 



words, both are but common men. A similar pun 
is ascribed to Queen Elizabeth. 

75 sometimes, former, sometime. 

76 yearn'd, grieved. 

78 roan Barbary, a clever adaptation by Shake- 
speare of a story given in Froissart of a grey- 
hound, Mathe, that forsook Richard for Boling- 
broke. 

94 jauncing, hard-riding. 



vi. 8 Salisbury, Spencer J F ; Oxford, Salisbury Q, 
followed by most editors. Oxford was not a con- 
spirator, however. 
43 through the shade] F; through shades Q; thor- 
ough shade Cambridge ed. See Genesis IV. 

48 incontinent, at once, without delay. 

49 Holy Land, a resolution always put off by 
Henry. See 1 Henry /F I. i. 19, 

51 sadly, soberly. 



'174 



HENRY IV, PART I 



SOURCES OF THE PLOT— For the portion of 
Henry IV relating to the quarrel between King 
Henry and his ancient friends, the Percies — for all 
the scenes of military and political interest, that is, 
in both parts of the play — Shakespeare follows at- 
tentively the Chronicle of Holinshed, who had al- 
ready furnished the poet with the material for his 
treatment of the earlier portion of the story in Rich- 
ard II. Opening with allusions to Sir Edmund Mor- 
timer's capture by Glendower on June 22, 1402, and 
to Hotspur's defeat of Douglas at Homildon on Sep- 
tember 14 of the same year, the first part of Hewry 
IV follows the events of the next ten months to their 
culmination in the Battle of Shrewsbury on the eve 
of St. Mary Magdalene (July 21), 1403. 

Only in two points is the dramatist constrained by 
the requirements of stage effect to make any essen- 
tial alteration of the historian's picture. The final 
battle in the play is, of course, necessarily a stage 
fight, in which only the individual prowess of the 
leaders can appear, and in which the poet's favorite 
hero, Prince Henry, wrests away his rival's accumu- 
lated honors by the spectacular but unhistoric means 
of single combat. As the following extract will suf- 
ficiently show, Holinshed was far from chary about 
endowing his generals with Homeric vigor of body, 
but he nevertheless allows the truth to appear, that 
Hotspur died in the thick press of battle, the victim, 
not of one man's valor, but partly of chance, partly 
of causes which Shakespeare has in earlier scenes 
made clear: his somewhat inadequate numbers and 
his reckless strategj\ Holinshed's description of the 
battle, though a little confused in detail, is a fine 
piece of writing: 

"The king's part crying, 'St. George! upon them!' 
the adversaries cried, 'Esperance ! Percy 1' and so the 
two armies furiously joined. . . . The prince that day 
holp his father like a lusty young gentleman; for 
although he was hurt in the face with an arrow, so 
that diverse noblemen, that were about him, would 
have conveyed him forth of the field, yet he would 



not suffer them so to do, lest his departure from 
amongst his men might haply have stricken some fear 
into their hearts: and so, without regard of his hurt, 
he continued with his men, and never ceased either to 
fight where the battle was most hot, or to encourage 
his men where it seemed most need. This battle 
lasted three long hours, with indifferent fortune on 
both parts, till at length, the king, crying, 'Saint 
George ! victory !' brake the array of his enemies : and 
adventured so far, that (as some write) the Earl 
Douglas strake him down, and at that instant slew 
Sir Walter Blunt, and three other, appareled in the 
king's suit and clothing, saying: 'I marvel to see so 
many kings thus suddenly arise one in the neck of 
another.' The king, indeed, was raised and did that 
day many a noble feat of arms, for, as it is written, 
he slew that day with his own hands six and thirty 
persons of his enemies. The other on his part, en- 
couraged by his doings, fought valiantly, and slew 
the Lord Percy, called Sir Henry Hotspur." 

Shakespeare's other important variation from Ho- 
linshed arises in like manner from the playwright's 
need of giving to his picture a precise symmetry such 
as historic fact seldom afi'ords. As Prince Henry's 
triumphant vindication of his soldiership at Shrews- 
bury can be best symbolized in the mimic world of 
the theatre by making him the personal conqueror of 
his father's chief foe, so, Shakespeare realized, sym- 
pathetic understanding of the Prince's complex na- 
ture could most certainly be secured by contrasting 
this many-sided and misjudged young hero with a 
rival youth of similar, but less catholic and generous, 
aspirations. Therefore, Hotspur, in reality a griz- 
zled veteran of forty, rather older than Hal's father, 
is so far rejuvenated that he figures throughout the 
play as the very type and pattern of ardent youth, 
the compeer and contemporary of fifteen-year-old Hal. 

In neither part of Henry IV does the political mat- 
ter taken from Holinshed make up much more than 
half the play. Except in the concluding acts, where 
a slight attempt is made to knot together the differ- 



175 



HENRY IV, PART I 



ent threads, scenes from the chronicler alternate 
pretty regularly with other scenes in which Prince 
Hal moves through a very different environment and 
barely maintains his hold on the spectator's chief in- 
terest against the claims of Falstaff's colossal per- 
sonality. In all essentials, the Falstaff scenes are 
original with Shakespeare, though a number of sug- 
gestions for details came from a poor play called The 
Famous Victories of Henry V, which was being acted 
by tlie old company of the Queen's Players about the 
time that Shakespeare first became associated with 
the London stage. In the brief compass of fifty 
pages, the old play runs over events out of which 
Shakespeare created scenes for both the parts of 
Henry IV and for Henry V. For the earlier part of 
Henry IV he got, among other hints, the figure of 
the Prince's friend, Ned (Poins) ; "the old Tavern in 
Eastcheap" as a scene of Hal's revelries; Gadshill, 
both as a place for robberies and the nickname of a 
robber; and the Carrier journeying to London with 
"a great race of Ginger." 

A scene from the Famous Victories, in which the 
two clowns. Derrick and John Cobbler, mimic the 
arraignment of Prince Henry before the Lord Chief 
Justice, will show where Shakespeare got the hint for 
Falstaff's and Prince Henry's mimicry of the meeting 
of the Prince with his father (i Henry IV II. iv. 
413-528): 

"Der. Faith, John, I'll tell thee what: thou shalt be 
my Lord Chief Justice, and thou shalt sit in the 
chair, and I'll be the young prince, and hit thee a 
box on the ear, and then thou shalt say, 'To teach 
you what prerogatives mean, I commit thee to the 
Fleet (Prison).' 

John. Come on, I'll be your judge, but thou shalt not 
hit me hard. 

Der. No, no. 

John [impersonating the judye^. What hath he 
done ? 

Der. Marry, he hath robbed Derrick. 

John, Why, then I cannot let him go. 

Der. I must needs have my man. 

John. You shall not have him. 

Der. Shall I not have my man? say no and you dare. 
How say you, shall I not have my man? 

John. No, marry, shall you not. 

Der. Shall I not, John? 

John. No, Derrick. 

Der. [striking him']. Why then take j^ou that till 
more come. Zounds, shall I not have him? 



John. Well, I* am content to take this at your hand, 
but I pray you, who am I? 

Der. Who art thou? Zounds, dost not know thyself? 

John. No. 

Der. Now, away, simple fellow. Why, man, thou art 
John the Cobbler. 

John. No, I am my Lord Chief Justice of England. 

Der. Oh, John, Mass, thou sayest true, thou art in- 
deed. 

John. Why, then, to teach you what prerogatives 
mean, I commit you to the Fleet. 

Der. Well, I will go, but i' faith^ you gray beard 
knave, I'll course you. 

Exit. And straight enters again. 
Oh, John, come, come out of thy chair. W^hy, what 
a clown wert thou, to let me hit thee a box on the 
ear, and now thou seest they will not take me to 
the Fleet. I think that thou art one of these Wor- 
enday Clowns." 

Falstaff does not appear in the Famous Victories 
with his Shakespearean name, but his vague prototype 
sports through its pages under the title of Sir John 
Oldcastle, a worthy fifteenth-century reformer-mar- 
tyr, of whose intimacy with the Prince during the lat- 
ter's unregenerate years several racy stories had been 
circulated by the early chroniclers. Falstaff, indeed, 
seems to have been still known as Oldcastle, when 
Shakespeare's play was staged, for the first part re- 
tains a now pointless pun upon the earlier name: "my 
old lad of the castle" (I. ii. 47); and in another place 
gives a line whose defective metre perhaps calls for 
the substitution of "Oldcastle" instead of "Falstaff": 
"Away, good Ned. Falstaf sweats to death" (II. ii. 
115). Near the beginning of the second part of the 
play (I. ii. 137), tjie abbreviation "Old" is actually 
left standing in the quarto version before one of Fal- 
staff's speeches, and the epilogue finds it necessary 
to warn the audience against confusing the stage char- 
acter of Falstaff with the liistorical Oldcastle, "For 
Oldcastle died a martyr and this is not the man.' 
Moreover, a record lately brought to notice shows that 
Shakespeare's company, that of the Lord Chamber- 
lain, acted at court, on March 6, 1600, Sir John Old- 
castle, under which title Henry IV seems certainly 
to be meant. (See Malone Society Collections, I, 2, 
111.) Yet more positive evidence that Falstaff was 
Oldcastle on the Elizabethan stage is found in a play 
published two years after Shakespeare's death, 
Amends for Ladies by Nathaniel Field, where allu- 
sion is made to "the fat knight, hight Oldcastle," who 



176 



INTRODUCTION 



"truly told what honor was." Shakespeare's earliest 
biographer, Nicholas Rowe (1709) gives a reason for 
the alteration of name: "This part of Falstaf is 
said to have been written originallj^ under the name 
of Oldcastle; some of that family being then remain- 
ing, the Queen was pleased to command him (Shake- 
speare) to alter it; upon which he made use of Fal- 
staff." 

The name Falstaff was doubtless suggested by that 
of Sir John Fastolfe, or in the spelling of the Shake- 
speare Folio, Fahtaffe, who is represented as a cow- 
ardly knight in the first part of Henry VI, a play 
with which Shakespeare had been concerned some 
four or five years before he wrote Henry IV. The 
similarity between the two figures can hardly be car- 
ried, however, beyond the mere name, for the great 
FalstafiP, though not John of Gaunt, is yet no cow- 
ard, while Fastolfe, in the unhistoric treatment he re- 
ceives in Henry VI, is nothing else. 

DATE AND TEXT— The first part of Henry IV 
was registered for publication, February 25, 1598, 
and printed in the same year. Francis Meres men- 
tions the play in his list of Shakespeare's works (Pal- 
laclis Tamia, 1598), and even quotes in another part 
of the book — without acknowledgment — Falstaff's 
dictum: "There is nothing but roguery to be found 
in villainous man" (Part I II. iv. 138). Ben Jonson 
in Every Man out of his Humour (1599) alludes to 
the fatness of Sir John Falstaff as already well 
known. \There is general agreement among critics 
that the years 1596 and 1597 cover the period during 
which the play was composed and first put on the 
stage. I 

Few of Shakespeare's plays were printed so soon 
after their first production on the stage, and only one 
{Richard III) was printed so often during the poet's 
lifetime as the first part of Henry IV. Five quarto 
editions appeared within fifteen years (1598, 1599, 
1604, 1608, 1613) and three others followed during 
the quarter-century after the author's death (1622, 
1632, 1639). The most important texts for the stu- 
dent desirous of determining what Shakespeare ac- 
tually wrote are that given in the first quarto and 
that of the 1623 folio edition of Shakespeare's plays. 
Unfortunately, the folio, instead of following directly 
the stage manuscript, which doubtless represented the 
poet's final version of the play, was set up, as inter- 
nal evidence proves, from a copy of the fifth (1613) 
quarto, only very carelessly corrected by the stage 
copy. Consequently, the folio incorporates so many 
of the errors which the later quartos had accumulated 
in the course of hasty reprinting, that it is on the 



whole less trustworthy than the first quarto. There 
are, however, a number of cases in which the folio 
gives readings not found in any of the quartos, and 
some of these readings have been adopted in the pres- 
ent edition as representing what was probably the 
filial preference of the poet. The two most important 
general differences between the folio and the various 
quarto versions are that the former alone has act and 
scene division, and that it omits practically all the 
oaths and asseverations in the play, in consequence 
of a law passed in 1605 which forbade the use of pro- 
fanity on the stage. 

STAGE HISTORY— The irresistible Falstaff car- 
ried all before him on the Elizabethan stage, and by 
1599-1600 the Lord Admiral's players, the most im- 
portant rivals of Shakespeare's company, were at- 
tempting to win a share in the profits derivable from 
this popular figure by presenting in two parts an os- 
tensibly historic treatment of the Life of Sir John 
Oldcastle. The prologue to the first part of this 
work, which alone appeared in print, challenges com- 
parison between its hero-martyr and Shakespeare's 
Oldcastle-Falstaff: 

"It is no pampered glutton we present. 
Nor aged counsellor to youthful sin. 
But one whose virtue shone above the rest, 
A valiant martyr and a virtuous peer"; 

and two passages in the body of the play are clearly 
introduced for the delectation of an audience to which 
the robbery scenes in Henry IV were fresh. In one 
place Prince Henry, now become king, asks: "Where 
the devil are all my old thieves? . . , Falstaff, the 
villain, is so fat, he cannot get on 's horse, but me- 
thinks Poins and Peto should be stirring hereabouts"; 
and another character, alluding to the king, speaks of 
the time "when that foul villainous guts, that led him 
to all that roguery, was in 's company there, that Fal- 
staff." 

One of the first actors of Falstaff, if not the cre- 
ator of the part, was John Lowin (1576-1659), whose 
name appears in the 1623 folio as one of the "Princi- 
pal Actors" in Shakespeare's plays. In 1642, long 
before Lowin's death, the Puritans succeeded in sup- 
pressing the theatres of London; but Falstaff was 
not to be suppressed. A farcical abridgement of 
Henry IV, Part I, based on the scenes in which Fal- 
staff" figured, was published under the title of The 
Bouncing Knight in Francis Kirkman's Wits, or 
Sport upon Sport (1662), as it had been surrepti- 
tiously acted throughout England during the years of 
Puritan domination. A similar concession to the vul- 



177 



4 



HENRY IV, PART I 



gar taste for Falstafif was printed about 1698 under 
the title of The Boaster; or Bully-Huff catch'd in a 
trap. 

During the Restoration era, and for two centuries 
after, the complete play was frequently presented. 
Pep3's saw it at least three times, and his comment 
on the second occasion (Nov. 2, 1667) throws a light 
on the audiences of the time, which justifies quota- 
tion: "To the King's playhouse, and there saw 
'Henry the Fourth'; and, contrary to expectation, 
was pleased in nothing more than in Cartwright's 
speaking of FalstafP's speech about 'What is Hon- 
our ?' The house full of Parliament-men, it being 
holyday with them: and it was observable how a gen- 
tleman of good habit sitting just before us, eating of 
some fruit in the midst of the play, did drop down 
as dead, being choked; but with much ado Orange 
Mall did thrust her finger down his throat, and 
brought him to life again." 

The end of the seventeenth century is for stage 
history the age of Thomas Betterton (1635-1710). 
This great actor arranged playhouse versions of both 
parts of Henry IV and excelled in several of the 
roles. His contemporary, Colley Gibber, writes en- 
thusiastically of "those wild impatient starts, that 
fierce and flashing fire, which he threw into Hotspur" ; 
and later in life, when verging on seventy, Betterton 
won yet higher fame by playing Falstaff in both 
parts of the play. Few raiore notable performances 
can have occurred than that given at Covent Garden, 
December 6, 1746, when David Garrick acted Hot- 
spur to the much-praised Falstaff of his rival, James 
Quin (1693-1766). Of Quin it is reported that after 
his retirement from the stage he used to make an an- 
nual visit to London for the sake of playing Fal- 
staff before an old friend, Ryan; till, losing two 



front teeth in 1754, he was obliged to write: "There's 
no person on earth whom I would sooner serve than 
Ryan; but — I will ichistle Falstaff for no man!" 

Mrs. Siddons's brothers, John Philip and Charles 
Kemble, played Henry IF in the early part of the 
nineteenth century. Elliston's Falstaff and Ma- 
cready's Hotspur were received with immense ap- 
plause at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, in 1826. 
A quarter of a century later, another great Falstaff, 
Hartley, took his leave of the stage in a farewell per- 
formance of Henry IV Part I (Princess Theatre, 
Dec. 18, 1852) "under the patronage of her Majesty, 
and H. R. H. Prince Albert," Charles Kean taking 
the part of Hotspur. 

During the last fifty years, Henry IV has been 
curiously little acted on the professional stage. The 
performances of Mr. F. R. Benson's Company at the 
Stratford Memorial Theatre and elsewhere, a run at 
the Haymarket Theatre, London, in 1896, and aca- 
demic revivals by the Cambridge University Amateur 
Dramatic Association in 1886 and the Yale University 
Dramatic Association in 1906 have been the most not- 
able representations of the last generation. It would 
be a'n interesting study to determine whether some 
radical development of modern taste is responsible 
for the relegation to amateurs and dramatic revival- 
ists of this play, which for two centuries and a half 
maintained itself as one of the most brilliant practical 
successes of the English stage. Augustin Daly pro- 
jected a revival in New York at the end of the nine- 
teenth century, but abandoned it because he could not 
find an actor to play Falstaff. 

CRITICAL COMMENT— The discussion of criti- 
cal opinion concerning Henry IV can be most con- 
veniently taken up in connection with the second 
part of the play. See Introduction to that part. 

B. 



178 



THE FIRST PART OF 

HENRY THE FOURTH 

WITH THE LIFE AND DEATH OF HENRY, SURNAMED HOTSPUR 



[Scene OF Action: Several parts of London ; Rochester and Gadshill in Kent; Wark- 
worth Castle, Northumberland ; Bangor, Wales ; York ; the neighborhood of Coventry, 
and of Shrewsbury. 



sons to the King. 



King Henry the Fourth. 

Henry, Prince of Wales, 

Prince John of Lancaster, 

Earl of Westmoreland. 

Sir Walter Blunt. 

Earl of Worcester, 

Earl of Northumberland, his brother. 

Henry Percy, Northumberland's son, surnamed Hot 

SPUR. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. 

Richard Scroop, Archbishop of York. 

Archibald, Earl of Douglas. 

Owen Glendower, a Welsh chieftain. 

Sir Richard Vernon. 

Sir Michael, a friend to the Archbishop of York. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 

Sir John Falstaff. 



POINS, 

Gadshill, 

Peto, 

Bardolph, 



Associates of Prince Henry 
and Falstaff. 



Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer. 
Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife 
to Mortimer. 

Mistress Quickly, hostess of the Boar's Head Tav- 
ern in Eastcheap. 

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, 
Drawers, two Carriers, Travelers, and Attend- 
ants. 1 



ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [King Henry's Palace. London.] 

Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl 
of Westmoreland, with others. 

King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, 
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant. 
And breathe short-winded accents of new 

broils 
To be commenc'd in strands afar remote. 
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil 5 

Shall daub her lips with her own children's 

blood; 
No more shall trenching war channel her 

fields, 
Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hciiis 



Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes. 
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven. 
All of one nature, of one substance bred, n 
Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
And furious close of civil butchery 
Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, 
March all one way and be no more oppos'd 15 
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies: 
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, 
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, 

friends. 
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 
We are impressed and engag'd to fight, 21 
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy; 
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' 

womb 



6 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act I. SC. I. 



To cliase these pagans in those holy fields 
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet 25 
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd 
For our advantage on the bitter cross. 
But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old, 
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go : 
Therefore we meet not now. Then let me 
hear 30 

Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
What yesternight our council did decree 
In forwarding this dear expedience. 
West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, 
And many limits of the charge set down 35 

But yesternight: when all athwart there came 
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news; 
Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer, 
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 40 
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman 

taken. 
And a thousand of his people butchered; 
Upon whose dead corpse there was such mis- 
use, 
Such beastly shameless transformation. 
By those Welshwomen done as may not be 45 
Without much shame retold or spoken of. 
King. It seems then that the tidings of this broil 

Brake off our business for the Holy Land. 
West. This match'd with other like, my gracious 
lord; 
For more uneven and unwelcome news 50 

Came from the north and thus it did import: 
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there. 
Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald, 
That ever-valiant and approved Scot, 
At Holmedon met, S5 

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; 
As by discharge of their artillery. 
And shape of likelihood, the news was told; 
For he that brought them, in the very heat 
And pride of their contention did take horse, 60 
Uncertain of the issue any way. 
King. Here is a dear and true industrious friend. 
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
Stain'd with the variation of each soil 
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; 
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome 
news. 66 

The Earl of Douglas is discomfited: 
Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty 

knights, 
Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see 



On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners. Hot- 
spur took 70 
Mordake Earl of Fife, and eldest son 
To beaten Douglas ; and the Earl of Athol, 
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith: 
And is not this an honourable spoil.'' 
A gallant prize. ^ ha, cousin, is it not.^ 75 

West. In faith. 

It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. 

King. Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest 
me sin 
In envy that my Lord Northumberland 
Should be the father to so blest a son, 80 

A son who is the theme of honour's tongue; 
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant; 
Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride: 
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him. 
See riot and dishonour stain the brow 85 

Of my young Harry. O that it could be 

prov'd 
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd 
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay. 
And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet! 
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 90 
But let him from my thoughts. What think 

you, coz. 
Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, 
Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd. 
To his own use he keeps ; and sends me word, 
I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife. 95 

West. This is his uncle's teaching: this is 
Worcester, 
Malevolent to you in all aspects; 
Which makes him jDrune himself, and bristle up 
The crest of youth against your dignity. 

King. But I have sent for him to answer this; 
And for this cause awhile we must neglect loi 
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords: 
But come yourself with speed to us again; 105 
For more is to be said and to be done 
Than out of anger can be uttered. 

West. I will, my liege. Exeunt. 

Scene II. — [London.^ 

Enter Henry Prince of Wales, Sir John Fal- 
staff and [later] Pains. 

Fal. Now, Llal, what time of day is it, lad? 
Prince. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of 



180 



ACT I. SC. II.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



old sack and unbuttoning thee after supper 
and sleeping upon benches in the afternoon, 
that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly 
which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil 
hast thou to do with the time of the day ? Un- 
less hours were cups of sack and minutes ca- 
pons and clocks the tongues of bawds and dials 
the signs of leajDing-houses and the blessed 
sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-coloured 
taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so 
superfluous to demand the time of the day. 

Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for 
we that take purses go by the moon and the 
seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, 'that wan- 
dering knight so fair.' And, I prethee, sweet 
wag, when thou art king, as, God save thy 
grace, — majesty I should say, for grace thou 
wilt have none, — 20 

Prince. What, none? 

Fal. No, by my troth, not so much as will serve 
to be prologue to an e,gg and butter. 

Prince. Well, how then.^ come, roundly, 
roundly. 25 

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art 
king, let not us that are squires of the night's 
body be called thieves of the day's beauty: let 
us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the 
shade, minions of the moon; and let men say 
we be men of good government, being gov- 
erned, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste 
mistress the moon, under whose countenance 
we steal. 33 

Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; 
for the fortune of us that are the moon's men 
doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, 
as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, 
now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched 
on Monday night and most dissolutely spent on 
Tuesday morning; got with swearing 'Lay by' 
and spent with crying 'Bring in;' now in as 
low an ebb as the foot of the ladder and by 
and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the 
gallows. 43 

Fal. By the Lord, thou sa^^est true, lad. And 
is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet 
wench ? 46 

Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of 
the castle. And is not a buff" jerkin a most 
sweet robe of durance? 

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag ! what, in 
thy quips and thy quiddities ? what a plague 



have I to do with a buff* jerkin? 



Pri7ice. Why, what a pox have I to do with my 
hostess of the tavern? 

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning 
many a time and oft. 56 

Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy 
part ? 

Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid 
all there. 

Prince. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin 
would stretch ; and where it would not, I have 
used my credit. 

Fal. Yea, and so used it that, were it not here 
apparent that thou art heir apparent — But, 
I prethee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows 
standing in England when thou art king? and 
resolution thus fobbed as it is with the rusty 
curb of old father antic the law? Do not 
thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. 70 

Prince. No; thou shalt. 

Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be 
a brave judge. 

Prince. Thou judgest false already: I mean, 
thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves and 
so become a rare hangman. ye 

Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps 
with my humour as well as waiting in the 
court, I can tell you. 

Prince. For obtaining of suits? 80 

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the 
hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I 
am as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear. 

Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. 

Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bag- 
pipe. 86 

Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melan- 
choly of Moor-ditch? 

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes and 
art indeed the most comparative, rascalliest, 
sweet young prince. But, Hal, I prethee, 
trouble me no more with vanity. I would to 
God thou and I knew where a commodity of 
good names were to be bought. An old lord 
of the council rated me the other day in the 
street about you, sir, but I marked him not; 
and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded 
him not; and yet he talked wisely, and in the 
street too. 98 

Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out 
in the streets, and no man regards it. 100 

Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration and art 
indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast 
done much harm upon me, Hal; God forgive 
81 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act I, SC. II. 



thee for it ! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew 
nothing; and now I am, if a man should speak 
truly, little better than one of the wicked. I 
must give over this life, and I will give it over : 
by the Lord, and I do not, I am a villain: I'll 
be damned for never a king's son in Christen- 
dom. 109 

Prince. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, 
Jack? 

Fal. "Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; I'll make 
one ; and I do not, call me villain and baffle me. 

Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee; 
from praying to purse-taking. 115 

Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no 
sin for a man to labour in his vocation. 

[Enter Poins.'\ 

Poins ! Now shall we know if Gadshill have 
set a match. O, if men were to be saved by 
merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for 
him ? This is the most omnipotent villain that 
ever cried 'Stand' to a true man. 122 

Prince. Good morrow, Ned. 

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says 
Monsieur Remorse.^ what says Sir John Sack 
and Sugar .^ Jack! how agrees the devil and 
thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on 
Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a 
cold capon's leg.^ 129 

Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the devil 
shall have his bargain; for he was never yet 
a breaker of proverbs: he will give the devil 
his due. 

Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy 
word with the devil. 135 

Prince. Else he had been damned for cozening 
the devil. 

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morn- 
ing, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill ! there 
are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich 
offerings, and traders riding to London with 
fat purses: I have vizards for you all; you 
have horses for yourselves : Gadshill lies to- 
night in Rochester: I have bespoke supper to- 
morrow night in Eastcheap: we may do it as 
secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff 
your purses full of crowns; if you will not, 
tarry at home and be hanged. 148 

Fal. Hear ye, Ycdward; if I tarry at home and 
go not, I'll hang you for going. 150 

Poins. You will, chops? 

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? 



Prince. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my 
faith. 

Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good 
fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the 

, blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten 
shillings. 

Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be a 
madcap. 160 

Fal. Why, that's well said. 

Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at 
home. 

Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when 
thou art king. 165 

Prince. I care not. 

Poins. Sir John, I prethee, leave the prince and 
me alone : I will lay him down such reasons 
for this adventure that he shall go. 169 

Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion 
and him the ears of profiting, that what thou 
speakest may move and what he hears may 
be believed, that the true prince may, for 
recreation sake, prove a false thief; for the 
poor abuses of the time want countenance. 
Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap, 176 

Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring ! farewell, 
All-hallown summer! [Exit Falstaff.^ 

Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride 
with us to-morrow: I have a jest to execute 
that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bar- 
dolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men 
that we have already waylaid; yourself and I 
will not be there; and when they have the 
booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this 
head off from my shoulders. 186 

Prince. But how shall we part with them in set- 
ting forth? 

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after 
them, and appoint them a place of meeting, 
wherein it is at our pleasure to fail, and then 
will they adventure upon the exploit them- 
selves; which they shall have no sooner j 
achieved, but we'll set upon them. 194 

Prince. Ay, but 'tis like that they will know us 
by our^ horses, by our habits, and by every] 
other appointment, to be ourselves. 

Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see; I'lli 
tie them in the wood; our vizards we willj 
change after we leave them: and, sirrah, II 
have cases of buckram for the nonce, to im-j 
mask our noted outward garments. 

Prince. But I doubt they will be too hard for] 
us. 



182 



ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to 
be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; 
and for the third, if he fight longer than he 
sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue 
of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies 
that this same fat rogue will tell us when we 
meet at supper : how thirty, at least, he fought 
with; what wards, what blows, what extremi- 
ties he endured; and in the reproof of this lies 
the jest. 213 

Prince. Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all 
things necessary and meet me to-morrow night 
in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell. 

Poins. Farewell, my lord. Exit Poins. 

Prince. I know you all, and will awlhile uphold 
The unyok'd humour of your idleness : 
Yet herein will I imitate the sun, 220 

Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
To smother up his beauty from the world. 
That, when he please again to be himself, 
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at. 
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 226 
If all the year were playing holidays. 
To sport would be as tedious as to work; 
But when they seldom come, they wish'd for 

come. 
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 230 
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off 
And pay the debt I never promised. 
By how much better than my word I am. 
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; 
And like bright metal on a sullen ground, 23s 
INIy reformation, glittering o'er my fault. 
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes 
Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill; 
Redeeming time when men think least I will. 

[Ea:it.] 



Scene III. — [King Henry's Palace.] 

Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, 
Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and others. 

King. My blood hath been too cold and tem- 
perate. 
Unapt to stir at these indignities. 
And you have found me; for accordingly 
You tread upon my patience: but be sure 
I will from henceforth rather be myself, s 



Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition; 
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young 

down. 
And therefore lost that title of respect 
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the 
proud. 
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little de- 
serves 10 
The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it; 
And that same greatness too which our own 

hands 
Have holp to make so portly. 
North. My lord, — 

King. Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see 15 
Danger and disobedience in thine eye: 
O, sir, your presence is too bold and per- 
emptory. 
And maj esty might never yet endure 
The moody frontier of a servant brow. 
You have good leave to leave us: when we 
need 20 

Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. 

[Exit Wor.] 
You were about to speak. [To North.] 

North. Yea, my good lord. 

Those prisoners in your highness' name de- 
manded. 
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, 
Were, as he says, not with such strength de- 
nied 25 
As is deliver'd to your majesty: 
Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
Is guilty of this fault and not my son. 
Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 

But I remember, when the fight was done, 30 
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil. 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly 

dress'd. 
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new 

reap'd 
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home; 35 
He was perfumed like a milliner; 
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 
He gave his nose and took't away again; 
Who therewith angry, when it next came there. 
Took it in snuff ; and still he smil'd and talk'd. 
And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by, 42 
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly. 
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 45 



183 



10 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act 



\\'ith many liolida}' and lad}'- terms 

He qnestion'd me; among the rest, demanded 

My prisoners in your majesty's behalf. 

I then, all smarting with my wounds being 

cold. 
To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 50 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 
Answer'd neglectingly I know not what. 
He should, or should not ; for he made me mad 
To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet 
And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman 55 
Of guns and drums and wounds, — God save 

the mark ! — 
And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth 
Was jDarmaceti for an inward bruise; 
And that it was great pity, so it w^as. 
That villainous salt-petre should be digg'd 60 
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth. 
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 
So cowardly; and but for these vile guns. 
He would himself -have been a soldier. 
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 65 
I answer'd indirectly, as I said; 
And I beseech you, let not his report 
Come current for an accusation 
Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 
Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my 
lord, 70 

Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said 
To such a person and in such a place. 
At such a time, with all the rest retold. 
May reasonably die and never rise 
To do him wrong or any way impeach 75 

What then he said, so he unsay it now. 
King. Why, jet he doth deny his prisoners. 
But with proviso and exception. 
That we at our own charge shall ransom 

straight 
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; 80 
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd 
The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
Against that great magician, damn'd Glen- 
dower, 
Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of 

March 
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then. 
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home? 86 

Shall we buy treason.^ and indent with fears. 
When they have lost and forfeited themselves ? 
No, on the barren mountains let him starve; 
For I shall never hold that man my friend 90 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 



To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 
Hot. Revolted Mortimer! 

He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 
But by the chance of war: to prove that true 
Needs no more but one tongue for all those 
wounds, 96 

Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he 

took. 
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank. 
In single ojDposition, hand to hand. 
He did confound the best part of an hour 100 
In changing hardiment with great Glendower : 
Three times they breatli'd and three times did 

they drink. 
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood; 
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks. 
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, 105 
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 
Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. 
Never did base and rotten policy 
Colour her working with such deadly wounds ; 
Nor never could the noble Mortimer no 

Receive so many, and all willingly: 
Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. 
King. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost 
belie him; 
He never did encounter with Glendower: 
I tell thee, 115 

He durst as well have met the devil alone 
As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
Art thou not asham'd.^ But, sirrah, hence- 
forth 
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer: 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest 
means, 120 

Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
As will displease ye. My Lord Northumber- 
land, 
We license your departure with your son. 
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. 

Ea:it King [with his train'\. 
Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, 125 
I will not send them: I will after straight 
And tell him so; for I will ease my heart. 
Although it be with hazard of my head. 
North. What, drunk: with choler } stay and pause 
awhile : 
Here comes your uncle. 

Enter Worcester. 

Hot. Speak of Mortimer ! 130 

'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul 

84 



ACT I. SC. III.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



11 



Want mercy, if I do not j oin with him : 
In his behalf I'll empty all these veins, 
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the 

dust. 
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 135 

As high i' th' air as this unthankful king, 
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 

North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew 
mad. 

Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone ? 

Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; 
And when I urg'd the ransom once again 141 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd 

pale, 
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 

E^or. I cannot blame him: was he not pro- 
claim'd 145 

By Richard that dead is the next of blood ? 

North. He was; I heard the proclamation: 
And then it was when the unhappy king, — 
Whose wrongs in us God pardon! — did set 

forth 
Upon his Irish expedition; 150 

From whence he intercepted did return 
To be depos'd and shortly murdered. 

Wor. And for whose death we in the world's 
wide mouth 
Live scandalis'd and foully spoken of. 

Hot. But, soft, I pray you; did King Richard 
then 15s 

Proclaim my brother, Edmund Mortimer, 
Heir to the crown.? 

North. He did ; myself did hear it. 

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king. 
That wish'd him on the barren mountains 

starv'd. 
But shall it be, that you, that set the crown 160 
Upon the head of this forgetful man 
And for his sake wore the detested blot 
Of murderous subornation, shall it be. 
That you a world of curses undergo. 
Being the agents, or base second means, 165 
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather ? 
O, pardon me that I descend so low. 
To show the line and the predicament 
Wherein you range under this subtle king; 
Shall it for shame be spoken in these days, 170 
Or fill up chronicles in time to come. 
That men of your nobility and power 
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf. 
As both of you — God pardon it! — have done, 



To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose. 
And plant this thorn, this canker, Boling- 
broke ? 176 
And shall it in more shame be further spoken. 
That you are fool'd, discarded and shook off 
By him for whom these shames ye underwent.? 
No; yet time serves wherein you may redeem 
Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves 
Into the good thoughts of the world again. 
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt 
Of this proud king, who studies day and night 
To answer all the debt he owes unto you 185 
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths i 
Therefore, I say, — 

Wor, Peace, cousin, say no more: 

And now I will unclasp a secret book. 
And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous, 190 
As full of peril and adventurous spirit 
As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 

Hot. If he fall in, good night! or sink or swim: 
Send danger from the east unto the west, 195 
So honour cross it from the north to south. 
And let them grapple: O, the blood more stirs 
To rouse a lion that to start a hare ! 

North, Imagination of some great exploit 

Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 200 

Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap. 
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd 

moon. 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
Where fathom-line could never touch the 
ground, 204 

And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; 
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear 
Without corrival all her dignities : 
But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship ! 

Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here. 
But not the form of what he should attend. 210 
Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 
And list to me. 

Hot. I cry you mercy. 

Wor. Those same noble Scots 

That are your prisoners, — 

Hot. I'll keep them all; 

By God, he shall not have a Scot of them; 215 
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not: 
I'll keep them, by this hand. 

Wor. You start away 

And lend no ear unto my purposes. 
Those prisoners you shall keep. 



185 



12 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act I. SC. III. 



Hot. Nay, I will; that's flat: 

He said he would not ransom Mortimer; 220 
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
But I wull find him when he lies asleep. 
And in his ear I'll holla 'Mortimer !.' 
Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to 

speak 
Nothing but 'Mortimer,' and give it him, 223 
To keep his anger still in motion. 

Wor. Hear you, cousin; a word. 

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, 

Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke: 
And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of 
Wales, 230 

But that I think his father loves him not 
And would be glad he met with some mis- 
chance, 
I would have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 

Wor, Farewell, kinsman; I'll talk to you 

When you are better temper'd to attend. 235 

North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient 
fool 
Art thou to break into this woman's mood. 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ! 

Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd 

with rods. 

Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear 

Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 241 

In Richard's time, — what do ye call the 

place ? — 
A plague upon 't, it is in Gloucestershire ; 
'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept, 
His uncle York; where I first bow'd my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, — 
'Sblood ! — 247 

When you and he came back from Ravens- 
pur gh. 

North. At Berkeley castle. 

Hot. You say true: 250 

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! 
Look, 'when his infant fortune came to age,' 
And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin;' 
O, the devil take such cozeners ! God forgive 
me ! 255 

Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. 

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again; 
We will stay your leisure. 

Hot. I have done, i' faith. 

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prison- 
ers. 
Deliver them up without their ransom straight, 

1 



And make the Douglas' son your only mean 261 
For powers in Scotland; which, for divers rea- 
sons 
Wliich I shall send you written, be assur'd. 
Will easily be granted. You, my lord, 

[To Northumberland. ^^ 
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, 265 
Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd. 
The archbishop. 

Hot. Of York, is 't not.? 

Wor. True; who bears hard 270 

His brother's death at Bristow, the Lord 

Scroop. 
I speak not this in estimation. 
As w^hat I think might be, but what I know 
Is ruminated, plotted and set down. 
And only stays but to behold the face 275 

Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 

Hot. I smell it: 

Upon my life, it will do wondrous well. 

North. Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st 
slip. 278 

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot: 
And then the power of Scotland and of York, 
To join with Mortimer, ha? 

Wor. And so they shall. 

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 

Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed. 
To save our heads by raising of a head; 
For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 285 

The king will always think him in our debt. 
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, 
Till he hath found a time to pay us home: 
And see already how he doth begin 
To make us strangers to his looks of love. 290 

Hot. He does, he does: we'll be reveng'd on 
him. 

Wor. Cousin, farewell: no further go in this 
Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
Wlien time is ripe, which will be suddenly, 
I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer; 
Where you and Douglas and our powers at 
once, 296 

As I will fashion it, shall happily meet, | 

To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms. 
Which now we hold at much uncertainty. 

North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, 
I trust. 300 

Hot. Uncle, adieu: O, let the hours be short 
Till fields and blows and groans applaud our 
sport! Exeunt. 

86 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



13 



ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — [Rochester. An inn yard.] 
Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand. 

1 . Car. Heigh-ho ! an 't be not four by the day, 
I'll be hang'd: Charles' wain is over the new 
chimney, and yet our horse not packed. 
What, ostler! 

Ost. [Within.] Anon, anon. 5 

1. Car. I prethee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put 
a few flocks in the point; the poor jade, is 
wrung in the withers out of all cess. 

Enter another Carrier. 

2. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a 
dog, and that is the next way to give poor 
jades the bots: this house is turned upside 
down since Robin Ostler died. 

1. Car. Poor fellow, never joyed since the 
price of oats rose; it was the death of him. 

2. Car. I think this be the most villainous house 
in all London road for fleas: I am stung like 
a tench. 17 

1. Car. Like a tench! by the mass, there is ne'er 
a king in Christendom could be better bit than 
I have been since the first cock. 20 

2. Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a Jordan, 
and then we leak in your chimney; and your 
chamber-lie breeds fleas like a loach. 

1. Car. What, ostler! come away and be 
hanged! come away. 25 

2. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two 
razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as 
Charing-cross. 

1 . Car. God's body ! the turkeys in my pannier 
are quite starved. What, ostler! A plague 
on thee ! hast thou never an eye in thy head ? 
canst not hear? And 'twere not as good deed 
as drink, to break the pate on thee, I am a 
very villain. Come, and be hanged! hast no 
faith in thee? 35 

Enter Gadshill. 

Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock? 

1. Car. I think it be two o'clock. 

Gads. I prethee, lend me thy lantern, to see my 

gelding in the stable. 
1. Car. Nay, by God, soft; I know a trick worth 

two of that, i' faith. 41 



Gads. I prethee, lend me thine. 

2. Car, Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy 
lantern, quoth a'? marry, I'll see thee hanged 
first. 45 

Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean 
to come to London? 

2. Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, 
I warrant thee. Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll 
call up the gentlemen: they will along with 
company, for they have great charge. 51 

Exeunt [Carriers]. 

Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain ! 

Cham. [Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse. 

Gads. That's even as fair as — at hand, quoth 
the chamberlain; for thou variest no more 
from picking of purses than giving direction 
doth from labouring; thou layest the plot how. 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Cham. Good morrow. Master Gadshill. It 
holds current that I told you yesternight: 
there's a franklin in the wild of Kent hath 
brought three hundred marks with him in gold : 
I heard him tell it to one of his company last 
night at supper; a kind of auditor; one that 
hath abundance of charge too, God knows 
what. They are up already, and call for 
eggs and butter: they will away presently. 66 

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nich- 
olas' clerks, I'll give thee this neck. 

Cham: No, I'll none of it: I prethee, keep that 
for the hangman; for I know thou worship- 
pest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of false- 
hood may. 72 

Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman ? 
if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows; for 
if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and 
thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut ! there 
are other Troyans that thou dreamest not of, 
the which for sport sake are content to do the 
profession some grace; that would, if matters 
should be looked into, for their own credit 
sake, make all whole. I am joined with no 
foot-land-rakers, no long-stafF sixpenny strik- 
ers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued 
malt-worms ; but with nobility and tranquillity, 
burgomasters and great oneyers, such as can 
hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak, 
and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner 
than pray: and yet, 'zounds, I lie; for they 
pray continually to their saint, the common- 
87 



14 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act II. SC. I. 



wealth; or rather, not pray to her, but prey 
on her, for they ride up and down on her and 
make her their boots. 92 

Cham. Wh^t, the commonwealth their boots .^ 
will she hold out water in foul way? 

Gads. She will, she will; justice hath liquored 
her. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we 
have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk in- 
visible. 97 

Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more 
beholding to the night than to fern-seed for 
your walking invisible. 

Gads. Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a 
share in our purchase, as I am a true man. loi 

Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a 
false thief. 

Gads. Go to; 'homo' is a common name to all 
men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of 
the stable. Farewell, ye muddy knave. 106 

Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [Gadshill^ near Rochester.^ 
Enter Prince, Poins, and Peto, 

Poins. Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed 
FalstafF's horse, and he frets like a gummed 
velvet. 

Prhhce.' Stand close. 

Enter Falstaff, 

Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! 

Prince. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a 
brawling dost thou keep ! 6 

Fal. Where's Poins, Hal? 

Prince. He is walked up to the top of the hill: 
I'll go seek him. 9 

Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's com- 
pany: the rascal hath removed my horse, and 
tied him I know not where. If I travel but 
four foot by the squire further afoot, I shall 
break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die 
a fair death for all this, if I scape hanging 
for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his 
company hourly any time this two and twenty 
year, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue's 
company. If the rascal have not given me 
medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged: 
it could not be else; I have drunk medicines. 
Poins ! Hal ! a plague upon you both ! Bar- 



dolph! Peto! I'll starve ere I rob a foot 
further. And 'twere not as good a deed as 
to drink, to turn true man and to leave 
these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever 
chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven 
ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with 
me; and the stony-hearted villains know it 
well enough: a plague upon 't when thieves 
cannot be true one to another ! They whistle. 
Whew ! A plague light upon you all ! Give 
me my horse, you rogues ; give me my horse, 
and be hanged ! 32 

Prince. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine 
ear close to the ground and list if thou can 
hear the tread of travellers. 35 

Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, , 
being down? 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own 
flesh so far afoot again for all the coin in thy 
father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye 
to colt me thus? 40 

Prince. Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou 
art uncolted. 

Fal. I prethee, good Prince Hal, help me to 
my horse, good king's son. 

Prince. Out, ye rogue ! shall I be your ostler ? 

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-appar- 
ent garters ! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. 
And I have not ballads made on you all and 
sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my 
poison: when a jest is so forward, and afoot 
too ! I hate it. 

Enter Gadshill [and Bardolph^. 



Gads. Stand. 51 

Fal. So I do, against my will. 

Poins. O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. 
Bardolph, what news ? 

Bard. Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: 
there's money of the king's coming down the 
hill; 'tis going to the king's exchequer. 

Fal. You lie, ye rogue; 'tis going to the king's 
tavern. 

Gads. There's enough to make us all. 60 

Fal. To be hanged. 

Prince. Sirs, you four shall front them in the 
narrow lane; Ned Poins and I will walk 
lower: if tliey scape from your encounter, 
then they light on us. 65 

Peto. But how many be there of them? 

Gads. Some eight or ten. 

Fal. 'Zounds, will they not rob us? 
88 



ACT II. SC. II.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



15 



Prince. What, a coward. Sir John Paunch? 
Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your 

grandfather; but j^et no coward, Hal. 71 

Prince. Well, we'll leave that to the proof. 
Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the 

hedge: when thou needest him, there thou 

shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. 75 
Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be 

hanged. 
Prince. [Aside.^ Ned, where are our disguises? 
Poins. [Aside.~\ Here, hard by: stand close. 

[Exeunt Prince and Poins. ^ 
Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, 

say I : every man to his business. 8i 

Enter Travellers. 

Traveller. Come, neighbour: the boy shall lead 
our horses down the hill; we'll walk afoot 
awhile, and ease our legs. 

Thieves. Stand! 85 

Traveller. Jesu bless us ! 

Fal. Strike; down with them; cut the villains' 
throats : ah ! whoreson caterpillars ! bacon-fed 
knaves ! they hate us youth : down with them : 
fleece them. 90 

Traveller. O, we are undone, both we and ours 
for ever ! ' 

Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are you un- 
done? No, ye fat chuffs; I would your store 
were here! On, bacons, on! What, ye 
knaves ! young men must live. You are 
grand jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, i' faith. 

Here they rob them and bind them. [Exeunt-I 

Enter the Prince and Poins [disguised]. 

Prince. The thieves have bound the true men. 
Now could thou and I rob the thieves and go 
merrily to London, it would be argument for 
a week, laughter for a month, and a good 
jest for ever. 

Poins. Stand close; I hear them coming. 103 

Enter Thieves again. 



Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to 
horse before day. And the Prince and Poins 
be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity 
stirring: there's no moe valour in that Poins 
than in a wild-duck. 

189 



Prince. Your money! 

Poins. Villains ! no 

As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set 

upon them. They all run away, leaving the 

booty behind them. 
Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily to 
horse : 

The thieves are scatter'd and possess'd with 
fear 

So strongly that they dare not meet each 
other ; 

Each takes his fellow for an officer. 

Away, good Ned. FalstafF sweats to death. 

And lards the lean earth as he walks along: 

Were 't not for laughing, I should pity him. 
Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [Warkworth castle.'] 

Enter Hotspur, solus, reading a letter. 

T3ut, for mine own part, my lord, I could be 
well contented to be there, in respect of the 
love I bear your house.' He could be con- 
tented: why is he not, then? In respect of 
the love he bears our house: he shows in this, 
he loves his own barn better than he loves 
our house. Let me see some more. 'The 
purpose you undertake is dangerous;' — why, 
that's certain: 'tis dangerous to take a cold, 
to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord 
fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this 
flower, safety. 'The purpose you undertake 
is dangerous; the friends you have named un- 
certain; the time itself unsorted; and your 
whole plot too light for the counterpoise of 
so great an opposition.' Say you so, say you 
so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow 
cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack- 
brain is this ! By the Lord, our plot is as 
good a plot as ever was laid; our friends true 
and constant: a good plot, good friends, and 
full of expectation; an excellent plot, very 
good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue 
is this ! Why, my lord of York commends 
the plot and the general course of the action. 
'Zounds, if I were now by this rascal, I could 
brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not 
my father, my uncle, and myself? lord Ed- 
mund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen 
Glendower? is there not besides the Doug- 



16 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[^^CT II. SC. III. 



las? have I not all their letters to meet me in 
arms by the ninth of the next month? and are 
they not some of them set forward already? 
What a pagan rascal is this ! an infidel ! Ha ! 
you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear 
and cold heart will he to the king and lay 
open all our proceedings. O, I could divide 



mvself and 



go 



to buffets, for 



such 



a dish of skimm'd milk with so lionourable an 
action! Hang him! let him tell the king: 
prepared. I wull set forwards to- 

38 



we are 
night. 



Enter his Lady. 



How now, Kate ! I must leave you within 

these two hours. 
Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus 

alone ? 40 

For what offence have I this fortnight been 
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? 
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from 

thee 
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? 
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the 

earth, 45 

And start so often when thou sit'st alone? 
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy 

cheeks ; 
And given my treasures and my rights of 

thee 
To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy? 
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd. 
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars ; 51 
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ; 
Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou hast 

talk'd 
Of sallies and retires, trenches, tents. 
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, 55 

Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin. 
Of prisoners' ransom and of soldiers slain. 
And all the currents of a heady fight. 
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war 
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, 60 
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, 
Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream; 
And in thy face strange motions have ap- 

pear'd. 
Such as we see when men restrain their 

breath 
On some great sudden best. O, what por- 
tents are these? 65 



Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 
And I must know it, else he loves me not. 
Hot. What, ho! 

[Enter Servant.] 



Serv. 
Hot. 



80 



will. 



8s 



Is Gilliams with the packet gone? 
He is, my lord, an hour ago. 
Hath Butler brought those horses from 
the sheriff? 70 

Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even 
now. 

Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? 

Serv. It is, my lo'rd. 

Hot. That roan shall be my throne. 

Well, I will back him straight : O esperance ! 
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. 75 

[EjjU Servant.] 

Lady. But hear you, my lord. 

Hot. What say'st thou, my lady? 

Lady. What is it carries you away? 

Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horse. 

•Lady.. Out, you mad-headed ape! 

A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen 
As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
I'll know your business, Harry, that I 
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir 
About his title, and hath sent for you 
To line his enterprize: but if you go, — 

Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. 

Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
Directly unto this question that I ask: 
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, 90 
And if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 

Hot. Away, 

Away, you trifler ! Love ! I love thee not, 
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world 
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips : 95 
We must have bloody noses and crack'd 

crowns. 
And pass them current too. God's me, my 

horse ! 
What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st thou 
have with me? 

Lady. Do ye not love me? do ye not, indeed? 

Well, do not then; for since you love me 

not, 100 

I will not love myself. Do you not love me? 

Nay, tell me if thou speak'st in jest or no. 

Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? 

And when I am a-horseback, I will swear 
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; 



190 



ACT II. SC. III.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



17 



I must not have you henceforth question me io6 
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout: 
Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude. 
This evening must I leave thee, gentle Kate. 
I know you wise, but yet no farther wise no 
Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are. 
But yet a woman: and for secrecy. 
No lady closer; for I well believe 
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ; 
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. 115 

Lady. How! so far? 

Hot, Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate: 
Whither I go, thither shall you go too; 
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. 
Will this content you, Kate.^ 

Lady, It must of force. Exeunt. 120 



Scene IV. — \_The Boar's-Head Tavern, East- 
cheap.'] 

Enter Prince [Henry] and Poins. 

Prince. Ned, prethee, come out of that fat room, 
and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. 

Poins. Where hast been, Hal.^ 

Prince. With three or four loggerheads amongst 
three or four score hogsheads. I have 
sounded the very base-string of humility. 
Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of 
drawers; and can call them by their names, 
as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it 
already upon their salvation, that though I 
be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of 
courtesy; telling me flatly I am no proud 
Jack, like FalstafF, but a Corinthian, a lad of 
mettle, a good boy, and when I am king of 
England, I shall command all the good lads 
in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dye- 
ing scarlet; and when you breathe in your 
watering, then they cry 'hem!' and bid you 
play it off. To conclude, I am so good a 
proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I 
can drink with any tinker in his own language 
during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast 
lost much honour, that thou wert not with me 
in this action. But, sweet Ned, — to sweeten 
which name of Ned, I give thee this penny- 
worth of sugar, clapped even now into my 
hand by an under-skinker, one that never 
spake other English in his life than 'Eight 
shillings and sixpence,' and 'You are wel- 

1 



come,' with this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, 
sir ! Score a pint of bastard in the Half- 
moon,' or so. But, Ned, to drive away time 
till FalstafF come, I prethee, do thou stand in 
some by-room, while I question my puny 
drawer to what end he gave me the sugar; 
and do thou never leave calling 'Francis,' 
that his tale to me may be nothing but 'Anon.' 
Step aside, and I'll show thee a precedent. 

Poins. Francis ! 

Prince. Thou art perfect. 

Poins. Francis! [Exit Poins.] 40 

Enter Drawer. 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the 
Pomgarnet, Ralph. 

Prince. Come hither, Francis. 

Fran. My lord.^ 

Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Francis ? 45 

Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as 
to— 

Poins. [Within.] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 49 

Prince. Five years ! by'r lady, a long lease for 
the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest 
thou be so valiant as to play the coward with 
thy indenture and show it a fair pair of heels 
and run from it? 54 

Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the 
books in England, I could find in my heart, — 

Poins. [Within.] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

Prince. How old art thou, Francis ? 

Fran. Let me see — about Michaelmas next T 
shall be — 6i 

Poins. [Within.] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, sir. Pray you stay a little, my 
lord. 

Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the 
sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, 
wast't not ? 66 

Fran. O Lord, sir, I would it had been two ! 

Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: 
ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have 
it. 

Poins. [Within.] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon. 

Prince. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to- 
morrow, Francis; or Francis, on Thursday; 
or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, 
Francis ! 75 

91 



18 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act II. SC. IV. 



Fran. My lord? 

Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crys- 
tal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stock- 
ing, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish- 
pouch, — 80 

Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean? 

Prince. Why, then, 3'our brown bastard is your 
only drink; for look you, Francis, your white 
canvas doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, it 
cannot come to so much. 85 

Fran. What, sir? 

Poins. [JVHhin.'] Francis! 

Prince. Awa}', you rogue! dost thou not hear 
them call ? § Here they both call Mm; the 
drawer stands amazed, not knoiving which 
way to go. 

Enter Vintner. 

Vint. What, standest thou still, and hearest 
such a calling? Look to the guests within. 
[Exit Francis.'] My lord, old Sir John, with 
half-a-dozen more, are at the door: shall I 
let them in? 94 

Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then open 
the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins! 

Enter Poins. 

Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 

Prince. Sirrah, FalstafF and the rest of the 
thieves are at the door: shall we be merry? 99 

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark 
ye; what cunning match have you made with 
this jest of the drawer? come, what's the 
issue ? 

Prince. I am now of all humours that have 
showed themselves humours since the old days 
of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this 
present twelve o'clock at midnight. 
What's o'clock, Francis? 

Fran. [Within.] Anon, anon, sir. 109 

Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer 
words than a parrot, and yet the son of a 
woman ! His industry is up-stairs and down- 
stairs ; his eloquence the parcel of a reckon- 
ing. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hot- 
spur of the north; he that kills me some six 
or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes 
his hands, and says to his wife 'Fie upon 
this quiet life ! I want work.' 'O my sweet 
Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou killed 



to-day?' 'Give my roan horse a drench,' says 
he; and answers 'Some fourteen,' an hour 
after; 'a trifle, a trifle.' I prethee, call in 
Falstaff": I'll play Percy, and that damned 
brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. 
'Rivo !' says the drunkard. Call in Ribs, call 
in Tallow. 125 

Enter Falstaff, [Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto, 

Francis following with wine]. 

Poins. Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been? 

Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a 
vengeance too! marry, and amen! Give me 
a cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, 
I'll sew nether-stocks and foot them too. A 
plague of all cowards ! Give me a cup of 
sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? 132 

He drinketh. 

Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish 
of butter (pitiful-hearted Titan!) that melted 
at the sweet tale of the sun? if thou didst, 
then behold that compound. 136 

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: 
there is nothing but roguery to be found in 
villainous man: yet a coward is worse than g, 
cup of sack with lime in it. A villainous cow- 
ard! Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou 
wilt. If manhood, good manhood, be not 
forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I 
a shotten herring. There lives not three 
good men unhanged in England; and one of 
them is fat and grows old : God help the while ! 
a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; 
I could sing psalms or any thing. A plague 
of all cowards, I say still. 149 

Pjince. How now, wool-sack! what mutter you? 

Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out 
of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and 
drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock 
of wild-geese, I'll never wear hair on my 
face more. You Prince of Wales ! 

Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what's 
the matter? 156 

Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that: 
and Poins there? 

Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, and ye call me 
coward, by the Lord, I'll stab thee. 160 

Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned 
ere I call thee coward: but I would give a 
thousand pound I could run as fast as thou 
canst. You are straight enough in the shoul- 



192 



ACT II. SC. IV.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



19 



ders, you care not who sees your back: call 
you that backing of your friends? A plague 
upon such backing! give me them that will 
face me. Give me a cup of sack: I am a 
rogue, if I drunk to-day. 

Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd 
since thou drunk'st last. 171 

Fal. All's one for that. He drinks. 

A plague of all cowards, still say I. 

Prince. What's the matter? 

Fal. What's the matter ! here be four of us 
have ta'en a thousand pound this morn- 
ing. 

Prince. Where is it, Jack? where is it? 

Fal. Where is it! taken from us it is: a hun- 
dred upon poor four of us. 180 

Prince. What, a hundred, man? 

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword 
with a dozen of them two hours together. I 
have scaped by miracle. I am eight times 
thrust through the doublet, four through the 
hose; my buckler cut through and through; 
my sword hacked like a hand-saw — ecce sig- 
num! I never dealt better since I was a man: 
all would not do. A plague of all cowards ! 
Let them speak: if they speak more or less 
■ than truth, they are villains and the sons of 
darkness. 191 

Prince. Speak, sirs; how was it? 

Gad. We four set upon some dozen — 

Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord. 

Gad. And bound them. 195 

Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 

Fal. You rogue, they were -bound, every man 
of them; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 

Gad. As we were sharing, some six or seven 
fresh men set upon us — 200 

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in 
the other. 

Prince. What, fought ye with them all? 

Fal. All! I know not what ye call all; but if 
I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch 
of radish: if there were not two or three and 
fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two- 
legged creature. 208 

Prince. Pray God you have not murthered some 
of them. 210 

Fal. Nay, that's past praying for: I have pep- 
pered two of them; two I am sure I have 
paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell 
thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my 
face, call me horse. Thou knowest my old 



ward; here I lay, and thus I bore my point. 
Four rogues in ^buckram let drive at me — 217 

Prince. What, four? thou saidst but two even 
now. 

Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 220 

Poins. Aj, ay, he said four. 

Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly 
thrust at me. I made me no more ado but 
took all their seven points in my target, thus. 

Prince. Seven? why, there were but four even 
now. 226 

Fal. In buckram? 

Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. 

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain 
else. 

Prince. Prethee, let him alone; we shall have 
more anon. 

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal? 

Prince. Ay, and mark thee too. Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. 
These nine in buckram that I told thee of — 

Prince. So, two more already. 2^7 

Fal. Their points being broken, — 

Poins. Down fell their hose. 

Fal. Began to give me ground: but I 'followed 
me close, came in foot and hand; and with a 
thought seven of the eleven I paid. 

Prince. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men 
grown out of two ! 244 

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three mis- 
begotten knaves in Kendal green came at my 
back and let drive at me; for it was so dark, 
Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. 

Prince. These lies are like their father that be- 
gets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpa- 
ble. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou 
knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, 
greasy tallow-catch, — 

Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not 
the truth the truth? 255 

Prince. Why, how couldst thou know these men 
in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou 
couldst not see thy hand? come, tell us ^our 
reason : what say'st thou to this ? 259 

Poins. Come, your reason. Jack, your reason. 

Fal. What, upon compulsion? 'Zounds, and I 
were at the strappado, or all the racks in the 
world, I would not tell you on compulsion. 
Give you a reason on compulsion ! if reasons 
were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give 
no man a reason upon compulsion, I. 266 

Prince. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this 



193 



20 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act II. sc. 



IV. 



sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse- 
back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh, — 269 

Fal. 'Sblood, 3'ou starveling, you elf-skin, you 
dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle^ you 
stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is 
like thee ! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you 
bow-case, you vile standing-tuck, — 274 

Pnnce. Well, breathe awhile, and then to 't 
again: and when thou hast tired thyself in 
base comparisons, hear me speak but this. 

Poins. Mark, Jack. 278 

Prince. We two saw you four set on four and 
bound them, and were masters of their wealth. 
Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you 
down. Then did we two set on you four; 
and, with a w^ord, out-faced you from your 
prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you 
here in the house: and, FalstafF, you carried 
your guts away as nimbly, with as quick 
dexterity, and roared for mercy and still ran 
and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. What 
a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou 
hast done, and then say it was in fight! 
What trick, what device, what starting-hole, 
canst thou now find out to hide thee from this 
open and apparent shame .^ 292 

Poins. Come, let's hear. Jack; what trick hast 
thou now.^ 

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that 
made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters: was it 
for me to kill the heir-apparent.^ should I 
turn ujDon the true prince? why, thou knowest 
I am as valiant as Hercules: but beware in- 
stinct; the lion will not touch the true prince. 
Instinct is a great matter; I was now a cow- 
ard on instinct. I shall think the better of 
myself and thee during my life; I for a valiant 
lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the 
Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. 
Hostess, clap to the doors: watch to-night, 
pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts 
of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come 
to you! What, shall we be merry? shall we 
have a play extempore? 

Prince. Content; and the argument shall be thy 
running away. 3" 

Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, and thou lovest 



Enter Hostess. 
Host. O Jesu, my lord the prince ! 



Prince. How now, my lady the hostess ! what 
say'st thou to me? 316 

Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of 
the court at door would speak with you: he 
says he comes from your father. 319 

Prince. Give him as much as will make him a 
royal man, and send him back again to my 
mother. 

Fal. What manner of man is he? 

Host. An old man. 

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at mid- 
night? Shall I give him his answer? 326 

Prince. Prethee, do. Jack. 

Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. Exit. 

Prince. Now, sirs: by'r lady, you fought fair; 
so did you, Peto; so did you, Bardolph: you 
are lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you 
will not touch the true prince ; no, fie ! 

Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 

Prince. Tell me now in earnest, how came Fal- 
stafF's sword so hacked? 335 

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and 
said he would swear truth out of England 
but he would make you believe it was done in 
fight, and persuaded us to do the like. 339 

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear- 
grass to make them bleed, and then to be- 
slubber our garments with it and swear it 
was the blood of true men. I did that I did 
not this seven year before, I blushed to hear 
his monstrous devices. 344 

Prince. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack 
eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the 
manner, and ever since thou hast blushed ex- 
tempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy 
side, and yet thou ranst away: what instinct 
hadst thou for it? 350 

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? do 
you behold these exhalations? 

Prince. I do. 

Bard. What think you they portend? 

Pri7ice. Hot livers and cold purses. sSS 

Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 

Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. 
How now, my sweet creature of bombast! 
How long is't ago. Jack, since thou saw'st 
thine own knee? 361 

Fal. My own knee ! when I was about thy years, 



194 



.CT II. SC. IV.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



21 



Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; 
I could have crept into any alderman's 
thumb-ring: a plague of sighing and grief! 
it blows a man up like a bladder. There's 
villainous news abroad: here was Sir John 
Bracy from your father; you must to the 
court in the morning. That same mad fel- 
low of the north, Percy, and he of Wales, 
that gave Amamon the bastinado and made 
Lucifer cuckold and swore the devil his true 
liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook — 
what a plague call you him? 

Poins. O, Glendower. 374 

Fal. Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in-law 
Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that 
sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs 
a-horseback up a hill perpendicular, — 

Prince. He that rides at high speed and with 
his pistol kills a sparrow flying. 380 

Fal. You have hit it. 

Prince. So did he never the sparrow. 

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; 
he will not run. 

Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to 
praise him so for running! 386 

Fal. A-horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will 
not budge a foot. 

Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 389 

Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is 
there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand 
blue-caps more: Worcester is stolen away 
to-night; thy father's beard is turned white 
with the news : you may buy land now as cheap 
as stinking mackerel. 395 

Prince. Why, then, it is like, if there come a 
hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we shall 
buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by 
the hundreds. 399 

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is 
like we shall have good trading that way. 
But tell me^ Hal, art not thou horrible af card ? 
thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick 
thee out three such enemies again as that 
fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that 
devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly 
afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it? 407 

Prince. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy 
instinct. 

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow 
when thou comest to thy father: if thou love 
me, practise an answer. 

Prince. Do thou stand for my father, and ex- 



amine me upon the particulars of my life. 414 

Fal. Shall I? content: this chair shall be my 
state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion 
my crown. 

Prince. Thy state is taken for a j oin'd-stool, 
thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and 
thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald 
crown ! 420 

Fal. Well, and the fire of grace be not quite 
out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give 
me a cup of sack to make mine eyes look red, 
that it may be thought I have wept; for I 
must speak in passion, and I will do it in 
King Cambyses' vein. 426 

Prince. Well, here is my leg. 

Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, no- 
bility. 429 

Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith! 

Fal. Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling tears 
are vain. 

Host. O, the father, how he holds his counte- 
nance ! 

Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful 
queen ; 
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 

Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these 
harlotry players as ever I see ! 437 

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle- 
brain. Harry, I do not only marvel where 
thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art 
accompanied: for though the camomile, the 
more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet 
youth, the more it is wasted the sooner it 
wears. That thou art my son, I have partly 
thy mother's word, partly my own opinion, 
but chiefly a villainous trick of thine eye and 
a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth 
warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here 
lies the point; why, being son to me, art thou 
so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of 
heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries ? 
a question not to be asked. Shall the son 
of England prove a thief and take purses? 
a question to be asked. There is a thing, 
Harry, which thou hast often heard of and 
it is known to many in our land by the name 
of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do 
report, doth defile; so doth the company thou 
keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to 
thee in drink but in tears, not in pleasure 
but in passion, not in words only, but in woes 
also: and yet there is a virtuous man whom 



195 



22 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act II. sc. 



I have often noted in thy company, but I 
know not his name. 461 

Prince. What manner of man, and it like your 
ma j esty ? 

Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a cor- 
pulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and 
a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his 
age some fifty, or, by'r lady, inclining to three 
score; and now I remember me, his name is 
FalstaiF: if that man should be lewdly given, 
he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in 
his looks. If then the tree may be known 
by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, 
peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in 
that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. 
And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, 
where hast thou been this month .^ 475 

Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou 
stand for me, and I'll play my father. 

Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, 
so majestically, both in word and matter, 
hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker 
or a poulter's hare. 481 

Prince. Well, here I am set. 

Fal. And here I stand: judge, my masters. 

Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you? 

Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 485 

Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are 
grievous. 

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false: nay I'll 
tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith. 489 

Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? hence- 
forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently 
carried away from grace: there is a devil 
haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; 
a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost 
thou converse with that trunk of humours, 
that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen 
parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of 
sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that 
roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in 
his belly, that reverend vice, that gray in- 
iquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years ? 
Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and 
drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to 
carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, 
but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villainy? 
wherein villainous, but in all things? wherein 
worthy, but in nothing? 505 

Fal. I would your grace would take me with 
you: whom means your grace? 

Prince. That villainous abominable misleader of 



youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. 

Fal. My lord, the man I know. 510 

Prince. I know thou dost. 

Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than 
in myself, were to say more than I know. 
That he is old (the more the pity), his white 
hairs do witness it; but that he is, saving 
your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly 
deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help 
the wicked! if to be old and merry be a sin, 
then many an old host that I know is damned : 
if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's 
lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord; 
banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: 
but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Fal- 
staff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Fal- 
staff, and therefore more valiant, being, as 
he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy 
Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's 
company: banish plump Jack, and banish all 
the world. 

Prince. I do, I will. [^ knocking heard. 

Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.^ 

Enter Bardolph, running. 

Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a 
most monstrous watch is at the door. 530 

Fal. Out, ye rogue! Play out the play: I have 
much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. 

Enter the Hostess. 

Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord ! 

Prince. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon a 
fiddlestick: what's the matter? 535 

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the 
door: they are come to search the house. 
Shall I let them in? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true 
piece of gold a counterfeit: thou art essen- 
tially mad, without seeming so. 541 

Prince. And thou a natural coward, without 
instinct. 

Fal. I deny your major: if you will deny the 
sheriff, so; if not, let him enter: if I become 
not a cart as well as another man, a plague 
on my bringing up ! I hope I shall as soon 
be strangled with a halter as another. 548 

Prince. Go, hide thee behind the arras: the rest 
walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true 
face and good conscience. 551 



196 



ACT II. SC. IV.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



23 



Fal. Both which I have had": but their date is 
out, and therefore I'll hide me. Exit. 

Prince. Call in the sheriff. 

Enter Sheriff and the Carrier. 

Now, master sheriff, what is your will with 
me } 555 

Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and 
cry 
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house. 
Prince. What men? 

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious 
lord, 
A gross fat man. 
Car. As fat as butter. 560 

Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here; 
For I myself at this time have employ'd him. 
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee 
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, 
Send him to answer thee, or any man, 565 

For any thing he shall be charged withal: 
And so let me entreat you leave the house. 
Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentle- 
men 
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 
Prince. It may be so: if he have robb'd these 
men, S7o 

He shall be answerable; and so farewell. 
Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 
Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not? 
Sher, Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. 

Exit [with Carrier^. 

Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as 

Paul's. Go, call him forth. 576 

Peto. Falstaff! — Fast asleep behind the arras, 

and snorting like a horse. 
Prince. Hark, how hard he fetches breath. 

Search his pockets. 
\_Peto'] searcheth his pockets, and flndeth cer- 
tain papers. 
AVhat hast thou found? 581 

Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord. 
Prince. Let's see what be they: read them. 
Peto. [Reads.'] Item, A capon, . . 2s. 2d. 
Item, Sauce, . . . 4d. 

Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d. 
Item, Anchovies and 

sack after supper, . 2s. 6d. 

Item, Bread, . . . ob. 

Prince. O monstrous ! but one half-pennyworth 

of bread to this intolerable deal of sack! 



What there is else, keep close; we'll read it 
at more advantage: there let him sleep till 
day. I'll to the court in the morning. We 
must all to the wars, and thy place shall be 
honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a 
charge of foot; and I know his death will be 
a march of twelve-score. The money shall 
be paid back again with advantage. Be with 
me betimes in the morning; and so, good mor- 
row, Peto. 601 
Peto. Good morrow, good my lord. Exeunt. 

ACT III 

Scene I. — [Wales. House of the Archdeacon, 
of Bangor.] 

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, 
Owen Glendower. 

Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure. 
And our induction full of prosperous hope. 

Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower, 
will you 
Sit down? 

And uncle Worcester: — a plague upon it! s 
I have forgot the map. 

Glend. No, here it is. 

Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur, 

For by that name as oft as Lancaster 

Doth speak of you, his cheeks look pale and 

with 
A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven. 10 

Hot. And you in hell, 

As oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke 
of. 

Glend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity. 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
Of burning cressets; and at my birth 15 

The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
Shak'd like a coward. 

Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same 
season, if your mother's cat had but kittened, 
though yourself had never been born. 20 

Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was 
born. 

Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind. 
If you suppose as fearing you it shook. 

Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth 
did tremble. 

Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens 
on fire, 25 



197 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act III. SC. I. 



And not in fear of your nativity. 
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth 
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd 
By the imprisoning of unruly wind 30 

Within her womb; which, for enlargement 

striving, 
Shakes the old beldame earth and tumbles 

down 
Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your 

birth 
Our grandam earth, having this distempera- 

ture. 
In passion shook. 
Glend. Cousin, of many men 35 

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
To tell you once again that at my birth 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
The goats ran from the mountains, and the 

herds 
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted 
fields. 40 

These signs have mark'd me extraordinary ; 
And all the courses of my life do show 
I am not in the roll of common men. 
Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea 
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, 
Wales, 45 

Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me? 
And bring him out that is but woman's son 
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art 
And hold me pace in deep experiments. 
Hot. I think there's no man speaks better 
Welsh. I'll to dinner. 50 

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him 

mad. 
Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 
Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man; 

But will they come when you do call for them ? 
Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to com- 
mand 55 
The devil. 
Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the 
devil 
By telling truth: Tell truth and shame the 

devil.' 
If thou have power to raise him, bring him 
hither, 60 

And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him 

hence. 
O, while you live, tell truth and shame the 
devil ! 



Mort. Come, come, 

No more of this unprofitable chat. 
Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke 
made head 
Against my power; thrice from the banks of 
Wye 65 

And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him 66 
Bootless home and weather-beaten back. 
Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather 
too! 
How scapes he agues, in the devil's name? 
Glend. Come, here's the map: shall we divide 
our right 7o 

According to our threefold order ta'en? 
Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
Into three limits very equally: 
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto. 
By south and east is to my part assign'd: 75 
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore. 
And all the fertile land within that bound, 
To Owen Glendower : and, dear coz, to you 
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. 
And our indentures tripartite are drawn ; 80 
Which being sealed interchangeably, 
A business that this night may execute. 
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I 
And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth 
To meet your father and the Scottish power. 
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 86 

My father Glendower is not ready yet. 
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen. 

days. 
Within that space you may have drawn to- 
gether 
Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gen- 
tlemen. 90 
Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, 
lords : 
And in my conduct shall your ladies come ; 
From whom you now must steal and take no 

leave. 
For there will be a world of water shed 
Upon the parting of your wives and you. 95 
Hot. Methinks my moiety, north from Burton 
here. 
In quantity equals not one of yours: 
See how this river comes me cranking in. 
And cuts me from the best of all my land 
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. 100 
I'll have the current in this place damm'd up; 
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run 
In a new channel, fair and evenly; 
98 



ACT III. 



SC. I.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



It shall not wind with such a deep indent^ 
To rob me of so rich a bottom here. los 

Glend. Not wind.? it shall, it must; you see it 
doth. 

Mort. Yea, but 

Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up 
With like advantage on the other side; 
Gelding the opposed continent as much no 
As on the other side it takes from you. 

Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him 
here 
And on this north side win this cape of land; 
And then he runs straight and even. 114 

Hot. I'll have it so: a little charge will do it. 

Glend. I'll not have it alter'd. 

Hot. Will not you? 

Glend, No, nor you shall not. 

Hot. Who shall say me nay ? 

Glend, Why, that will I. 

Hot. Let me not understand you, then; speak 
it in Welsh. 120 

Glend. I can speak English^ lord, as well as 
you; 
For I was train'd up in the English court; 
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
Many an English ditty lovely well 
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament, 125 
A virtue that was never seen in you. 

Hot. Marry, 

And I am glad of it with all my heart: 

. I had rather be a kitten and cry mew 

Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers ; 

I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, 131 

Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ; 

And that would set my teeth nothing an edge. 

Nothing so much as mincing poetry: 

'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. 135 

Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 

Hot. I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land 
To any well-deserving friend; 
But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 140 

Are the indentures drawn.? shall we be gone.? 

Glend. The moon shines fair; you may away by 
night : 
I'll haste the writer and withal 
Break with your wives of your departure 

hence : 
I am afraid my daughter will run mad, 145 
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. Exit. 

Mort. Fie, cousin Percy ! how you cross my 
father ! 



Hot, I cannot choose: sometime he angers me 
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant. 
Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, 150 
And of a dragon and a finless fish, 
A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven, 
A couching lion and a ramping cat. 
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what; 
He held me last night at least nine hours 156 
In reckoning up the several devils' names 
That were his lackeys : I cried 'hum,' and 'well. 
Go to,' but mark'd him not a word. O, he is as 
Tedious as a tired horse, a railing wife; 160 
Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live 
With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far. 
Than feed on cates and have him talk to me 
In any summer-house in Christendom. 
Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman, 165 
Exceedingly well read, and profited 
In strange concealments, valiant as a lion 
And wondrous affable, and as bountiful 
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin ? 
He holds your temper in a high respect 170 
And curbs himself even of his natural scope 
When you do cross his humour; 'faith, he does: 
I warrant you, that man is not alive 
Might so have tempted him as you have done. 
Without the taste of danger and reproof: 175 
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. 
Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful- 
blame ; 
And since your coming hither have done 

enough 
To put him quite besides his patience. 
You must needs learn, lord, to amend this 
fault : 180 

Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, 

blood, — 
And that's the dearest grace it renders you, — 
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, 
Defect of manners, want of government. 
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain: 185 
The least of which haunting a nobleman 
Loseth men's hearts and leaves behind a stain 
Upon the beauty of all parts besides. 
Beguiling them of commendation. 
Hot. Well, I am school'd : good manners be your 
speed ! 190 

Here come our wives, and let us take our 
leave. 



Re-enter Glendower, with the Ladies. 



199 



26 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act III. SC. I. 



Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me; 

My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 
Glend. My daughter weeps : she'll not part with 
you ; 
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars. 195 
Mort. Good father, tell her that she and my 
aunt Percy 
Shall follow in your conduct speedily. 

Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she 

answers him in the same. 

Glend. She is desperate here; a peevish self- 

will'd harlotry, one that no persuasion can do 

good upon. The lady speaks in Welsh. 

Mort. I understand thy looks : that pretty Welsh 

Which thou pour'st down from these swelling 

heavens 
I am too perfect in; and, but for shame. 
In such a parley should I answer thee. 

The lady [^speaks^ again in Welsh. 
I understand thy kisses and thou mine, 205 
And that's a feeling disputation: 
But I will never be a truant, love. 
Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy 

tongue 
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, 
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, 210 
With ravishing division, to her lute. 
Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. 
The lady \^speaks^ again in Welsh. 
Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this ! 
Glend. She bids you 

On the wanton rushes lay you down 
And rest your gentle head upon her lap, 215 
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you 
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep. 
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, 
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep 
As is the difference betwixt day and night 220 
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team 
Begins his golden progress in the east. 
Mort. With all my heart I'll sit and hear her 
sing: 
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. 
Glend. Do so; 225 

And those musicians that shall play to you 
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from 

hence. 
And straight they shall be here: sit, and at- 
tend. 
Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying 
down: come, quick, quick, that I may lay my 
head in thy lap. 231 



Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. The music plays. 

Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands 
Welsh; 
And 'tis no marvel he is so humorous. 
By'r lady, he's a good musician. 235 

Lady P. Then should you be nothing but 
musical, for you are altogether governed by 
humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the 
lady sing in Welsh. 

Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl 
in Irish. 241 

Lady P. Wouldst have thy head broken.? 

Hot. No. 

Lady P. Then be still. 

Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault. 245 

Lady P. Now God help thee ! 

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. 

Lady P. What's that.? 

Hot. Peace! she sings. 

Here the lady sings a Welsh song. 

Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. 250 

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth ! Heart ! jou 
swear like a comfit-maker's wife. 'Not you, 
in good sooth,' and 'as true as I live,' and 'as 
God shall mend me,' and 'as sure as day,' 255 
And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths. 
As if thou never walk'st further than Fins- 

bur}^ 
Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, 
A good mouth-filling oath, and leave 'in sooth,' 
And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, 260 
To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens. 
Come, sing. 

Lady P. I will not sing. 

Hot. "Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red- 
breast teacher. And the indentures be drawn, 
I'll away within these two hours; and so, come 
in when ye will. Exit. 267 

Glend. Come, come. Lord Mortimer; you are as 
slow 
As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go. 
By this our book is drawn; we'll but seal, 270 
And then to horse immediately. 

Mort. With all my heart. Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [^London. The palace."] 

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others. 

King. Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales 
and I 



200 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



27 



Must have some private conference: but be 

near at hand, 
For we shall presently have need of you. 

Exeunt Lords. 
I know not whether God will have it so. 
For some displeasing service I have done, 5 
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood 
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me ; 
But thou dost in thy passages of life 
Make me believe that thou art only mark'd 
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven 10 
To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else. 
Could such inordinate and low desires. 
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean 

attempts. 
Such barren pleasures, rude society. 
As thou art match'd withal and grafted to, 15 
Accompany the greatness of thy blood 
And hold their level with thy princely heart? 
Prince. So please your majesty, I would I could 
Quit all offences with as clear excuse. 
As well, as I am doubtless I can purge 20 

Myself of many I am charged withal: 
Yet such extenuation let me beg. 
As, in reproof of many tales devised. 
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must 

hear. 
By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmon- 
gers, 25 
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular. 
Find pardon on my true submission. 
King. God pardon thee ! yet let me wonder, 
Harry, 
At thy affections, which do hold a wing 30 
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost. 
Which by thy younger brother is supplied. 
And art almost an alien to the hearts 
Of all the court and princes of my blood: 35 
The hope and expectation of thy time 
Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man 
Prophetically do forethink thy fall. 
Had I so lavish of my presence been. 
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men^ 40 
So stale and cheap to vulgar company. 
Opinion, that did help me to the crown. 
Had still kept loyal to possession 
And left me in reputeless banishment, 
A fellow o£ no mark nor likelihood. 45 
By being seldom seen, I could not stir 
But like a comet I was wonder'd at; 

201 



That men would tell their children 'This is 

he;' 
Others would say 'Where, which is Boling- 

broke.^' 
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 50 
And dress'd myself in such humility 
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts. 
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths. 
Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new ; 55 
My presence, like a robe pontifical. 
Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state. 
Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast 
And won by rareness such solemnity. 
The skipping king, he ambled up and down 60 
With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits. 
Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state. 
Mingled his royalty with cap'ring fools. 
Had his great name profaned with their 

scorns 
And gave his countenance, against his name, 65 
To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push 
Of every beardless vain comparative, 
Grew a companion to the common streets. 
Enfeoff 'd himself to popularity; 
That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, 70 
They surfeited with honey and began 
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a 

little 
More than a little is by much too much. 
So when he had occasion to be seen, 
He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 75 

Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such 

eyes 
As, sick and blunted with community. 
Afford no extraordinary gaze. 
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 
When it shines seldom, in admiring eyes ; 80 
But rather drows'd and hung their eyelids 

down. 
Slept in his face and render'd such aspect 
As cloudy men use to their adversaries, 
Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd and 

full. 
And in that very line, Harry, standest thou; 
For thou hast lost thy princely privilege 86 
With vile participation: not an eye 
But is a-weary of thy common sight, 
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee 

more: 
Which now doth that I would not have it do, 90 
Make blind itself with fooKsh tenderness. 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act III. SC. II. 



Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious 
lord. 
Be more myself. 
King. For all the world 

As thou art to this hour was Richard then 
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh, 
And even as I was then is Percy now. 96 

Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot. 
He hath more worthy interest to the state 
Than thou, the shadow of succession; 
For of no right, nor colour like to right, 100 
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm. 
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws. 
And, being no more in debt to years than thou. 
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on 
To bloody battles and to bruising arms. 105 

What never-dying honour hath he got 
Against renowned Douglas ! whose high deeds. 
Whose hot incursions and great name in arms 
Holds from all soldiers chief majority 
And military title capital no 

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge 

Christ. 
Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling 

clothes. 
This infant warrior, in his enterprizes 
Discomfited great Douglas, ta'en him once, 
Enlarged him and made a friend of him, 115 
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up 
And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 
And what say you to this .^ Percy, Northum- 
berland, 
The Archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, 

Mortimer, 
Capitulate against us and are up. 120 

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? 
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes. 
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear. 
Base inclination and the start of spleen, 125 
To fight against me under Percy's pay. 
To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns. 
To show how much thou art degenerate. 
Prince. Do not think so; you shall not find it so: 
And God forgive them that so much have 
sway'd 130 

Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! 
I will redeem all this on Percy's head 
And in the closing of some glorious day 
Be bold to tell you that I am your son; 
When I will wear a garment all of blood 135 
And stain my favours in a bloody mask. 



Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame 

with it: 
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights. 
That this same child of honour and renown. 
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight. 
And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. 
For every honour sitting on his helm, 142 

Would they were multitudes, and on my head 
My shames redoubled! for the time will come, 
That I shall make this northern youth ex- 
change 145 
His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
Percy is but my factor, good my lord. 
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; 
And I will call him to so strict account. 
That he shall render every glory up, 150 
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time. 
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
This, in the name of God, I promise here: 
The which if I perform and do survive, 
I do beseech your majesty may salve 155 
The long-grown wounds of my intemperature : 
If not, the end of life cancels all bands; 
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths 
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 
King. A hundred thousand rebels die in this: 160 
Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust 
herein. 

Enter Blunt. 

How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of 
speed. 
Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak 
of. 
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word 
That Douglas and the English rebels met 165 
The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury: 
A mighty and a fearful head they are. 
If promises be kept on every hand. 
As ever ofFer'd foul play in a state. 
King. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to- 
day ; 170 
With him my son. Lord John of Lancaster; 
For this advertisement is five days old: 
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set for- 
ward; 
On Thursday we ourselves will march: our 

meeting 
Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march 
Through Gloucestershire; by which account, 
Our business valued, some twelve days hence 



202 



ACT III. 



SC. II.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



29 



Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet. 
Our hands are full of business: let's away; 
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. i8o 

Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [Eastcheap. The Boar's-Head 

Tavern.'] 

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since 
this last action? do I not bate.^ do I not dwin- 
dle.^ Why, my skin hangs about me like an 
old lady's loose gown; I am withered like an 
old apple-john. Well, I'll repent, and that 
suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall 
be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have 
np strength to repent. And I have not for- 
gotten what the inside of a church is made of, 
I am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse: the in- 
side of a church ! Company, villainous com- 
pany, hath been the spoil of me. 12 

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot 
live long. 

Fal. Why, there is it: come sing me a bawdy 
song; make me merry. I was as virtuously 
given as a gentleman need to be; virtuous 
enough; swore little; diced not above seven 
times a week ; went to a bawdy-house not above 
once in a quarter — of an hour; paid money 
that I borrowed — three or four times; lived 
well and in good compass: and now I live out 
of all order, out of all compass. 23 

Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you 
must needs be out of all compass, out of all 
reasonable compass. Sir John. 26 

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend 
my life : thou art our admiral, thou bearest the 
lantern in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee ; 
thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp. 30 

Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no 
harm. 

Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it 
as many a man doth of a Death's-head or a 
memento mori: I never see thy face but I think 
upon hell-fire and Dives that lived in purple; 
for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. 
If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would 
swear by thy face ; my oath should be 'By this 
fire, that's God's angel :' but thou art altogether 
given over; and wert indeed, but for the light 



in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When 
thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch 
my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an 
ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire, there's no 
purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual 
triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou 
hast saved me a thousand marks in links and 
torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt 
tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast 
drunk me would have bought me lights as good 
cheap at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I 
have maintained that salamander of yours with 
fire any time this two and thirty years; God 
reward me for it! 55 

Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your 
belly ! 

Fal. God-a-mercy 1 so should I be sure to be 
heart-burned. 

Enter Hostess. 

How now. Dame Partlet the hen ! have you 
inquired yet who picked my pocket.'* 61 

Host. Why, Sir John, what do you think. Sir 
John.? do you think I keep thieves in my 
house? I have searched, I have inquired, so 
has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, 
servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was 
never lost in my house before. 67 

Fal. Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved and 
lost many a hair; and I'll be sworn my pocket 
was picked. Go to, you are a woman, go. 

Host. Who, I? no; I defy thee: God's light, I 
was never called so in mine own house before. 

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. 73 

Host. No, Sir John; you do not know me. Sir 
John. I know you. Sir John: you owe me 
money. Sir John; and now you pick a quarrel 
to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of 
shirts to your back. 78 

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them 
away to bakers' wives, and they have made 
bolters of them. 81 

Host. Now, as I am a true woman, hoUand of 
eight shillings an ell. You owe money here 
besides. Sir John, for your diet and by-drink- 
ings, and money lent you, four and twenty 
pound. 86 

Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay. 

Host. He? alas, he js poor; he hath nothing. 

Fal. How ! poor ? look upon his face ; what call 
you rich ? let them coin his nose, let them coin 



203 



30 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act III. SC. III. 



his cheeks: I'll not pay a denier. What, will 
you make a younker of me.^' shall I not take 
mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my 
pocket picked.^ I have lost a seal-ring of my 
grandfather's worth forty mark. 95 

Host. O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell him, 
I know not how oft, that that ring was 
copper ! 

Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: 
'sblood, and he were here, I would cudgel him 
like a dog, if he would say so. loi 

Enter the PHnce, marching [with Peto and 
othej's], and Falstaff meets him playing on his 
truncheon like a fife. 

How now, lad ! is the wind in that door, i' 
faith .^ must we all march? 

Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion. 

Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. 105 

Prince. What say'st thou. Mistress Quickly .^^ 
How doth thy husband.^ I love him well; he 
is an honest man. 

Host. Good my lord, hear me. 

Fal. Prethee, let her alone, and list to me. no 

Prince. What say'st thou. Jack? 

Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind 
the arras and had my pocket picked : this house 
is turned bawdy-house; they pick pockets. 

Prince. What didst thou lose, Jack? 115 

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four 
bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring 
of my grandfather's. 

Prince. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 

Host. So I told him, my lord; and I said I heard 
your grace say so: and, my lord, he speaks 
most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man 
as he is ; and said he would cudgel you. 

Prince. What! he did not? 124 

Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor woman- 
hood in me else. 

Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a 
stewed prune; nor no more truth in thee than 
in a drawn fox; and for womanhood. Maid 
Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward 
to thee. Go, you thing, go. 131 

Host. Say, what thing? what thing? 

Fal. What thing! why, a thing to thank God 
on. 

Host. 1 am no thing to thank God on, I would 
thou shouldst know it; I am an honest man's 



wife: and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou 
art a knave to call me so. 

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a 
beast to say otherwise. 140 

Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou? 

Fal. What beast ! why, an otter. 

Prince. An otter. Sir John! why an otter? 

Fal. Why, she's neither fish nor flesh; a man 
knows not where to have her. 145 

Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou 
or any man knows where to have me, thou 
knave, thou! 

Prince. Thou say'st true, hostess; and he slan- 
ders thee most grossly. 150 

Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said this 
other day you ought him a thousand pound. 

Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand 
pound ? 154 

Fal. A thousand pound, Hal! a million: thy 
love is worth a million: thou ow'st me thy 
love. 

Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and 
said he would cudgel you. 

Fal. Did I, Bardolph? 160 

Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so. 

Fal. Yea, if he said my ring was copper. 

Prince. I say 'tis copper: dar'st thou be as good 
as thy word now ? 164 

Fal. Why, Hal, thou know'st, as thou art but 
man, I dare: but as thou art prince, I fear 
thee as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. 

Prince. And why not as the lion? 168 

Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion : 
dost thou think I'll fear thee as I fear thy 
father? nay, and I do, I pray God my girdle 
break. 171 

Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall 
about thy knees ! But, sirrah, there's no room 
for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of 
thine; it is all filled up with guts and midriff. 
Charge an honest woman with picking thy 
pocket! why, thou whoreson, impudent, em- 
bossed rascal, if there were anything in thy 
pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of 
bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of 
sugar-candy to make thee long-winded, if thy 
pocket were enriched with any other injuries 
but these, I am a villain : and yet you will stand 
to it; you will not pocket up wrong: art thou 
not ashamed? 184 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou know'st in the 



204 



ACT III. SC. III. 



HENRY IV, PART I 



31 



state of innocency Adam fell; and what should 
poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villainy? 
Thou seest I have more flesh than another 
man, and therefore more frailty. You con- 
fess then, you picked my pocket? 190 

Prince. It appears so by the story. 

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee: go, make ready 
breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy serv- 
ants, and cherish thy guests: thou shalt find 
me tractable to any honest reason: thou seest 
I am pacified still. Nay, prethee, be gone. 

Exit Hostess. 
Now, Hal, to the news at court: for the rob- 
bery, lad, how is that answered? 198 

Prince. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good 
angel to thee: the money is paid back again. 

Fal. O, I do not like that paying back; 'tis a 
double labour. 

Prince. I am good friends with my father and 
may do any thing. 204 

Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou 
dost, and do it with unwashed hands too. 

Bard. Do, my lord. 

Prince. I have procured thee. Jack, a charge of 

foot. 209 

Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall 
I find one that can steal well? O for a fine 
thief, of two and twenty or thereabout! I 
am heinously unprovided. Well, God be 
thanked for these rebels ; they offend none but 
the virtuous. I laud them, I praise them. 215 

Prince. Bardolph ! 

Bard. My lord ? 

Prince. Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lan- 
caster, to my brother John; this to my Lord 
of Westmoreland. [Exit Bardolph.] Go, Peto, 
to horse, to horse; for thou and I have thirty 
miles to ride yet ere dinner time. [Exit Peto.'\ 
Jack, meet me to-morrow in the temple hall at 
two o'clock in the afternoon. 224 

There shalt thou know thy charge; and there 

receive 
Money and order for their furniture. 
The land is burning; Percy stands on high; 
And either they or we must lower lie. 

Fal. Rare words ! brave world ! Hostess, my 
breakfast, come! 229 

O, I could wish this tavern were my drum ! 

Exeunt omnes. 



ACT FOURTH 

Scene I. — [Hotspur's camp near Shrewsbury.] 
Enter Harry Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. 

Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: if speaking 
truth 
In this fine age were not thought flattery. 
Such attribution should the Douglas have. 
As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
Should go so general current through the 
world. 5 

By God, I cannot flatter; I do defy 
The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place 
In my heart's love hath no man than yourself: 
Nay, task me to my v/ord ; approve me, lord. 

Doug. Thou art the king of honour: 10 

No man so potent breathes upon the ground 
But I will beard him. 

Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. 

Enter a Messenger [with letters']. 

What letters hast thou there ? — I can but thank 
you. 
Mess. These letters come from your father. 
Hot. Letters from him ! whv comes he not him- 
self? ■' IS 
Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous 

sick. 
Hot. 'Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be sick 
In such a justling time? Who leads his 

power ? 
Under whose government come they along? 19 
Mess. His letters bears his mind, not I, my lord. 
Wor. I prethee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? 
Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set 
forth ; 
And at the time of my departure thence 
He was much fear'd by his physicians. 
Wor. I would the state of time had first been 
whole 25 

Ere he by sickness had been visited: 
His health was never better worth than now. 
Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness doth 
infect 
The very life-blood of our enterprise; 
'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. 30 

He writes me here, that inward sickness — 
And that his friends by deputation could not 



205 



32 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act IV. SC. I. 



So soon be drawn, nor did he think it meet 

To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 

On any soul removed but on his own. 35 

Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, 

That with our small conjunction we should on. 

To see how fortune is dispos'd to us; 

For, as he writes, there is no quailing now. 

Because the king is certainly possess'd 40 

Of all our purposes. What say you to it.^^ 

JVor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. 

Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: 
And yet, in faith, it is not; his present want 
Seems more than we shall find it: were it good 
To set the exact w^ealth of all our states 46 
All at one cast? to set so rich a main 
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? 
It were not good; for therein should we read 
The very bottom and the soul of hope, 50 

The very list, the very utmost bound 
Of all our fortunes. 

Doug. 'Faith, and so we should; 

Where now remains a sweet reversion: 
We may boldly spend upon the hope of what 
Is to come in: 55 

A comfort of retirement lives in this. 

Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto. 
If that the devil and mischance look big 
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. 

Wor. But yet I would your father had been here. 
The quality and hair of our attempt 61 

Brooks no division: it will be thought 
By some, that know not why he is away. 
That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 
Of our proceedings kept the earl from hence: 
And think how such an apprehension 66 

May turn the tide of fearful faction 
And breed a kind of question in our cause ; 
For well you know we of the ofF'ring side 
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement, 70 
And stop all sight-holes, every loop from 

whence 
The eye of reason may pry in upon us: 
This absence of your father's draws a curtain. 
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear 
Before not dreamt of. 

Hot. You strain too far. 75 

I rather of his absence make this use: 
It lends a lustre and more great opinion, 
A larger dare to our great enterprise. 
Than if the earl were here; for men must 

think. 
If we without his help can make a head 80 



To push against a kingdom, with his help 
We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down. 
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. 
Doug. As heart can think: there is not such a 
word 
Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear. 



85 



Enter Si?- Richard Vernon. 



Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul. 

Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, 
lord. 
The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand 

strong, 
Is marching hitherwards ; with him Prince 
John. 

Hot. No harm: what more? 

Ver. And further, I have learn'd, 90 

The king himself in person is set forth. 
Or hitherwards intended speedily. 
With strong and mighty preparation. 

Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his 
son. 
The nimble-footed, madcap Prince of Wales, 95 
And his comrades, that daft the world aside. 
And bid it pass? 

Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms ; 

All plum'd like estridges that with the wind 
Bated like eagles having lately bathed; 
Glittering in golden coats, like images; 100 

As full of spirit as the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; 
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on. 
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, 105 
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat. 
As if an angel dropt down from the clouds. 
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus 
And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 

Hot. No more, no more: worse than the sun in 

March, m 

This praise doth nourish agues. Let them 

come; 
They come like sacrifices in their trim, 
And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war 
All hot and bleeding will we offer them: ns 
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit 
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire 
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh 
And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my 
horse. 



206 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt 120 

Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales: 
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse^, 
Meet and ne'er part till one drop down a 
corse. 

that Glendower were come! 

fer. There is more news: 

1 learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, 125 
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 

Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of 

yet. 
Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. 
Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach 

unto? 
Ver. To thirty thousand. 

Hot. Forty let it be: 130 

My father and Glendower being both away, 
The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
Come, let us take a muster speedily: 
Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. 
Doug. Talk not of dying: I am out of fear 135 
Of death or death's hand for this one-half 
year. Exeunt omnes. 



Scene II. — [A road near Coventry.'] 
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill 
me a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march 
through; we'll to Sutton Cophill to-night. 

Bard. Will you give me money, captain.^ 

Fal. Lay out, lay out. 5 

Bard. This bottle makes an angel. 

Fal. And if it do, take it for thy labour; and if 
it make twenty, take them all ; I'll answer the 
coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at 
the town's end. 10 

Bard. I will, captain: farewell. Exit. 

Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am 
a sauc'd gurnet. I have misused the king's 
press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a 
hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and 
odd pounds. I press me none but good house- 
holders, yeomen's sons ; inquire me out con- 
tracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice 
on the banns; such a commodity of warm 
slaves, as had as lieve hear the devil as a 
drum; such as fear the report of a caliver 
worse than a struck fowl or a hurt wild-duck. 
I pressed me none but such toasts-and-butter, 



with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins' 
heads, and they have bought out their services ; 
and now my whole charge consists of ancients, 
corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of compa- 
nies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted 
cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his sores ; 
and such as indeed were never soldiers, but 
discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to 
younger brothers, revolted tapsters and ostlers 
trade-fallen, the cankers of a calm world and 
a long peace, ten times more dishonourable 
ragged than an old faced ancient: and such 
have I, to fill up the rooms of them that have 
bought out their services, that you would think 
that I had a hundred and fifty tottered prodi- 
gals lately come from swine-keeping, from 
eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me 
on the way and told me I had unloaded all the 
gibbets and pressed the dead bodies. No eye 
hath seen such scarecrows. I'll not march 
through Coventry with them, that's flat: nay, 
and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, 
as if they had gyves on; for indeed I had the 
most of them out of prison. There's but a 
shirt and a half in all my company; and the 
half shirt is two napkins tacked together and 
thrown over the shoulders like an herald's coat 
without sleeves ; and the shirt, to say the truth, 
stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the 
red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. But that's 
all one; they'll find linen enough on every 
hedge. 52 

Enter the Prince and the Lord of Westmoreland. 

Prince. How now, blown Jack ! how now, 
quilt ! 54 

Fal. What, Hal! how now, mad wag! what a 
devil dost thou in Warwickshire? My good 
Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy: I 
thought your honour had already been at 
Shrewsbury. 59 

West. 'Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that 
J were there, and you too ; but mj powers are 
there already. The king, I can tell you, looks 
for us all: we must away all to-night. 

Fal. Tut, never fear me: I am as vigilant as a 
cat to steal cream. 65 

Prince, I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy 
theft hath already made thee butter. But tell 
me. Jack, whose fellows are these that come 
after ? 



207 



S-i 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act IV. SC. II. 



Fal. Mine, Hal, mine. 69 

Prince. I did never see such pitiful rascals. 

Fal. Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for 
powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit as 
well as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal 
men. 

West. Ay, but. Sir John, methinks they are ex- 
ceeding poor and bare, too beggarly. 75 

Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, I know not where 
they had that; and for their bareness, I am 
sure they never learned that of me. 

Prince. No, I'll be sworn; unless you call three 
fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make 
haste: Percy is already in the field. 81 

Fal. What, is the king encamped.^ 

West. He is. Sir John: I fear we shall stay too 
long. 

Fal. Well, 

To the latter end of a fray and the beginning 

of a feast 85 

Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [Hotspur's camp.~\ 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Vernon. 

Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. 

Wor. It may not be. 

I)oug. You give him then advantage. 

Ver. Not a whit. 

Hot. Why say you so.^ looks he not for supply.^ 

Ver. So do we. 

Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 

Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night. 5 

Ver. Do not, my lord. 

Doug. You do not counsel well: 

You speak it out of fear and cold heart. 

Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my life. 
And I dare well maintain it with my life. 
If well-respected honour bid me on, 10 

I hold as little counsel with weak fear 
As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day 

lives: 
Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle 
Which of us fears. 

Doug. Yea, or to-night. 

Ver. Content. 

Hot. To-night, say I. 15 

Ver. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder 
much. 
Being men of such great leading as you arc, 



That you foresee not what impediments 
Drag back our expedition: certain horse 
Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: 20 
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day; 
And now their pride and mettle is asleep. 
Their courage with hard labour tame and dull. 
That not a horse is half the half of himself. 

Hot. So are the horses of the enemy, 25 

In general, journey-bated and brought low: 
The better part of ours are full of rest. 

Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours: 
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. 

The trumpet sounds a parley. Enter Sir Walter 
Blunt. 

Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the 

King, 30 

If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. 
Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt; and would to 

God 
You were of our determination! 
Some of us love you well; and even those some 
Envy your great deservings and good name, 35 
Because you are not of our quality. 
But stand against us like an enemy. 
Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand 

so. 
So long as out of limit and true rule 
You stand against anointed majesty. 40 

But to my charge. The king hath sent to 

know 
The nature of your griefs, and whereupon 
You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land 
Audacious cruelty. If that the king 45 

Have any way your good deserts forgot. 
Which he confesseth to be manifold. 
He bids you name your griefs; and with all 

speed 
You shall have your desires with interest 
And pardon absolute for yourself and these 50 
Herein misled by your suggestion. 
Hot. The king is kind; and well we know the 

king 
Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
My father and my uncle and myself 
Did give him that same royalty he wears ; 55 
And when he was not six and twenty strong, 
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home. 
My father gave him welcome to the shore; 



208 



ACT IV. SC. III.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



35 



And when he heard him swear and vow to 
God 60 

He came but to be Duke of Lancaster, 
To sue his livery and beg his peace, 
With tears of innocency and terms of zeal. 
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd. 
Swore him assistance and perform'd it too. 65 
Now when the lords and barons of the realm 
Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him. 
The more and less came in with cap and knee ; 
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages, 
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, 70 
Laid gifts before him, profFer'd him their 

oaths. 
Gave him their heirs, as pages follow'd him 
Even at the heels in golden multitudes. 
He presently, as greatness knows itself. 
Steps me a little higher than his vow 75 

Made to my father^ while his blood was poor. 
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh; 
And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 
Some certain edicts and some strait decrees 
That lie too heavy on the commonwealth, 80 
Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 
Over his country's wrongs; and by this face, 
This seeming brow of justice, did he win 
The hearts of all that he did angle for; 
Proceeded further ; cut me off the heads 85 
Of all the favourites that the absent king 
In deputation left behind him here. 
When he was personal in the Irish war. 

Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. 

Hot. Then to the point. 

In short time after, he depos'd the king; 90 
Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life ; 
And in the neck of that, task'd the whole state; 
To make that worse, sufFer'd his kinsman 

March, 
Who is, if every owner were well plac'd. 
Indeed his king, to be engag'd in Wales, 95 
There without ransom to lie forfeited; 
Disgrac'd me in my happy victories. 
Sought to entrap me by intelligence; 
Rated mine uncle from the council-board; 
In rage dismissed my father from the court; 100 
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on 

wrong. 
And in conclusion drove us to seek out 
This head of safety; and withal to pry 
Into his title, the which we find 
Too indirect for long continuance. 105 

Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king? 



Hot. Not so. Sir Walter : we'll withdraw a while. 
Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd 
Some surety for a safe return again, 
And in the morning early shall my uncle no 
Bring him our purposes : and so farewell. 

Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and 
love. 

Hot. And 't may be so we shall. 

Blunt. Pray God you do. 

Exeunt. 



Scene IV. — [York. The Archbishop's palace.'] 
Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael. 

Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed 
brief 
With winged haste to the lord marshal; 
This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest 
To whom they are directed. If you knew 
How much they do import, you would make 
haste. 5 

Sir M. My good lord, 
I guess their tenour. 

Arch, Like enough you do. 

To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day 
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men 
Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury, 
As I am truly given to understand, n 

The King with mighty and quick-raised power 
Meets with Lord Harry: and, I fear. Sir 

Michael, 
What with the sickness of Northumberland,- 
Whose power was in the first proportion, 15 
And what with Owen Glendower's absence 

thence. 
Who with them was a rated sinew too 
And comes not in, over-rul'd by prophecies, 
I fear the power of Percy is too weak 
To wage an instant trial with the king. 20 

Sir M. Why, my good lord, you need not fear; 
There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer. 

Arch. No, Mortimer is not there. 

Sir M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord 
Harry Percy, 
And there is my Lord of Worcester and a 
head 25 

Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 

Arch. And so there is: but yet the king hath 
drawn 
The special head of all the land together: 



209 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, 
The noble Westmoreland and warlike Blunt; 
And many moe corrivals and dear men 31 

Of estimation and command in arms. 

Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well 
oppos'd. 

Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear; 
And, to prevent the worst. Sir Michael, speed: 
For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 36 
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us. 
For he hath heard of our confederacy. 
And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against 

him: 
Therefore make haste. I must go write again 
To other friends ; and so farewell. Sir Michael. 

Exeunt. 



ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — [The King's camp near Shrewsbury.] 

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of 
Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, Sir Walter 
Blunt, and Falstaff. 

King. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 
Above yon busky hill ! the day looks pale 
At his distemperature. 

Prince. The southern wind 

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes. 
And by his hollow whistling in the leaves s 
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day. 

King. Then with the losers let it sympathise. 
For nothing can seem foul to those that win. 

The trumpet sounds. 

Enter Worcester [and Vernon]. 

How now, my Lord of Worcester ! 'tis not well 
That you and I should meet upon such terms 10 
As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our 

trust. 
And made us dofF our easy robes of peace, 
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel: 
This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
What say you to it? will you again unknit 15 
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war.^* 
And move in that obedient orb again 
Where you did give a fair and natural light. 
And be no more an exhal'd meteor, 
A prodigy of fear and a portent 20 



Of broached mischief to the unborn times ? 

Wor. Hear me, my liege: 

For mine own part, I could be well content 
To entertain the lag-end of my life 
With quiet hours; for I do protest, 25 

I have not sought the day of this dislike. 

King. You have not sought it! how comes it^ 
then } 

Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. 

Prince. Peace, cliewet, peace! 

Wor. It pleas'd your majesty to turn your looks 
Of favour from myself and all our house; 31 
And yet I must remember you, my lord. 
We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
For you my staff of office did I break 
In Richard's time; and posted day and night 
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand. 
When yet you were in place and in account Z7 
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
It was myself, my brother, and his son. 
That brought you home and boldly did outdare 
The dangers of the time. You swore to us, 41 
And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, 
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the 

state. 
Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n 

right. 
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: 45 
To this we swore our aid. But in short space 
It rain'd down fortune showering on your 

head; 
And such a flood of greatness fell on you. 
What with our help, what with the absent 

king. 
What with the injuries of a wanton time, 50 
The seeming sufferances that you had borne. 
And the contrarious winds that held the king 
So long in his unlucky Irish wars 
That all in England did repute him dead: 
And from this swarm of fair advantages 55 
You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 
To gripe the general sway into your hand; 
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; 
And being fed by us you us'd us so 
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, 60 
Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest; 
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk 
That even our love durst not come near your 

sight 
For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing 
We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly 6s 
Out of your sight and raise this present head; 



210 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



37 



Whereby we stand opposed by such means 
As you yourself have forg'd against yourself 
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, 
And violation of all faith and troth 70 

Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. 

King. These things indeed you have articulated, 
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches. 
To face the garment of rebellion 
With some fine colour that may please the eye 
Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, 76 
Which gape and rub the elbow at the news 
Of hurlyburly innovation: 
And never yet did insurrection want 
Such water-colours to impaint his cause ; 80 
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time 
Of pellmell havoc and confusion. 

Prince. In both our armies there is many a soul 
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter. 
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, 
The Prince of Wales doth join with all the 
world 86 

In praise of Henry Percy: by my hopes, 
This present enterprise set off his head, 
I do not think a braver gentleman, 
More active, valiant, or more valiant-young, 90 
More daring or more bold, is now alive 
To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
I have a truant been to chivalry; 
And so I hear he doth account me too; 95 

Yet this before my father's majesty — 
I am content that he shall take the odds 
Of his great name and estimation. 
And will, to save the blood on either side. 
Try fortune with him in a single fight. 100 

King. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we ven- 
ture thee. 
Albeit considerations infinite 
Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no. 
We love our people well ; even those we love 
That are misled upon your cousin's part; 105 
And, will they take the offer of our grace. 
Both he and they and you, yea, every man 
Shall be my friend again and I'll be his: 
So tell your cousin, and bring me word 
What he will do: but if he will not yield, no 
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us 
And they shall do their office. So, be gone ; 
We will not now be troubled with reply: 
We offer fair; take it advisedly. 

Ea:it Worcester [with Vernon^. 

Prince. It will not be accepted, on my life: 115 

21 



The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 
Are confident against the world in arms. 

King. Hence, therefore, every leader to his 
charge ; 
For, on their answer, will we set on them: 
And God befriend us, as our cause is just! 120 
Exeunt. Manent Prince and Falstaff. 

Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and 
bestride me, so; 'tis a point of friendship. 

Prince. Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that 
friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 

Fal. I would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all 
well. 126 

Prince. Why, thou owest God a death. 

Fal. 'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay 
him before his day. What need I be so for- 
ward with him that calls not on me.^ Well, 
'tis no matter ; honour pricks me on. But how 
if honour prick me off when I come on? how 
then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an 
arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? 
no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? 
no. What is honour? a word. What is that 
word honour ? air. A trim reckoning ! Who 
hath it? he that died a-W^ednesday. Doth he 
feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. Is it in- 
sensible, then? Yea, to the dead. But will 
it not live with the living? no. Why? De- 
traction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll 
none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon: and 
so ends my catechism. Exit. 144 

Scene II. — [Hotspur's camp.'] 
Mnter Worcester and Sir Richard Vernon. 

Wor. O, no, my nephew must no.t know. Sir 
Richard, 
The liberal, kind offer of the king. 

Ver. 'Twere best he did. 

Wor. Then we are all undone. 

It is not possible, it cannot be. 
The king should keep his word in loving us ; s 
He will suspect us still and find a time 
To punish this offence in other faults : 
Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of 

eyes; 
For treason is but trusted like the fox. 
Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up, 
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. u 

Look how we can, or sad or merrily. 



38 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act v. SC. II. 



Interj^retation will misquote our looks^ 
And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, 
The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. 15 
^ly nephew's trespass may be well forgot; 
It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood, 
And an adopted name of privilege, 
A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen : 
All his off'ences live upon my head 20 

And on his father's ; we did train him on. 
And, his corruption being ta'en from us. 
We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 
Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know. 
In any case, the offer of the king. 25 

Ver. Deliver what you will; I'll say 'tis so. 
Here comes your cousin. 

Enter Hotspur [and Douglas]. 

Hot. My uncle is return'd: 

Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland. 
Uncle, what news.^ 30 

Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. 

Doug. T)eiY him by the Lord of Westmoreland. 

Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 

Doug. IMarry, and shall, and very willingly. 

Ejait Douglas. 

Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. 35 

Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! 

Wor. I told him gently of our grievances. 

Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus. 
By now forswearing that he is forsworn: 
He calls us rebels, traitors ; and will scourge 40 
With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 

Enter Douglas. 

Doug. Arm, gentlemen ; to arms ! for I have 
thrown 

A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth. 

And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear 
it; 

Which cannot choose but bring him quickly 
on. 45 

Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before 
the king. 

And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight. 
Hot. O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads, 

And that no man might draw short breath to- 
day 

But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell 
me, 50 

How show'd his tasking.'' seem'd it in con- 
tempt ? 



Ver. No, by my soul; I never in my life 

Did hear a challenge urged more modestly. 
Unless a brother should a brother dare 
To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 55 

He gave you all the duties of a man; 
Trimm'd up your praises with a princely 

tongue. 
Spoke your deservings like a chronicle, 
Making you ever better than his praise 
By still dispraising praise valued with you ; 60 
And, which became him like a prince indeed. 
He made a blushing cital of himself; 
And chid his truant youth with such a grace 
As if he master'd there a double spirit 
Of teaching and of learning instantly. 65 

There did he pause : but let me tell the world. 
If he outlive the envy of this day, 
England did never owe so sweet a hope. 
So much misconstrued in his wantonness. 
Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured 70 

On his follies: never did I hear 
Of any prince so wild a libertine. 
But be he as he will, yet once ere night 
I will embrace him with a soldier's arm. 
That he shall shrink under my courtesy. 75 
Arm, arm with speed: and, fellows, soldiers, 

friends. 
Better consider what you have to do 
Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue. 
Can lift your blood up with persuasion. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. 80 

Hot. I cannot read them now. 

O gentlemen, the time of life is short ! 

To spend that shortness basely were too long. 

If life did ride upon a dial's point. 

Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 85 

And if we live, we live to tread on kings ; 

If die, brave death, when princes die with us ! 

Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair. 

When the intent of bearing them is just. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on 
apace. 90 

Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale. 
For I profess not talking; only this — 
Let each man do his best: and here I draw 
A sword, whose worthy temper I intend to 
stain 



212 



ACT V. SC. II.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



39 



With the best blood that I can meet withal 95 
In the adventure of this perilous day. 
Now, 'Esperance! Percy!' and set on. 
Sound all the lofty instruments of war. 
And by that music let us all embrace ; 
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 100 
A second time do such a courtesy. 
They embrace. The trumpets sound. 

[Exeunt.'] 

[Scene III. — Field of battle, near 
Shrewsbury.] 

The King entereth with his power. Alarum' 
unto the battle. Then enter Douglas aiid Sir 
Walter Blunt. 

Blunt. What is thy name. 

That in battle thus thou crossest me ? 
Whatlionour dost thou seek upon my head? 

Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas; 
And I do haunt thee in the battle thus 
Because some tell me that thou art a king. 5 

Blunt. They tell thee true. 

Doug. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath 
bought 
Thy likeness, for instead of thee. King Harry, 
This sword hath ended him : so shall it thee, 
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 10 

Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot; 
And thou shalt find a king that will revenge 
Lord Stafford's death. 

Fight. Blunt is slain. Then enters Hotspur. 

Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon 
thus, 
I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. 15 

Doug. All's done, all's won; here breathless lies 

the King. 
Hot. Where.? 
Doug. Here. 

Hot. This, Douglas? no: I know this face full 
well: 
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt; 
Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. 21 
Doug. Ah, fool go with thy soul, whither it goes ! 
A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear : 
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a King ? 
Flot. The King hath many marching in his coats. 
Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his 
coats ; 



I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece. 
Until I meet the king. 
Hot. Up, and away ! 

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. 29 

Exeunt. 



Alarum. Enter Falstaff, solus. 

Fal. Though I could scape shot-free at London, 
I fear the shot here; here's no scoring but 
upon the pate. Soft ! who are you ? Sir Wal- 
ter Blunt: there's honour for you! here's no 
vanity! I am as hot as molten lead, and as 
heavy too : God keep lead out of me ! I 
need no more weight than mine own bowels. 
I have led my ragamuffins where they are 
pepper'd : there's not three of my hundred and 
fifty left alive; and they for the town's end, 
to beg during life. But who comes here? 40 

Enter the Prince. 

Prince. What, stand'st thou idle here? lend me 
thy sword: 
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff 
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies. 
Whose deaths are unreveng'd: prethee, lend 
me thy sword. 44 

Fal. O Hal, I prethee, give me leave to breathe 
awhile. Turk Gregory never did such deeds 
in arms as I have done this day. I have paid 
Percy, I have made him sure. 

Prince. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. 
I prethee, lend me thy sword. 50 

Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, 
thou get'st not my sword; but take my pistol, 
if thou wilt. 

Prince. Give it me: what, is it in the case? 

Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that will 

sack a city. 56 

The Prince draws out a bottle of sack. 

Prince. What, is it a time to j est and dally now ? 
Throws it at him. Exit. 

Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If 
he do come in my way, so: if he do not, if 
I come in his willingly, let him make a car- 
bonado of me. I like not such grinning hon- 
our as Sir Walter hath: give me life: which if 
I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlook'd 



for, and there's an end. 



Exit. 



213 



40 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act v. SC. IV. 



Scene IV. — [Another part of the field.'] 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter the King, the 
Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, and Earl of 
Westmoreland. 

King. I prethee, 

Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too 
much. 

Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 
Lan. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 
Prince. I beseech your majesty, make up, 5 

Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. 
King. I will do so. 

My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his 

tent. 

West. Come, my lord, I'll lead you to your tent. 

Prince. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need your 

help : 10 

And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive 

The Prince of Wales from such a field as this. 

Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on, 

And rebels' arms triumph in massacres ! 
Lan. We breathe too long: come, cousin West- 
moreland, IS 

Our duty this way lies ; for God's sake, come. 
\_Exeu7it Prince John and Westmoreland.] 
Prince. By God, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lan- 
caster; 

I did not think thee lord of such a spirit: 

Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John; 

But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 20 

King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point 

With lustier maintenance than I did look for 

Of such an ungrown warrior. 
Prince. O, this boy 

Lends mettle to us all! Exit. 

Enter Douglas. 

Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra's 
heads : 25 

I am the Douglas, fatal to all those 
That wear those colours on them: what art 

thou. 
That counterfeit'st the person of a king.? 
King. The King himself; who, Douglas, gripves 
at heart 
So many of his shadows thou hast met 30 

And not the very King. I have two boyi. 
Seek Percy and thyself about the field: 
But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
I will assay thee: so, defend thyself. 



Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit; 35 

And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a King: 

But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be. 

And thus I win thee. They fight; the King 

being in danger. Enter Prince. 

Prince. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art 

like 

Never to hold it up again! the spirits 40 

Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my 

arms: ' 
It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee ; 
Who never promiseth but he means to pay. 

They fight: Douglas flieth. 
Cheerly, my lord: how fares your grace.? 
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, 45 
And so hath Clifton: I'll to Clifton straight. 
King. Stay, and breathe awhile: 

Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion. 

And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my 

hfe. 
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 50 
Prince. O God! they did me too much injury 
That ever said I hearken'd for your death. 
If it were so, I might have let alone 
The insulting hand of Douglas over you. 
Which would have been as speedy in your 
end 55 

As all the poisonous potions in the world 
And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. 
King. Make up to Clifton: I'll to Sir Nicholas 
Gawsey. Exit. 

Enter Hotspur. 

Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Mon- 
mouth. 
Prince. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my 
name. 60 

Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 
Priiice. Why, then I see 

A very valiant rebel of the name. 
I am the Prince of Wales ; and think not, 

Percy, 
To share with me in glory any more: 
Two stars keep not their motion in one 
sphere ; 65 

Nor can one England brook a double reign. 
Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales. 
Hot. Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come 
To end the one of us; and would to God 
Thy name in arms were now as great as 
I 



mmc! 



214 



ACT V. SC. 



IV.] 



HENRY IV, PART I 



41 



Prince. I'll make it greater ere I part from 
thee; 
And all the budding honours on thy crest 
I'll crop, to make a garland for my head. 
Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. 

Fight. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal! Nay, you 
shall find no boy's play here, I can tell 
you. 76 

Enter Douglas; he fights with Falstaff, who falls 
down as if he were dead, \_and exit Douglas^. 
The Prince killeth Percy. 
Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my 

youth ! 
I better brook the loss of brittle life 
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; 
They wound my thoughts worse than thy 

sword my flesh: 80 

But thought's the slave of life, and life time's 

fool; 
And time, that takes survey of all the world. 
Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, 
But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
Lies on my tongue: no, Percy, thou art dust, 85 
And food for — [Dies.] 

Prince. For worms, brave Percy: fare thee well, 

great heart! 
Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou 

shrunk ! 
When that this body did contain a spirit, 
A kingdom for it was too small a bound; 90 
But now two paces of the vilest earth 
Is room enough. This earth that bears thee 

dead 
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
I should not make so dear a show of zeal: 95 
But let my favours hide thy mangled face; 
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 
For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to 

heaven ! 
Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave, 100 
But not remember'd in thy epitaph! 

f He spieth Falstaff on the ground. 
What, old acquaintance ! could not all this 

flesh 
Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell! 
I could have better spar'd a better man: 

2 



O, I should have a heavy miss of thee, 105 
If I were much in love with vanity ! 
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day. 
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. 
Embowell'd will I see thee by and by: 
Till then in blood by noble Percy lie. Exit, no 

Falstaff riseth up. 
Fal. Embowell'd! if thou embowel me to-day, 
I'll give you leave to powder me and eat me 
too to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to coun- 
terfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid 
me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I 
am no counterfeit: to die is to be a counter- 
feit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man who 
hath not the life of a man: but to counterfeit 
dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no 
counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of 
life indeed. The better part of valour is dis- 
cretion; in the which better part I have saved 
my life. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this gun- 
powder Percy, though he be dead: how, if he 
should counterfeit too and rise? by my faith, 
I am afraid he would prove the better coun- 
terfeit. Therefore I'll make him sure; yea, 
and I'll swear I kill'd him. Why may not he 
rise as well as I ? Nothing confutes me but 
eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah 
[stabbing him], with a new wound in your 
thigh, come you along with me. Takes Hot- 
spur on his back. 

Enter Prince and John of Lancaster. 

Prince. Come, brother John; full bravely hast 
thou flesh'd 
Thy maiden sword. 

John. But, soft! whom have we here? 

Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? 135 

Prince. I did; I saw him dead, breathless and 
bleeding 
On the ground. Art thou alive ? or is it 
Fantasy that plays upon our eyesight? 
I prethee, speak ; we will not trust our eyes 139 
Without our ears: thou art not what thou 
seem'st. 

Fal. No, that's certain; I am not a double man: 
but if I be not Jack Falstaff", then am I a 
Jack. There is Percy [throwing the body 
down]. If your father will do me any hon- 
our, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy 
himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I 
can assure you. 146 

15 



42 



HENRY IV, PART I 



[act v. sc. v. 



Prince. Why, Percy I kill'd myself, and saw 
thee dead. 

Fal. Didst thou ? Lord, Lord, how this world 
is given to lying! I grant you I was down 
and out of breath; and so was he: but we rose 
both at an instant and fought a long hour by 
Shrewsbury clock. If I may be believed, so; 
if not, let them that should reward val- 
our bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll 
take it upon my death, I gave him this wound 
in the thigh: if the man were alive and would 
deny it, 'zounds, I would make him eat a piece 
of my sword. 157 

Lan. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. 

Prince. This is the strangest fellow, brother 
John. 
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back: 
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
I'll gild it w4th the happiest terms I have. 

A retreat is sounded. 

The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours. 

Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field. 

To see what friends are living, who are dead. 

Exeunt [Prince of Wales and Lancaster']. 

Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He 
that rewards me, God rew^ard him! If I do 
grow great again, I'll grow less; for I'll 
jDurge, and leave sack, and live cleanly as a 
nobleman should do. 

Exit. 



Scene V. — [^Another part of the field.'] 

The trumpets sound. Enter the King, Prince 
of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of 
Westmoreland, with Worcester and Vernon 
prisoners. 

King. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. 
Ill-spirited Worcester! did we not send grace. 
Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? 
And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? 
Misuse the tenour of thy kinsman's trust? 5 
Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
A noble earl and many a creature else 
Had been alive this hour, 



If like a Christian thou hadst truly borne 
Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 10 

Wor. What I have done my safety urg'd me to; 
And I embrace this fortune patiently. 
Since not to be avoided it falls on me. 

King. Bear Worcester to the death and Vernon 
too: 
Other offenders we will pause upon. 15 

Exeunt Worcester and Vernon [guarded]. 
How goes the field? 

Prince. The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when 
he saw 
The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him. 
The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest; 20 
And falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd 
That the pursuers took him. At my tent 
The Douglas is; and I beseech your grace 
I may dispose of him. 

King. With all my heart. 

Prince. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you 
This honourable bounty shall belong: 26 

Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free: 
His valour shown upon our crests to-day 
Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds 
Even in the bosom of our adversaries. 31 

Lan. I thank your grace for this high courtesy. 
Which I shall give away immediately. 

King. Then this remains, that we divide our 
power. 
You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland 35 
Towards York shall bend you with your dear- 
est speed. 
To meet Northumberland and the prelate 

Scroop, 
Who, as we hear, are busily in arms: 
Myself and j^ou, son Harry, will towards 

Wales, 
To fight with Glendower and the Earl of 

March. 
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, 41 
Meeting the check of such another day: 
And since this business so fair is done, 
Let us not leave till all our own be won. 

Exeunt. 



FINIS 



216 



HENRY IV, PART I 



43 



NOTES 



F means the First Folio (16:23), Q the quarto edi- 
tions in general. Q„ Q2, etc., refer to the individual 
quartos in the order of their publication. 

ACT I 

i. 5 An obscure line, probably corrupt: thirsty en- 
trance is usually taken to mean the parched sur- 
face of the soil. 

7 trenching, entrenching, throwing up breast- 
works. 

13 furious close, hand-to-hand combat. 

14 mutual, united. For other instances of the 
word, see Midsummer Night's Dream IV. i. 131 and 
Merchant of Venice V. i. 77. 

22 a power, an army. 

28 this our purpose. The king's purpose had been 
expressed at the close of Richard II (V. vi. 49). 

33 this dear expedience, this precious expedition. 

38 the noble Mortimer, Sir Edmund Mortimer, 
great-grandson of Edward III. Throughout the 
play Shakespeare, following Holinshed, confuses 
this Mortimer with another Edmund Mortimer, his 
nephew, who was the fifth Earl of March and heir 
to the crown after the death of Richard II in 1399. 
The battle in which Sir Edmund was captured by 
the Welsh occurred at Pilleth, Radnorshire, June 
22, 1402. 

43 corpse, a plural, as often in Shakespeare. 

49 other like; i. e., other similar tidings. Qi 2 
read 'did' for 'like.' 

52 Holy-rood day, the festival of the Holy Cross 
(Sept. 14). 

55 Holmedon, Humbleton Hill in Northumberland, 
on the Scotch border. The battle alluded to was 
a sort of sequel to that fought by Hotspur at 
Otterburn in 1388, in which Douglas's father had 
been killed and Hotspur captured. The different 
versions of the Ballad of Otterburn (The Hunting 
of the Cheviot, Chevy Chase) had made Percy and 
Douglas favorite heroes long before Shakespeare 
took up the subject. 

€9 Balk'd, piled in ridges. A 'balk' in agriculture 
was a ridge of earth between two furrows. 

71 Mordake Earl of Fife. This was Murdach Stew- 
art, son of the Duke of Albany, not of Doug- 
las. Defective punctuation in Holinshed's list of 
Hotspur's prisoners led to Shakespeare's error. 

76, 77 In faith. It is] Printed as part of the pre- 
ceding speech Q F. 

83 minion, favorite. 

86-89 The belief that young children might be ex- 
changed or stolen by fairies was common in Shake- 
speare's age. The poet had already made use of 
it in A Midsummer Night's Dream II. i. 120. The 
purpose of the allusion here is probably to per- 
suade the audience of the similarity in age (really 
quite unhistoric) between the king's son and North- 
umberland's. 



ii. 16 the seven stars, the Pleiades. 
16, 17 Phoebus, he, 'that wandering knight so 
fair': a jesting allusion, apparently, to a current 
romance, 'The Knight of the Sun.' Phoebus was, 
as Falstaff knew, the sun-god. 

22 by my troth] Even this mild oath is omitted 
in F. See note on Merchant of Venice, I. ii. 121. 

23 prologue to an t^^ and butter. Falstaflf is 
punning on the meanings of the word grace, which 
he employs in three different senses. An egg and 
butter, or buttered e^^g, appeared to the hearty 
Elizabethan appetite a very meager repast and 
would therefore require as 'prologue' only the 
slightest benediction or 'grace.' 

47 As . . . Hybla] As is the honey F. 

47, 48 my old lad of the castle. Contemporary 
usage shows that this phrase was a regular term 
for a rioter. For its possible reference to Fal- 
staff's earlier name, Oldcastle, see the Introduction. 

48 buff jerkin, properly a jacket of buffalo skin. 
Sheriff's officers wore this costume. 'Robe of 
durance' in the next line involves a pun on durance, 
imprisonment, and on the everlasting wear of buff. 

51 quiddities, cavils, a word borrowed from the 
hair-splitting subtleties of the medieval school- 
men. 'Quidditas' meant in their jargon the nature 
of a thing. 

69 antic, antique; hence old-fashioned or grotesque. 
'Antics' were popular figures in May-games and 
morris dances. 

73 brave, fine. 

83 gib cat, a Tom cat. 'Gib' was a contraction for 
Gilbert. 

88 Moor-ditch, an ill-smelling swamp outside the 
north wall of London. The 'Theatre' and 'Curtain' 
play-houses, where Shakespeare's plays were prob- 
ably most usually performed before the erection of 
the Globe in 1598, were in Shoreditch nearby. 

99, 100 wisdom . . , and] om. F (because thought 
irreverent). 
140 pilgrims going to Canterbury, to the shrine of 
St. Thomas a Becket, the 'holy blisful martir' of 
Chaucer's prologue. 
145 Eastcheap, a section near London Bridge, noted 
for its flesh and fish markets and its taverns; so 
called in distinction from West Cheap or Cheap- 
side, near St. Paul's. 
170, 171 God give thee . . . him] maist thou have 
... he F. 

177 thou] Pope; the Q F. 

178 All-hallown summer. The feast of All Hal- 
lown or All Saints is November 1st. Falstaff, in 
his mixture of youth and age, is like the unseason- 
able weather of that time of year. 

182 Bardolph, Peto] Theobald; Harvey, Rossill Q F 
(Theobald suggested that Harvey and Rossill were 
the actors who took the parts of Bardolph and 
Peto). 



217 



44 



HENRY IV, PART I 



iii. 19 frontier, a technical military term for an outer 
fortification. 

27 Either . . . therefore] Q; who either through 
envy F. misprision, misconception, mistaking. 

36 a milliner, a dealer in gloves and other fancy ar- 
ticles of dress originally imported from Milan. 

38 a pouncet-box, literally, a punched box, with 
holes in the top for the scattering of perfume. 

41 took it in snuff, became offended. A pun is in- 
tended. 

50 popinjay, parrot, from the Spanish papagayo. 

58 parmaceti, a popular form of spermaceti. 

62 tall, valiant; one of the original meanings. 

87 indent, make a contract. 
101 changing hardiment, courageous exchange of 

blows. 
167 me] Q,.^; if Q.. F. 

176 canker, the wild-rose, noted for its many thorns 
and small blossoms. Canker'd, 1. 137, means shriv- 
eled, unhealthy. 

207 cori'ival, competitor or companion. The word 
occurs again, IV. iv. 31. 

208 half-fac'd fellowship. 'Half-face' means a pro- 
file view; the phrase signifies a league in whicli 
each member can show only half of himself. 

228 defy, renounce. 

230 sword-and-buckler. These were arms fitted, not 

to the Prince of Wales, but to the lowest class of 

tavern bullies. 
240 pismires, ants. 
244 kept, dwelt. 
248, 249 Ravenspurgh . . . Berkeley Castle. See 

Richard II II. i-iii. 
251 candy, sugared. 
271 Bristow, the did name of Bristol, which was in 

Shakespeare's time the second city in England. 
284 a head, a military force. 



ACT II 

i. 8 cess, measure. The word is connected with as- 
sess and meant originally a 'rate' or tax. 
17 tench, a fish. Why 'stung like a tench' is not 

clear. Loach in 1. 23 is another kind of fish. 
19 in Christendom] F; christen Q. 

26 g-ammon of bacon, a ham; connected with French 
jamb on. 

27 razes, roots. Charing-cross, in Shakespeare's 
time a mile west of London. The Carriers were 
approaching the city from the east. 

60 franklin, a country gentleman. 

wild of Kent, colloquial name of the 'weald' or 
south-eastern part of the county, the site of the 
Anglo-Saxon forest of Andredesweald. 

61 three hundred marks. A mark was two-thirds 
of a pound, that is, thirteen shillings and four- 
pence. 

67, 68 St. Nicholas' clerks, highwaymen. 

82 long-staff sixpenny strikers, thieves who 'strike' 

for the petty gain of sixpence, A long staff was 

part of the highwayman's equipment. 

84 malt-worms, drunkards. 

85 oneyers, slang, probably, for "ones." 



91 boots, booties; the monosyllabic form is used to 
bring in the pun in the next lin^ . 

96 the receipt of fern-seed. The seeding of ferns 
was a mystery to early botanists. Hence arose 
the myth that fern-seed appeared only on St. 
John's Eve (June 23) and that any one lucky 
enough to gather it then could himself walk in- 
visible. 
101 purchase, profits. F reads 'purpose' (i. e., en- 
terprise) which is also possible. 

li. 2 gummed velvet. Velvet fraudulently stiffened 

with gum was particularly likely to 'fret.' 
13 squire, carpenter's rule. 
40 colt, cheat, befool. 
53 our setter, 1. e., Gadshill. See I. ii. 118. In 

thieves' language, the setter was the decoy. 
55 case ye. The next words, 'on with your vizards,* 

explain what is meant. 'Case' is the skin or hide 

of animals. 

94 fat chuffs, rich countrymen; so called in thieves' 
slang because they were easy prey. The chough, 
or jackdaw, is a hoarding bird. 

100 argument, theme of conversation. 

110 S. D. run away] F; run away and Falstaf after 

a hloio or tioo runs aioay too Q (which indicates 

the way the scene was acted). 

iii. 15 counterpoise, opposing weight. 
39 Kate. The real name of Hotspur's wife was 

Elizabeth. 
49 curst, crabbed, shrewish. 
52 terms of manage, words of command. 

55 frontiers. See note on I. iii. 19. 

56 basilisks, culverin, large cannon, named after 
serpents. 

65 hest] Q^; haste Q^-F. 
74 esperance, hope: the Percy motto. 
86 To line, to give substance to. 
88 paraquito, a small parrot.. 

95 mammets, puppets, dolls. 

96 crack'd crowns, a pun. Coins cracked within 
the ring at the edge could not be passed. Hamlet 
makes a similar witticism {Hamlet II. ii. 448). 

120 of force, perforce. 

iv. 1 fat, stuffy. 

8 by their] F; all by their christen Q. 
10 salvation] Q; confidence F. 

13 a Corinthian, a wild gallant. 'Trojan' is used 
in the same sense (See II. i. 77). 

14 boy] F; boy (by the Lord so they call me) Q. 
19 play it off, drink it off. 

27 under-skinker, inferior waiter or drawer. 

31 bastard, a Spanish wine, artificially sweetened, 
the Half-moon. The separate rooms in Eliza- 
bethan taverns were often given individual names. 
See 'Pomgarnet' (pomegranate) in line 42. Ben 
Jonson used to meet his followers in the Apollo 
Room at the Devil Tavern, and to-day at the 
Shakespeare Inn, Stratford-on-Avon, the rooms 
are named after Shakespeare's plays. 

78 not-pated, round-headed. Short hair was a 
mark of the Puritans, who were very numerous 

among the tradespeople of Elizabethan London, 
18 



HENRY IV, PART I 



45 



but unpopular with the court and the actors. The 
words apply to the master of Francis, who is de- 
scribed anachronistically as a vintner of Shakes- 
peare's time. 

79 caddis-g-arter. Caddis was worsted. Puke in 
the previous line was a dark-colored cloth. 

115 kills me some six: as very often in Shakespeare, 
me is the 'ethical dative' and has no particular 
force beyond suggesting the interest of the speaker. 

130 nether-stocks, stockings. 

133 Titan, the sun. 

144 a shotten herring, one which has lost its roe. 

147, 148 weaver . . . sing- psalms. The weavers in 
England were mainly immigrants from Flanders 
with strong Puritanical leanings. They were not 
popular with writers for the stage. 

148 psalms or any thing] Q; all manner of songs F. 

222 mainly, strongly. 'Might' and 'main' are syn- 
onyms. 

238 points, sword-points; also the laces by which 
the Elizabethan dress was held together. 

246 Kendal green. In the fourteenth century Flem- 
ish weavers established a cloth manufacture at 
Kendal, Westmoreland, in the English Lake Coun- 
try. Dark green cloth, the proper dress for hunt- 
ers and mountaineers, became a noted product of 
the place. 

253 tallow-catch, probably a tub of tallow. 

274 standing-tuck, rapier on end. A tuck was a 
small sword. 

321 royal man. The prince puns on 'royal,* a coin 
worth ten shillings. A 'noble' was six shillings and 
eightpence. He means. Give the 'nobleman' the ad- 
ditional three and fourpence which will raise liim 
to the higher denomination. 

346, 47 with the manner, in the act: a Norman- 
French law term. 

359 bombast, cotton wadding, much used to stuff 
out Elizabethan garments. The stage FalstaflF was 
doubtless specially indebted to this material for his 
proportions. 

370 Amamon, or Amaymon, is the name of a devil 
in Reginald Scot's Discovery of Witchcraft (1584). 

392 blue-caps, Scots in blue bonnets. 

397 June] Q,-,; Sun Q,-F. 

416 state, throne or chair of state. 

426 King Cambyses' vein. Thomas Preston's ex- 
travagant m*elodrama, King Camhises, was pub- 
lished about 1570. In Shakespeare's time it was 
regarded as typical of the bad dramatic taste of 
the previous generation. 

427 my leg, my obeisance. 

434 tristful, sad (Rowe's emendation); trustful Q F. 
441 etc. through the camomile, etc. A parody of 

the affected prose style introduced by John Lyly's 
Euphues (1579). The particular features here 
ridiculed are its exaggerated use of antithesis and 
alliteration and the constant allusion to fantastic 
stories of natural history. 
451 micher, truant. 

480 rabbit-sucker, a young (sucking) rabbit. 

481 poulter's, poultry-dealer's. 

496 bolting-hutch, a chest for sifting meal. 

497 bombard, a large leather wine vessel. 

498 Manningtree, sixty miles north-east of London, I 109 majority, seniority. 

219 



in the agricultural county of Essex, M^as famed for 
its cattle. 

499 that reverend vice, that gray iniquity. One of 
Shakespeare's many references to the comic figure 
in the morality drama. 

506 take me with you, let me know your meaning. 

589 ob., an abbreviated form of 'obolus,' a half- 
penny. 

599 with advantage, with interest. 



ACT III 



here used of stars. 



i. 15 cressets, lamps on poles, 

16 huge Qi; am. Qa-F. 

32 tumbles] F; topples Q. 

44 clipp'd in with, embraced or surrounded by. 

48 trace, follow. 

96 moiety, properly half, but here used of a third 
part. 
100 cantle, a corner. 

131 oanstick, candlestick. F has the modern form. 
133 an edge, on edge. So in Hamlet I. v. 19. 
144 Break with, break the news to. 
149 moldwarp, mole. 

153 couching — ramping, conventional attitudes of 
beasts in heraldry. 

154 skimble-skamble, confused. 

163 cates, dainties provided by the catour or caterer. 
167 concealments, secret arts. 
177 wilful-blame, apparently a coined adjective: 

blamable for wilfulness. 

196 my aunt Percy. Elsewhere Shakespeare follows 
history in making Lady Percy Sir Edmund Morti- 
mer's sister; but for the confusion between this 
Mortimer and his nephew see note on I. i. 38. 

199 harlotry, a word here of affectionate dispraise. 
See II. iv. 437. 

211 division, modulation. 

214 rushes, the usual floor covering of Shakespeare's 
time. 

234 humorous, full of ill-humor. 

240 brach, hunting dog. 

253 comfit-maker's, confectioner's. 

256 ^sarcenet, a thin silk. 

257 *Finsbury, a piece of open ground outside the 
north wall of London. 

261 velvet-guards, velvet-trimmings, a conspicuous 
feature of the Sunday dress of citizens' wives. 

265 red-breast teacher, trainer of singing birds. 
The English robin was artificially taught to sing. 
And, if, one of the old uses of the conjunction. 

ii. 45 likelihood, prospect of greatness. 

61 bavin, brushwood, kindling; hence, inflammable. 

62 carded, adulterated, a term from the mixing of 
liquors. 

63 cap'ring] Qi; carping Qo-F. 

67 comparative, jester, a dealer in humorous com- 
parisons. 

69 Enfeoff'd himself, gave himself up, as in fee- 
simple. 

100 colour, pretense. 

101 harness, armor. 



46 



HENRY IV, PART I 



115 Enlarged, freed. 

148 engross up, buy up wholesale. Hence 'grocer.' 
151 worship, honor. 

154 if . . . survive] F; if He be pleased I shall per- 
form Q. 

156 intemperature] F; intemperance Q. 

157 bands, bonds. 

164 Lord Mortimer of Scotland, not one of the 
Mortimers at all, but George Dunbar, who bore 
the Scottish title of Earl of'^March. 

172 advertisement, information. 

iii. 5 apple-john. See note on 2 Henry IV II. iv. 2. 

6 liking, favorable condition. 
28 admiral, flag-ship. 

40 that's God's angel] om. F (because irreverent). 
47 triumph, public celebration. Bacon wrote an 

essay on 'Masques and Triumphs.' 
51, 52 as good cheap, a reduced prepositional phrase 

signifying 'at as good a market.' 

60 Dame Partlet the hen, probably a reminiscence 
of Chaucer's hen, Pertelote, in the Nun's Priest's 
Tale. 

66 tithe] Theobald; tight QF. 

79 Dowlas, coarse linen, first made in Daoulas, Brit- 
tany. 

81 bolters, flour-sifters. See note to II. iv. 495. 
92 younker, a callow boy. 

99 sneak-cup, probably a low habitu6 of taverns 
who after drinking would try to sneak off" with 
the cup. Such theft is represented in Marlowe's 
Doctor Faustus and other plays of the time. 
104 Newgate, the prison for serious criminals. 
129 Maid Marian, the companion of Robin Hood in 
later versions of the story. She was much repre- 
sented in morris dances and was hence regarded 
with disfavor by deputies' wives and other Puri- 
tans. 
152 ought, owed. 
177, 178 embossed, swollen. 

ACT IV 

i. 7 soothers, flatterers. 
20 my lord] Capell; my mind Qi 2; his mind Q3-F. 

47 main, stake. 

48 nice, delicate. 

51 list, edge, boundary (properly the selvage of 
cloth). 

61 hair, texture, another word from the cloth trade. 
69 off'ring, attacking, ofl'ensive. 

78 dare, daring. 

85 term] Q; dream F. 

98 estridges, ostriches. 

99 Bated, a word used of hawks flapping their wet 
wings. The meaning of the line is not certain. 

104 beaver, helmet; properly the lower part only. 

118 reprisal, prize. 

119 taste] Qi 2; take Q,-F. 

ii. 3 Sutton Cophill. Sutton Coldfield is probably 
meant, a Warwickshire village about fifteen miles 
north-west of Coventry, and mid-way between Bir- 
mingham and Lichfield. Cophill is to be pro- 
nounced 'Cofil.' 



6 angel, coin bearing the figure of the archangel 
Michael. The value fluctuated between a noble 
and a royal. See note on II. iv. 321. 
13 sauc'd, preserved in brine; from Latin salsum, 
salted. The early editions spell 'souct' and 'sowc't.' 

21 caliver, light musket. 

28, 29 painted cloth, a cheap substitute for tapestry. 

31 unjust, dishonest. 

35 faced ancient, patched ensign. 

38 tottered, tattered. 

47 but] Rowe; not Q F. 

iii. 26 journey-bated, weary from travel. 
38 defend, forbid. 

62 sue his livery, seek the legal delivery of the es- 
tates inherited. 

93 his kinsman March. Not the Earl of March, 
but Sir Edmund Mortimer. See note on I. i. 38. 
103 head. See note on I. iii. 284. 

iv. 10 bide the touch, endure the test; the touch- 
stone determined the quality of gold. 

17 a rated sinew, a resource on which they 
counted. Qg F substitute 'rated firmly.' 

31 moe, more. 

ACT V 

1. 2 busky, wooded. 
17 obedient orb, orbit of obedience. 

29 chewet, chough or jackdaw. 

34, 35 See Richard II II. ii. 58, 59. 

60 gull, a fledgling; 'bird' has the same sense. 

72 articulated, listed in separate articles. 

74 face, patch. See note on IV. ii. 34. 
136,137 that word honour] F; in that word honor? 

What is that honor Q^-^. 
143 scutcheon, armorial shield. 

ii. 8 Suspicion] Rowe; Supposition Q F. 
31 bid, offer. 

51 tasking] Q,; talking Q2-F. 
60 valued, compared. 
62 cital, mention. 
68 owe, possess. 

72 a libertine] Capell; a libertie Qi_4; at liberty 
Q5 F. . 

iii. 21 semblably, similarly. 

30 shot-free, without paying the 'shot' or score. 
37 ragamuffins] Capell; rag of Muffins Q F. 

58 pierce: pronounced 'perse' in Shakespeare's time. 
60, 61 carbonado, a steak for broiling. 

iv. 5 make up, press forward. 

22 lustier maintenance, stronger endurance. 
49 tender, regard. 

100 ignomy, ignominy (which is the spelling in Q1-3). ; 

114 termagant, an imaginary Mohammedan ido]. ,> 

115 scot and lot, a universal tax, levied on all sub- ^ 
jects. I 

168 great again. The Quartos omit 'again,' but Fal- j 
staff has seen better days. j 



v. 41 sway] way Q5 F. 



220 



HENRY IV. PART II 



THE OCCASION AND SOURCES OF THE 
PLAY — The writing of second parts to popular plays 
was, at the end of the sixteenth century, a very com- 
mon practice whereby authors sought to prolong 
the stage effectiveness of favorite roles and make up 
for the extremely short runs which even the most 
successful Elizabethan dramas must expect before the 
small public of their day. The striking triumph of 
Marlowe's Tamburlaine, about 1587, had immediately 
called forth a second part in which the conquering 
hero might dazzle afresh the eyes of audiences al- 
ready familiar with the original play. The old play 
of King John, on which Shakespeare based his trag- 
edy of the same name, had been produced in con- 
fessed rivalry with Tamhurlaine, and was similarly 
arranged as a double drama. By the end of 1592, 
there had appeared successively three parts of King 
Henry VI, in all of which both Marlowe and Shake- 
speare had some concern. It was, thus, only natural 
that Shakespeare should have set about a second part 
of Henry IV so soon as the reception of the first play 
proved the surpassing value of Falstaff and Prince 
Henry as stage figures. 

The ultimate sources of Part Two are those of the 
original drama: Holinshed's Chronicles and the old 
play of The Famous Victories of Henry V. From 
the former is drawn material relating to the strag- 
gling military operations of the five years that fol- 
lowed the Battle of Shrewsbury (1403-1408), while 
both works seem to have influenced the scenes por- 
traying the death of Henry IV (1413) and Henry V's 
dismissal of his old companions. The relation to 
Holinshed and the Victories is, however, far from 
vital or immediate. Of genuine sources of dramatic 
inspiration the second part of Henry IV may fairly 
be said to have had only one; namely, the first part 
of the same play, supplemented by Shakespeare's 
youthful memories of country life in Waiwickshire 
and the adjoining county of Gloucester. 

There is not much reason to suppose that a second 
play on Henry IV's reign was premeditated when 
Shakespeare began the first one. Into this earlier 
play the poet prodigally introduced nearly all the in- 
cidents of Bolingbroke's rule — except his death — • 
which could easily be made dramatic. Therefore, 



when the brilliant success of Falstaff and Hal sug- 
gested the desirability of a continuation, he was 
forced to a rather thrifty and sparing use of the 
scanty remaining material. With the military inci- 
dents not already employed little could be done. 
The fate of Northumberland and his allies hardly 
serves for more than stiffening to the plot: Shake- 
speare does not permit Prince Hal to sully his hero- 
ism by any connection with this sordid history. In- 
deed, except in some of the last scenes, the Prince 
appears very little in 2 Henry IV. For its chief in- 
terest this play depends upon Falstaff, and in all 
that makes it most memorable it affects the reader 
not as a history play, but as a comedy of contem- 
porary life. 

It is very instructive to study how the poet has 
gathered up the shreds of dramatic opportunity care- 
lessly dropped in the writing of the richer earlier 
part, in order to elaborate them into essential 
limbs of the later piece. Falstaff' s relations with his 
hostess and with low women of the town, his profits 
from the pressing of soldiers, his general dislike of 
organized justice and his allusion to the old lord of 
the council "who rated me the other day in the 
streets" {1 Henry IV I. ii. 94), are mere casual hints 
in the first part, but they become the source and 
starting-point for a number of the most significant 
scenes in the second. 

THE NEW MATERIAL IN THE PLOT— That 
2 Henry IV is at all able to bear comparison with 
the first part, beside which it stands otherwise at 
many disadvantages, is due to the addition of the 
great Gloucestershire scenes portraying the house- 
hold of Justice Shallow, a theme further elaborated 
in The Merry Wives of Windsor (ca. 1600). Nicho- 
las Rowe's Account of Mr. William Shakespeare 
(1709) alludes to the then common belief that Shal- 
low is a caricature of Shakespeare's youthful perse- 
cutor. Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecot. There is 
plausible ground for the identification, but the satire 
is far from bitter. Indeed, the charm of the scenes 
dealing with the foolish justices, Shallow and Silence, 
lies in the poet's conviction of the felicity of their 
sheltered rural lives, as contrasted with the unhealthy 
extravagance of Falstaff's tavern existence and the 



221 



2 



INTRODUCTION 



mordant cares of public responsibility. The key to 
the Shallow scenes is found when one remembers 
that during tlie years when Henry IV was being pro- 
duced Shakespeare was seeking to prepare a similar 
retreat for himself by gaining the arms and title of a 
gentleman and investing his theatrical profits in large 
purchases of landed property less than ten miles 
from the Gloucestershire border. For a brilliant ex- 
position of just what such a life probably meant to 
Shakespeare as he was approaching middle age, every 
student of this part of the play should read the Right 
Honorable D. H. Madden's Diary of Master William 
Silence (1897). 

DATE — Justice Silence, who first makes his ap- 
pearance in 2 Henry IV, is alluded to as a figure 
already familiar to London audiences in Ben Jon- 
son's Every Man out of his Humour (V. ii), acted 
by Shakesj^eare's Company in 1599. On the other 
hand, the new king's allusion, in the last act of our 
play (V. ii. 47), to the uncomfortable situation of the 
monarch's brothers at the Turkish court, where 
"Amurath an Amurath succeeds," joins with a mass 
of other evidence to prove a date of composition later 
than 1596, when Amurath III died at Constantinople 
and his successor's brothers were immediately stran- 
gled. Probably the play was first performed in 1598. 

TEXT— On August 23, 1600, the second part of 
Henry IV was registered for publication, in con- 
junction with Much Ado about Nothing. The only 
early quarto edition appeared in the same year (that 
•is, before March 25, 1601, by modern reckoning). 
Upon this edition and the version included in the 1623 
folio are based all subsequent texts. The quarto, 
though it includes a few lines and a number of sin- 
gle words not in the folio, is chiefly remarkable for 
two things: its many omissions of fine poetic speeches, 
undoubtedly Shakespearean, but perhaps not used in 
the current acting version of the play; and the curi- 
ous differences between individual specimens of the 
edition. The first scene of Act III, including King 
Henry's famous apostrophe to sleep, is wholly lacking 
in some copies of the quarto, but is found in others: 
it seems to have come to the printer's hands after a 
part of the impression was already prepared for the 
market. In the present edition preference has gen- 
erally been given, in doubtful cases, to the folio text; 
but there are many interesting divergences, where 
choice is difficult, and the notes of variant readings 
should be frequently consulted. 

CRITICAL COMMENT— ''None of Shakespeare's 
plays," remarked Dr. Johnson with reference to the 
latter half of the eighteenth century, "are read more 

222 



than the first and second parts of Henry IV. Per- 
haps no author has ever, in two plays, afforded so 
much delight." About Falstaff more first-class criti- 
cism has probably been written than about any other 
Shakespearean character except Hamlet. He stimu- 
lated Johnson to one of his finest expressions of ap- 
preciative sympathy: "Falstaff— unimitated, unimi- 
table Falstaff— how shall I describe thee? thou 
compound of sense and vice; of sense which may be 
admired, but not esteemed; of vice which may be 
despised, but hardly detested !" About the same time 
tha't Johnson was writing, a friendly conversation 
concerning the supposed cowardice of Falstaff 
prompted a gentleman of no literary pretensions, 
Maurice Morgann, to one of the first and greatest 
pieces of English romantic criticism in an eloquent 
essay of nearly a hundred pages "On the Dramatic 
Character of Sir John Falstaff" (1777). 

The early nineteenth century claimed Falstaff par- 
ticularly for its own and vied with itself in elaborat- 
ing and etherializing the character, till Hazlitt and 
his companions had almost proved that the fat knight 
was nothing that he appeared to be: neither a cow- 
ard, nor a glutton, nor a sensualist, nor even truly an 
egoist. The result enriched English critical literature 
with some of its most thoughtful and subtle work, 
but it probably reacted unfavorably upon the stage 
Falstaff. It may be that the virtual extinction of 
Henry IF as a practical acting play is connected 
with the ever increasing and finally superhuman de- 
mands laid upon the performer of the chief comic 
part. 

Perhaps the truest conception of Falstaff as Shake- 
speare desired him to appear to Elizabethan audi- 
ences is expressed by Hudson, who refers to the need 
of presenting symbolically the chroniclers' tales of 
Prince Hal's wild youth: "The poet had no way to 
set forth this part of the man's life but by creating 
one or more representative characters, concentrating 
in them such a fund of mental attractions as might 
overcome the natural repugnance of an upright and 
noble mind to their vices. ... It must be no ordi- 
nary companionship that yields entertainment to such 
a spirit even in its loosest moments. Whatever bad 
or questionable elements may mingle in its mirth, it 
must have some fresh and rich ingredients, some spar- 
kling and generous flavor to make him relish it. . . . 
Here, then, we have a sort of dramatic necessity for 
the character of Falstaff. To answer the purpose, it 
was imperative that he should be just such a con- 
gregation of charms and vices as he is." 

B. 



THE SECOND PART OF 

HENRY THE FOURTH 

CONTAINING HIS DEATH AND THE CORONATION OF 
KING HENRY THE FIFTH. 



[Scene of Action: Warkworth Castle in Northumberland; London and Westminster 
York and the adjacent Galtres Forest; Justice Shallow's House in Gloucestershire.] 





THE 


ACTOIJS' NAMES 




Rumor, the Presenter. 






Sir John Falstaff, 




KixG Hexry the Fourth. 






POINS, 




Prin^ce Henry, afterwards 

Fifth. 
Prixce JoHif of Lancaster, ^ 


crowned King Henry the 
Sons to Henry the Fourth 


Bardolph, 

Pistol, 

Peto, 


Irregular 
Humorists. 


Humphrey of Gloucester, 


and brethren to 


Falstaff's Page, 




Thomas of Clarence, 
Earl of Northumberland, 


Henry the Fifth. 


Shallow, 1 

(- Both Country Justices. 
Silence, J 


Archbishop of York, 






Davie, servant to Shallow. 


Lord Mowbray, 


Opposites 




Fang and Snare, two Serjeants. 


Lord Hastings, 
Lord Bardolph, 


against 
>- King Henry 




Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bullcalf: Country 
Soldiers. 


Tra\t:rs, 
Morton, 


the 
Fourth. 




Drawers; Beadles; Grooms. 


Sir John Colevile, 






Northumberland's Wife. 


Earl of Warwick, 
Earl of Westmoreland, 
Earl of Surrey, 

GoWER, 

Harcourt, 
[Blunt], 


Of the 

- King's 
Party. ' 




Percy's [Hotspur's] Widow. 
Hostess ^Quickly. 
Doll Tearsheet. 
Epilogue. 


Lord Chief-Justice, 











INDUCTION. 

[Warkworth. Before the castle.'] 
Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. 

Rum. Open your ears; for which of you will 
stop 
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour 
speaks } 



I, from the orient to the drooping west. 
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
The acts commenced on this ball of earth: 5 
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, 
The which in every language I pronounce, 
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
I speak of peace, while covert enmity 
Under the smile of safety wounds the World : 
And who but Rumour, who but only I, n 

Make fearful musters and prepared defence. 



223 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[induction 



Whiles the big year, swoln with some other 

grief, 
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, 
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe 15 
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures. 
And of so easy and so plain a stop 
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads. 
The still-discordant wavering multitude. 
Can play upon it. But what need I thus 20 
My well-known body to anatomize 
Among my houseliold ? Why is Rumour here ? 
I run before King Harry's victory; 
Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury 24 

Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his 

troops. 
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion 
Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean 

I 
To speak so true at first? my office is 
To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell 
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword, 30 
And that the king before the Uouglas' rage 
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 
This have I rumour'd through the peasant 

towns 
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury 
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, 35 
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, 
Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on. 
And not a man of them brings other news 
Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's 

tongues 
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than 

true wrongs. Exit. 40 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — [JVarhworth.'] 

Enter the Lord Bardolph at one door and the 
Porter [at another]. 

L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho? 

Where is the earl? 
Port. What shall I say you are? 
L. Bard. Tell thou the e.-trl 

That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 
Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the or- 
chard: 
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, 5 
And he himself will answer. 



Enter Northumberland. 

L. Bar. Here comes the earl. 

Nor. What news. Lord Bardolph? every minute 
now 
Should be the father of some stratagem: 
The times are wild ; contention, like a horse 
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose 10 
And bears down all before him. 
L. Bar. Noble earl, 

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. 
Nor. Good, and God will ! 

L. Bar. As good as heart can wish: 

The king is almost wounded to the death; 
And, in the fortune of my lord your son, 15 
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the 

Blunts 
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince 

John 
And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field; 
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir 

John, 
Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day, 20 

So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won. 
Came not till now to dignify the times. 
Since Caesar's fortunes ! 
Nor. How is this deriv'd? 

Saw you the field? came you from Shrews- 
bury? 
L. Bar. I spake with one, my lord, that came 
from thence, 25 

A gentleman well bred and of good name. 
That freely render'd me these news for true. 
Nor. Here comes my servant Travers, whom I 
sent 
On Tuesday last to listen after news. • 

Enter Travers. 

L. Bar. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; 30 
And he is furnish'd with no certainties 
More than he haply may retail from me. 

Nor. Now, Travers, what good tidings comes 
with you? 

Tra. My lord. Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me 
back 
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd. 
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard 
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, 37 
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied 

I horse. 

He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him 



224 



J 



ACT I. SC. I.] 



HENRY IV, PART II f 



£> 



I did demand what news from Shrewsbury: 40 
He told me that rebellion had bad luck 
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold. 
With that, he gave his able horse the head. 
And bending forward struck his armed heels 
Against the panting sides of his poor jade 4s 
Up to the rowel-head, and starting so 
He seem'd in running to devour the way. 
Staying no longer question. 

iVor. Ha! Again: 

Said he young Harry Percy's 's£ur.was cpld? 
Of Hot-spur Cold-spur.? that rebellion! ; ^^ 50 
Had met ill luck T - ~ 

L. Bar. My lord, I'll tell you what; 

If my young lord your son have not the day. 
Upon mine honour, for a silken point 
I'll give my barony: never talk of it. 

Nor. Why should the gentleman that rode by 
Travers 55 

Give then such instances of loss? 

L.Bar. Who, he? 

He was some hilding fellow that had stol'n 
The horse he rode on, and, upon my life. 
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more 
news. 

Enter Morton. 

Nor. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, 60 
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume: 
So looks the strond whereon the imperious 

flood 
Hath left a witness'd usurpation. 
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrews- 
bury ? 

Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; 65 
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask 
To fright our party. 
Nor. How doth my son and brother? 

Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy 

cheek 
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, 70 
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone. 
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night. 
And would have told him half his Troy was 

burnt ; 
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue, 
And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it. 75 
This thou wouldst say, 'Your son did thus and 

thus; 
Your brother thus: so fought the noble Doug- 
las:' 



Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds : 
But in the end, to stop my ear indeed. 
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, 80 
Ending with 'Brother, son, and all are dead.' 
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; 

But, for my lord your son, — 
Nor. Why, he is dead. 

See what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
He that but fears the thing he would not 

know 8s 

Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes 
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, 

Morton ; 
Tell thou thy earl his divination lies. 
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace 
And make thee rich for doing me such 

wrong. 90 

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: 

Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 
Nor. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. 
I see a strange confession in thine eye: 
Thou shak'st thy head and hold'st it fear or 

sin 95 

To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so; 
The tongue offends not that reports his death: 
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead, 
Not he which says the dead is not alive. 
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 100 
Hath but a losing office, and his tongue 
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
Remember'd knolling a departing friend. 
L. Bar. I cannot think, my lord, your son is 

dead.* 
Mor. I am sorry I should force you to believe 105 
That which I would to God I had not seen; 
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 
Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out- 

breath'd. 
To Henry Monmouth ; whose swift wrath beat 

down 
The never-daunted Percy to the earth, no 

From whence with life he never more sprung 

up. 
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire 
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp, 
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 
From the best-temper'd courage in his 

troops; IIS 

For from his mettle was his party steel'd ; 
Which once in him abated, all the rest 
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy 

lead: 



225 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act I. SC. I. 



And as the thing that's heavy in itself, 
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed, 120 
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, 
Lend to this weight such lightness with their 

fear 
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim 
Than did our soldiers, (aiming at their safety) 
Fly from the field. Then was that noble 

Worcester 125 

Too soon ta'en prisoner ; and that furious Scot, 
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring 

sword 
Had three times slain the appearance of the 

king, 
'Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame 
Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his 

flight, 130 

Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out 
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord. 
Under the conduct of young Lancaster 
And Westmoreland. This is the news at 

full. 135 

Nor. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. 
In poison there is physic; and these news. 
Having been well, that would have made me 

sick. 
Being sick, have in some measure made me 

well: 
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd 

joints, 
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, 141 
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs, 
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with 

grief. 
Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, 

thou nice crutch ! 145 

A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel 
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly 

quoif ! 
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head 
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to 

hit. 
Now bind my brows with iron; and ap- 
proach 150 
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare 

bring 
To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland ! 
Let heaven kiss earth ! now let not Nature's 

hand 
Keep the wild flood confin'd ! let order die ! 



And let this world no longer be a stage 155 
To feed contention in a ling'ring act; 
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end. 
And darkness be the burier of the dead! 160 
Tra, This strained passion doth you wrong, my 

lord. 
L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from 

jour honour. 
Mor. The lives of all your loving complices 
Lean on your health; the which, if you give 

o'er 
To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 165 
You cast th' event of war, my noble lord, 
And summ'd the accompt of chance, before you 

said 
'Let us make head.' It was your presurmise. 
That, in the dole of blows, your son might 

drop: 
You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, 170 
More likely to fall in than to get o'er; 
You were advis'd his flesh was capable 
Of wounds and scars and that his forward 

spirit 
Would lift him where most trade of danger 

rang'd : 
Yet did you say 'Go forth ;' and none of this, 17s 
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
The stifle-borne action: what hath then be- 
fallen. 
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought 

forth. 
More than that being which was like to be.^ 
L. Bard. We all that are engaged in this loss 180 
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous 

seas 
That if we wrought out life 'tAvas ten to one^ 
And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd 
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd; 
And since we are o'erset, venture again. 185 
Come, we will all put forth, body and goods. 
Mor. 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble 

lord, 
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth. 
The gentle Archbishop of York is up 
With well-appointed powers : he is a man 190 
Who with a double surety binds his followers. 
My lord your son had only but the corpse, 
But shadows and the shows of men, to fight; 
For that same word, rebellion, did divide 
The action of their bodies from their souls ; 195 



226 



ACT I. SC. 



I.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



And they did fight with queasiness, con- 

strain'd. 
As men drink potions, that their weapons only 
Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and 

souls, 
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, 
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop 200 
Turns insurrection to religion: 
Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts. 
He's follow'd both with body and with mind: 
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 
Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret 

stones ; 205 

Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause ; 
Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land. 
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke; 
And more and less do flock to follow him. 
Nor. I knew of this before; but, to speak 

truth, 210 

This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. 
Go in with me; and counsel every man 
The aptest way for safety and revenge: 
Get posts and letters, and make friends with 

speed: 
Never so few, nor never yet more need. 
•i Exeunt. 



Scene II. — \_A street in London.'] 

Enter Falstaff, with his Page bearing his sword 
and buckler. 

Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to 
my water .^ 

Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good 
healthy water; but, for the party that ow'd it, 
he might have more diseases than he knew 
for. 6 

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at 
me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, 
man, is not able to invent any thing that tends 
to laughter, more than I invent or is invented 
on me. I am not only witty in myself, but the 
cause that wit is in other men. I do here 
walk before thee like a sow that hath o'er- 
whelm'd all her litter but one. If the prince 
put thee into my service for any other reason 
than to set me off, why then I have no judg- 
ment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art 
fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my 
heels. I was never mann'd with an agate till 



now: but I will set you neither in gold nor 
silver, but ih vile apparel, and send you back 
again to your master, for a jewel, — the Juv- 
enal, the prince your master, whose chin is not 
yet fledg'd. I will sooner have a beard grow 
in the palm of my hand than he shall get one 
on his cheek; yet he will not stick to say his 
face is a face-royal : God may finish it when he 
will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet: he may keep 
it still at a face-royal, for a barber shall never 
earn sixpence out of it; and yet he'll be crow- 
ing as if he had writ man ever since his father 
was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, 
but he's almost out of mine, I can assure him. 
What said Master Dombledon about the satin 
for my short cloak and slops .^ 

Page, He said, sir, you should procure him bet- 
ter assurance than Bardolph: he would not 
take his bond and yours; he lik'd not the se- 
curity. 38 

Fal. Let him be damn'd, like the glutton! pray 
God his tongue be hotter ! A whoreson Achi- 
tophel ! a rascally yea-forsooth knave ! to bear 
a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon se- 
curity! The whoreson smooth-pates do now 
wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of 
keys at their girdles ; and if a man is through 
with th€m in honest taking up, then they must 
stand upon security. I had as lief they would 
put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it 
with security, I looked he should have sent 
me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am 
true knight, and he sends me security. Well, 
he may sleep in security ; for he hath the horn 
of abundance, and the lightness of his wife 
shines through it: and yet cannot he see, 
though he have his own lanthorn to light him. 
Where's Bardolph? 55 

Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your wor- 
ship a horse. 

Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me 
a horse in Smithfield: if I could get me but a 
wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and 
wived. 61 

Enter Chief-Justice and Servant. 

Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that com- 
mitted the prince for striking him about Bar- 
dolph. 
Fal. Wait close; I will not see him. 65 

Ch. Just. What's he that goes there? 



227 



8 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act I. SC. II. 



Serv. FalstafF, and't please your lordship. 

Ch. Just. He that was in question for the rob- 
bery ? 69 

Serv. He, my lord: but he hath since done good 
service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now 
going with some charge to the Lord John of 
Lancaster. 

Ch. Just. What, to York? Call him back 
again. 75 

Serv. Sir John FalstafF! 

Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf. 

Page. You must speak louder; my master is 
deaf. 79 

Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any 
thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow; I 
must speak with him. 

Serv. Sir John ! 

Fal. What! a young knave, and beg! Is there 
not wars ? is there not employment ? doth not 
the king lack subj ects ? do not the rebels want 
soldiers } Though it be a shame to be on any 
side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to 
be on the worst side, were it worse than the 
name of rebellion can tell how to make it. 90 

Serv. You mistake me, sir. 

Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest 
man.^ setting my knighthood and my soldier- 
ship aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had 
said so. 94 

Serv. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood 
and your soldiership aside; and give me leave 
to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I 
am any other than an honest man. 

Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay 
aside that which grows to me ! If thou get'st 
any leave of me, hang me; if thou tak'st leave, 
thou wert better be hang'd. You hunt 
counter: hence! avaunt! 

Serv. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 

Ch. Just. Sir John FalstafF, a word with you, 105 

Fal. My good lord! God give your lordship 
good time of day. I am glad to see your lord- 
ship abroad: I heard say your lordship was 
sick: I hope your lordship goes abroad by ad- 
vice. Your lordship, though not clean past 
your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, 
some relish of the saltness of time; and I most 
humbly beseech your lordship to have a rev- 
erend care of your health, 

Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your 
expedition to Shrewsbury. 116 

Fal. And't please your lordship, I hear his 



majesty is returned with some discomfort from 
Wales. 

Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty: you would 
not come when I sent for you. 121 

Fal. And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen 
into this same whoreson apoplexy. 

Ch. Just. Well, God mend him! I pray you, 
let me speak with you. 125 

Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of 
lethargy, and't please your lordship ; a kind of 
sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling. 

Ch. Just. What tell you me of it.^ be it as it 
is. • 130 

Fal. It hath it original from much grief, from 
study and perturbation of the brain : I have 
read the cause of his effects in Galen: it is a 
kind of deafness. 

Ch. Just. I think you are fallen into the disease; 
for you hear not what I say to you. 136 

Fal. Very well, my lord, very well: rather, and't 
please you, it is the disease of not listening, 
the malady of not marking, that I am troubled 
withal. 140 

Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels would 
amend the attention of your ears; and I care 
not if I do become your physician. 

Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so 
patient: your lordship may minister the po- 
tion of imprisonment to me in respect of pov- 
erty; but how I should be your patient to fol- 
low your prescriptions, the wise may make 
some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple 
itself. 149 

Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were mat- 
ters against you for jour life, to come speak 
with me. 

Fal. As I was then advised by my learned coun- 
sel in the laws of this land-service, I did not 
come. 155 

Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live 
in great infamy, 

Fal. He that buckles him in my belt cannot live 
in less. 

Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your 
waste is great. 160 

Fal. I would it were otherwise; I would my 
means were greater, and my waist slenderer. 

Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. 

Fal. The young prince hath misled me : I am the 
fellow with the great bell}^, and he my dog, 165 

Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed 
wound : your day's service at Shrewsbury hath 



228 



ACT I. SC. II.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



9 



a little gilded over your night's exploit on 
Gadshill: you may thank the unquiet time for 
your quiet o'er-posting that action. 171 

Fal. My lord? 

Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so: wake 
not a sleeping wolf. 

Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a 
fox. 176 

Ch. Just. What! you are as a candle, the better 
part burnt out. 

Fal. A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I 
did say of wax, my growth would approve the 
truth. ' 181 

Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face 
but should have his effect of gravity. 

Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 

Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and 
down, like his ill angel, 186 

Fal. Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but 
I hope he that looks upon me will take me 
without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I 
grant, I cannot go : I cannot tell. Virtue is of 
so little regard in these costermonger's times 
that true valour is turned bear-herd: preg- 
nancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick 
wit wasted in giving reckonings : all the other 
gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this 
age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. 
You that are old consider not the capacities of 
us that are young; you measure the heat of 
our livers with the bitterness of your galls : and 
we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must 
confess, are wags too. 200 

Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the 
scroll of youth, that are written down old with 
all the characters of age? Have you not a 
moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow clieek? a 
white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing 
belly? is not your voice broken? your wind 
short ? your chin double ? your wit single ? and 
every part about you blasted with antiquity? 
and will you yet call yourself wrong? Fie, 
fie, fie. Sir John! 210 

Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the 
clock in the afternoon, with a white head and 
something a round belly. For my voice, I 
have lost it with halloing and singing of an- 
thems. To approve my youth further, I will 
not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment 
and understanding; and he that will caper with 
me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the 
money, and have at him ! For the box of the 



ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like 
a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible 
lord. I have checked him for it, and the 
young lion repents; marry, not in ashes and 
sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. 

Ch. Just. Well, God send the prince a better 
companion ! 224 

Fal. God send the companion a better prince! 
I cannot rid my hands of him. 

Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and 
Prince Harry: I hear you are going with 
Lord John of Lancaster against the Arch- 
bishop and the Earl of Northumberland. 230 

Fal. Yes; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. 
But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady 
Peace at home, that our armies join not in a 
hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two 
shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat 
extraordinarily: if it be a hot day, and I 
brandish any thing but my bottle, would I 
might never, spit white again. There is not a 
dangerous action can peep out his head but I 
am thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever: 
but it was alway yet the trick of our English 
nation, if they have a good thing, to make it 
too common. If ye will needs say I am an 
old man, you should give me rest. I would to 
God my name were not so terrible to the 
enemy as it is: I were better to be eaten to 
death with a rust than to be scoured to noth- 
ing with perpetual motion. 247 

Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest; and God 
bless your expedition ! 

Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand 



pound to furnish me forth ? 



251 



Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny; you are 
too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: 
commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. 

[Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant.l 

Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. 
A man can no more separate age and covet- 
ousness than he can part young limbs and 
lechery: but the gout galls the one, and the 
pox pinches the other; and so both the de- 
grees prevent m}^ curses. Boy! 260 

Page. Sir? 

Fal. What money is in my purse ? 

Page. Seven groats and two pence. 

Fal. I can get no remedy against this consump- 
tion of the purse: borrowing only lingers and 
lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. Go 
bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster; this 



229 



10 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act 



I. SC. II. 



to the prince; this to the Earl of Westmore- 
land; and this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I 
have weekly sworn to marry since I perceiv'd 
the first white hair on my chin. About it : you 
know where to find me. [Ej:it Page.'] A pox 
of this gout ! or, a gout of this pox ! for the 
one or th' other plays the rogue with my great 
toe. It is no matter if I do halt; I have the 
wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem 
the more reasonable. A good wit Mali make 
use of any thing: I will turn diseases to com- 
modity. Exit. 



Scene III. — \Yorh. The Archbishop's 
'palace.'] 

Enter Archbishop, Hastings, Mowbray, and Lord 
Bardolph. 

Arch. Thus have you heard our cause and know 
our means; 
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, 
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes : 
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? 

Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms; 5 
But gladly would be better satisfied 
How in our means we should advance our- 
selves 
To look with forehead bold and big enough 
Upon the power and puissance of the king. 

Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file 10 
To five and twenty thousand men of choice; 
And our supplies live largely in the hope 
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns 
With an incensed fire of injuries. 

L. Bard. The question then. Lord Hastings, 
standeth thus; 15 

Whether our present five and twenty thousand 
May hold up head without Northumberland? 

Hast. With him, we may. 

L. Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point: 

But if without him we be thought too feeble. 
My j udgment is_, we should not step too far 20 
Till we had his assistance by the hand; 
For in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this 
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise 
Of aids incertain should not be admitted. 24 

Arch. 'Tis very true. Lord Bardolph; for indeed 
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 

L. Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with 
hope. 



Eating the air on promise of supply, 
Flatt'ring himself with project of a power 
Much smaller than the smallest of his 

thoughts : 
And so, with great imagination 31 

Proper to madmen, led his powers to death 
And, winking, leap'd into destruction. 
Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt 
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. 35 
L. Bard. Yes, if this present quality of war. 
Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot. 
Lives so in hope as in an early spring 
We see th' appearing buds; which to prove 

fruit, 
Hope gives not so much warrant as despair 40 
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to 

build. 
We first survey the plot, then draw the model; 
And when we see the figure of the house. 
Then must we rate the cost of the erection; 
Which if we find outweighs ability, 45 

What do we then but draw anew the model 
In fewer offices, or at last desist 
To build at all? Much more, in this great 

work, 
Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down 
And set another up, should we survey 50 

The plot of situation and the model. 
Consent upon a sure foundation, 
Question surveyors, know our own estate, 
How able such a work to undergo. 
To weigh against his opposite; or else 55 

We fortify in paper and in figures. 
Using the names of men instead of men: 
Like one that draws the model of a house 
Beyond his power to build it; who, half 

through. 

Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost 60 

A naked subject to the weeping clouds 

And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 

Hast. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair 

birth, 
Should be still-born, and that we now pos- 

sess'd 
The utmost man of expectation, 65 

I think we are a body strong enough, 
Even as we are, to equal with the king. 
L. Bard. What, is the king but five and twenty 

thousand ? 
Hast. To us no more; nay, not so much. Lord 

Bardolph. 
For his divisions, as the times do brawl, 70 



230 



ACT I. SC. III.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



11 



Are in three heads: one power against the 

French, 
And one against Glendower; perforce a third 
Must take up us : so is the unfirm king 
In three divided ; and his coffers sound 
With hollow poverty and emptiness. 75 

Arch. That he should draw his several strengths 
together 
And come against us in full puissance, 
Need not be dreaded. 
Hast. If he should do so, 

He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and 

Welsh 
Baying him at the heels : never fear that. 80 
L. Bard. Who is it like should lead his forces 

hither ? 
Hast. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmore- 
land; 
Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Mon- 
mouth : 
But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
I have no certain notice. 
Arch. Let us on, 85 

And publish the occasion of our arms. 
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice ; 
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited: 
An habitation giddy and unsure 
Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 90 
O thou fond many, with what loud applause 
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Boling- 

broke. 
Before he was what thou wouldst have him be ! 
And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, 
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, 95 
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. 
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge 
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard ; 
And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up. 
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these 

times ? 
They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him 
die, loi 

Are now become enamour'd on his grave: 
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head 
When through proud London he came sighing 

on 
After th' admired heels of Bolingbroke, 105 
Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again. 
And take thou this!' O thoughts of men ac- 

curs'd ! 
Past and to come seems best; things present 
worst. 



Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers and set 

on.f* 
Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be 

gone. [Ea;eunt.'\ no 



ACT II 

Scene I. — [A public place in London.] 

Enter Hostess, Fang and his Boy with 
her, and Snare following. 

Host. Master Fang, have you entered the ac- 
tion? 

Fang. It is entered. 

Host. Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeo- 
man? will a' stand to 't? 

Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare? 5 

Host. O Lord, ay ! good Master Snare. 

Snare. Here, here. 

Fang. Snare, we must arrest Sir John FalstaiF. 

Host. Ay, good Master Snare; I have entered 
him and all. 10 

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, 
for he will stab. 

Host. Alas the day ! take heed of him; he stabbed 
me in mine own house, and that most beastly: 
he cares not what mischief he doth, if his 
weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he 
will spare neither man, woman, nor child. 

Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for 
his thrust. 20 

Host. No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow. 

Fang. If I but fist him once; if he come but 
within my vice, — 

Host. I am undone with his going; I warrant, 
he's an infinitive thing upon my score. Good 
Master Fang, hold him sure: good Master 
Snare, let him not scape. He comes contin- 
uantly to Piecorner — saving your manhoods — 
to buy a saddle ; and he is indited to dinner to 
the Lubber's-head in Lombard street, to Mas- 
ter Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my 
exion is entered and my case so openly known 
to the world, let him be brought in to his an- 
swer. A hundred mark is a long one for a 
poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne, 
and borne, and borne, and have been fubbed 
off, and fubbed off, from this day to that day, 
that it is a shame to be thought on. There 
is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman 



231 



12 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act II. SC. I- 



should be made an ass and a beast, to bear 
every knave's wrong. 

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph, [with the page]. 

Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey- 
nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your 
offices, do your offices : Master Fang and Mas- 
ter Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices. 45 

Fal. How now! whose mare's dead? what's the 
matter ? 

Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mis- 
tress Quickly. 49 

Fal. Away, varlets ! Draw, Bardolph : cut me 
off the villain's head: throw the quean in the 
channel. 52 

Host. Throw me in the channel! I'll throw 
thee there. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bas- 
tardly rogue ! Murder, murder ! O, thou 
honey-suckle villain! wilt thou kill God's of- 
ficers and the king's? O, thou honey-seed 
rogue! thou art a honey-seed, a man-queller, 
and a woman-queller. 

Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. 60 

Fang. A rescue! a rescue! 

Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two. 
Thou wo't, wo't thou? thou wo't, wo't ta? do, 
do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed! 

Page. Away, you scullion! you rampallian ! you 
fustilarian ! I'll tickle your catastrophe. 66 

Enter Chief -Justice. 

Ch. Just. What's the matter? keep the peace 
here, ho! 

Host. Good my lord, be good to me. I be- 
seech you, stand to me. 70 

Ch. Just. How now. Sir John! what are you 
brawling here? 
Doth this become your place, your time and 

business ? 
You should have been well on your way to 

York. 
Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st 
upon him ? 74 

Host. O my most worshipful lord, and't please 
your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, 
and he is arrested at my suit. 

Ch. Just. For what sum? 78 

Host. It is more than for some, my lord; it is 
for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of 
house and home; he hath put all my substance 
into that fat belly of his : but I will have some 



of it out again, or I will ride thee o' nights 
like the mare. 

Fal. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I 
have any vantage of ground to get up. 85 

Ch. Just. How comes this. Sir John? Fie! 
what man of good temper would endure this 
tempest of exclamation? Are you not 
asham'd to enforce a poor widow to so rough 
a course to come by her own? 90 

FaL What is the gross sum that I owe thee? 

Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thy- 
self and the money too. Thou didst swear 
to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my 
Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a 
sea-coal fire, on Wednesday in Whitson week, 
when the prince broke thy head for liking his 
father to a singing-man of Windsor, thou 
didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy 
wound, to marry me and make me my lady 
thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not 
goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in 
then and call me gossip Quickly? coming in 
to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us she 
had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou 
didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee 
they were ill for a green wound? And didst 
not thou, when she was gone down stairs, 
desire me to be no more so familiarity with 
such poor people; saying that ere long they 
should call me madam? And didst thou not 
kiss me and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings ? 
I put thee now to thy book-oath: deny it, if 
thou canst. 113 

Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she 
says up and down the town that her eldest 
son is like you: she hath been in good case, 
and the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. 
But for these foolish officers, I beseech you I 
may have redress against them. 118 

Ch. Just. Sir John, Sir John, I am well ac- 
quainted with your manner of wrenching the 
true cause the false way. It is not a confi- 
dent brow, nor the throng of words that come 
with such more than impudent sauciness from 
you, can thrust me from a level consideration: 
I know you ha' practised upon the easy- 
yielding spirit of this woman. 126 
Host. Yes, in troth, my lord. 
Ch. Just. Prethee, peace. Pay her the debt 
you owe her, and unpay the villainy you have 
done her: the one you may do with sterling 
money, and the other with current repentance. 



232 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



13 



Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap 
without reply. You call honourable bold- 
ness impudent sauciness: if a man will curtsy 
and say nothing, he is virtuous: no, my lord, 
my humble duty remembered, I will not be 
your suitor. I say to you, I desire deliver- 
ance from these officers, being upon hasty em- 
ployment in the king's affairs. 140 

Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do 
wrong: but answer in the effect of your repu- 
tation, and satisfy the poor woman. 

Fal. Come hither, hostess. 

. Enter Master Gower. 

Ch. Just. Now, Master Gower, what news? 

Gow. The king, my lord, and Henry Prince of 
Wales 
Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells. 

Fal. As I am a gentleman. 

Host. Faith, you said so before. 

Fal. As I am a gentleman. Come, no more 
words of it. 151 

Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I 
must be fain to pawn both my plate and the 
tapestry of my dining-chambers. 

Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: and 
for thy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the 
story of the Prodigal, or the German hunting 
in water-work, is worth a thousand of these 
bed-hangings and these fly-bitten tapestries. 
Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, 
and 'twere not for thy humours, there's not 
a better wench in England. Go, wash thy 
face, and draw the action. Come, thou must 
not be in this humour with me; dost not 
know me? come, come, I know thou wast set 
on to this. 

Host. Prethee, Sir John, let it be but twenty 
nobles: i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, 
so God save me, la ! 

Fal. Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll 
be a fool still. 170 

Host. Well, you shall have it, although I pawn 
my gown. I hope you'll come to supper. 
You'll pay me all together? 

Fal. Will I live? [To Bardolph] Go, with 
her, with her ; hook on, hook on. 

Host. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you 
at supper? 

Fal. No more words ; let's have her. 

^Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers, and Boy.] 



Ch. Just. I have heard bitter news. 

Fal. What's the news, my good lord? 180 

Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night? 

Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord. 

Fal. I hope, my lord, all's well: what is the 

news, my lord? 
Ch. Ju^t. Come all his forces back? 
Gow. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred 
horse. 

Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, 

Against Northumberland and the Archbishop. 
Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my no- 
ble lord? 
Ch, Just. You shall have letters of me pres- 
ently : 190 

Come, go along with me, good Master 
Gower. 
Fal. My lord! 

Ch. Just. What's the matter? 
Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me 

to dinner? 
Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here; I 

thank you, good Sir John. 
Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, 

being you are to take soldiers up in counties 

as you go. 200 

Fal. Will you sup with me. Master Gower? 
Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you 

these manners. Sir John? 
Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he 

was a fool that taught them me. This is the 

right fencing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and 

so part fair. 
Ch. Just. Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art 

a great fool. Exeunt 



Scene II. — [London.] 
Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

Prince. Before God, I am exceeding weary. 

Poins. Is it come to that? I had thought 
weariness durst not have attach'd one of so 
high blood. 

Prince. Faith, it doth me; though it discolours 
the complexion of my greatness to acknowl- 
edge it. Doth it not show vildly in me to de- 
sire small beer? 

Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
studied as to remember so weak a composi- 
tion. 10 



2S3 



14 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act II. SC. II. 



Prince. Belike then my appetite was not 
princely got; for, in troth, I do now remem- 
ber the poor creature, small beer. But, in- 
deed, these humble considerations make me 
out of love with my greatness. What a dis- 
grace is it to me to remember thy name ! 
or to know thy face to-morrow ! or to take 
note how many pair of silk stockings thou 
hast, viz. these, and those that were thy 
peach-colour'd ones ! or to bear the inventory 
of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and one 
other for use! But that the tennis-court- 
keeper knows better than I ; for it is a low 
ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest 
not racket there; as thou hast not done a 
great while, because the rest of thy low coun- 
tries have made a shift to eat up thy hol- 
land: and God knows, whether those that 
bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall inherit 
his kingdom: but the midwives say the chil- 
dren are not in the fault; whereupon the 
world increases, and kindreds are mightily 
strengthened. 30 

Poins. How ill it follows, after you have la- 
bour'd so hard, you should talk so idly ! Tell 
me, how many good young princes would do 
so, their fathers lying so sick as yours is.^ 

Prince. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? 

Poins. Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent 
good thing. 

Prince. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
breeding than thine. 

Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one 
thing that you'll tell. 41 

Prince. Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that 
I should be sad, now my father is sick: al- 
beit I could tell to thee, as to one it pleases 
me, for fault of a better, to call my friend, 
I could be sad, and sad indeed too. 46 

Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject. 

Prince. By this hand, thou thinkest me as far 
in the devil's book as thou and FalstafF for 
obduracy and persistency: let the end try the 
man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds in- 
wardly that my father is so sick: and keep- 
ing such vild company as thou art hath in rea- 
son taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. 

Pains. The reason? 55 

Prince. What wouldst thou think of me, if I 
sliould weep? 

Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypo- 
crite. 



Prince. It would be every man's thought; and 
thou art a blessed fellow to think as every 
man thinks: never a man's thought in the 
world keeps the road-way better than thine; 
every man would think me an hypocrite in- 
deed. And what accites your most worship- 
ful thought to think so? 65 

Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd 
and so much engraffed to FalstafF. 

Prince. And to thee. 

Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of; I 
can hear it with mine own ears: the worst 
that they can say of me is that I am a sec- 
ond brother and that I am a proper fellow of 
my hands; and those two things, I confess, 
I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bar- 
dolph. 75 

Enter Bardolph [and Boy'\, 

Prince. And the boy that I gave FalstafF: a' 
had him from me Christian; and look, if the 
fat villain have not transformed him ape. 

Bard. God save your grace ! 

Prince. And yours, most noble Bardolph! 79 

Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, 
must you be blushing? wherefore blush you 
now? What a maidenly man-at-arms are 
you become ! Is't such a matter to get a 
pottle-pot's maidenhead ? 

Page. A' calls me e'en now, my lord, through 
a red lattice, and I could discern no part of 
his face from the window: at last I spied his 
eyes, and methought he had made two holes 
in the ale-wife's new petticoat and so peeped 
through. 

Prince. Hath not the boy profited? 90 

Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, 
away! 

Page. Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away ! 

Prince. Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy? 

Page. Marry, my lord. Althaea dream'd she was 
deliver'd of a fire-brand; and therefore I call 
him her dream. 

Prince. A crown's worth of good interpretation: 
there it is, boy. 100 

Poins. O, that this good blossom could be, kept 
from cankers ! Well, there is sixpence to pre- 
serve thee. 

Bard. And you do not make him hang'd among 
you, the gallows shall have wrong. 

Prince. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? 

Bard. Well, my good lord. He heard of your 



234 



ACT II. SC. II.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



15 



grace's coming to town. There's a letter for 
you. 

Poins. Deliver'd with good respect. And how 
doth the martlemas, your master? no 

Bard. In bodily health, sir. 

Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physi- 
cian; but that moves not him: though that be 
sick, it dies not. 

Prince. I do allow this wen to be as familiar 
with me as my dog; and he holds his place; 
for look you how he writes. 

Poins. [Beads'] 'John FalstafF, knight,' — every 
man must know that, as oft as he has oc- 
casion to name himself: even like those that 
are kin to the king; for they never prick their 
finger but they say, 'There is some of the 
king's blood spilt.' 'How comes that?' says 
he, that takes upon him not to conceive. The 
answer is as ready as a borrower's cap, 'I 
am the king's poor cousin, sir.' 126 

Prince. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they 
will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter: 
[Reads'] 'Sir John FalstafF, knight, to the son 
of the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince 
of Wales, greeting.' 

Poins. Why, this is a certificate. 

Prince. Peace ! [Reads] 'I will imitate the hon- 
ourable Romans in brevity.' 134 

Poins. Sure he means brevity in breath, short- 
winded. [Reads over the Prince's shoidder.] 
'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and 
I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins ; 
for he misuses thy favours so much, that he 
swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Re- 
pent at idle times as thou may'st; and so, 
farewell. 141 

'Thine, by yea and no, which is as much 
as to say, as thou usest him. Jack Fal- 
STAFF with my familiars, John with my 
brothers and sisters, and Sir John with 
all Europe.' 
My lord, I will steep this letter in sack and 
make him eat it. 

Prince. That's to make him eat twenty of his 
words. But do you use me thus, Ned? Must 
I marry your sister ? 151 

Poins. God send the wench no worse fortune ! 
But I never said so. 

Prince. Well, thus we play the fools with the 
time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the 
clouds and mock us. Is your master here in 
London ? 



Bard. Yes, my lord. 

Prince. W^here sups he? doth the old boar feed 
in the old frank? 160 

Bard. At the old place, my lord, in East- 
cheap. 

Prince. What company? 

Page. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. 

Prince. Sup any women with him? 

Page. None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly 
and Mistress Doll Tearsheet. 

Prince. What pagan may that be? 

Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kins- 
woman of my master's. 170 

Prince. Even such kin as the parish heifers are 
to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, 
Ned, at supper? 

Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow 
you. 

Prince. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word 
to your master that I am yet in town. There's 
for your silence. 

Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 

Page. And for mine, sir, I will govern it. 180 

Prince. Fare" ye well; go. [Exeunt Bardolph 
and Page.] This Doll Tearsheet should be 
some road. 

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way 
between Saint Alban's and London. 

Prince. How might we see FalstafF bestow him- 
self to-night in his true colours, and not our- 
selves be seen? 

Poins. Put on two leather jerkins and aprons, 
and wait upon him at his table like draw- 
ers. 191 

Prince. From a God to a bull? a heavy descen- 
sion ! it was Jove's case. From a prince to 
a prentice ? a low transformation ! that shall 
be mine; for in every thing the purpose must 
weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. 

Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [WarJc worth Castle.] 

Enter Northumberland, his Lady, and Harry 
Percy's Lady. 

North. I prethee, loving wife, and gentle daugh- 
ter. 
Give even way unto my rough afFairs: 
Put not you on the visage of the times 
And be like them to Percy troublesome. 



235 



16 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act II. SC. III. 



Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no 

more : s 

Do what you will; your wisdom be your 

guide. 

North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; 

And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 

Lady P. O 3^et, for God's sake, go not to these 

wars ! 

The time was, father, that you broke your 

word, 10 

When you were more endear'd to it than now ; 

When your own Percy, when my heart-dear 

Harry, 
Threw many a northward look to see his 

father 
Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain. 
Who then persuaded you to stay at home.^ 15 
There were two honours lost, yours and your 

son's. 
For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! 
For his, it stuck upon him as the sun 
In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light 
Did all the chivalry of England move 20 

To do brave acts : he was indeed the glass 
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves : 
He had no legs that practised not his gait; 
And speaking thick, which nature made his 

blemish. 
Became the accents of the valiant; 25 

For those that could speak low and tardily 
Would turn their own perfection to abuse. 
To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait. 
In diet, in affections of delight. 
In military rules, humours of blood, 30 

He was the mark and glass, copy and book. 
That fashion'd others. And him, O won- 
drous him! 
O miracle of men ! him did you leave. 
Second to none, unseconded by you, 
To look upon the hideous god of war 35 

In disadvantage; to abide a field 
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's 

name 
Did seem defensible: so you left him. 
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong 
To hold your honour more precise and nice 40 
With others than with him ! let them alone : 
Tlie marshal and the archbishop are strong: 
Had my sweet Harry had but half their num- 
bers. 
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck. 
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. 



North. Beshrew your heart, 45 

Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from 

me 
With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
But I must go and meet with danger there. 
Or it will seek me in another place 
And find me worse provided. 

Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, 50 

Till that the nobles and the armed commons 
Have of their puissance made a little taste. 

Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the 

king, 

Then join you with them, like a rib of steel. 

To make strength stronger; but, for all our 

loves, 55 

First let them try themselves. So did your 

son; 
He was so sufFer'd: so came I a widow; 
And never shall have length of life enough 
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes. 
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven. 
For recordation to my noble husband. 61 

North. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with 
my mind 
As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, 
That makes a still-stand, running neither way : 
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, 65 
But many thousand reasons hold me back. 
I will resolve for Scotland: there am I, 
Till time and vantage crave my company. 

Ea;eunt. 

Scene IV. — [London. The Boar's-head Tav- 
ern in Eastcheap.^ 

Enter two Drawers. 

1. Draw. Wh^t the devil hast thou brought 
there? apple-jolms? thou know'st Sir John 
cannot endure an apple-john. 

2. Draw. Mass, thou say'st true. The prince 
once set a dish of apple-johns before him, and 
told him there were five more Sir Johns, and, 
putting off his hat, said *I will now take my 
leave of these six, dry, round, old, withered 
knights.' It anger'd him to the heart: but he 
hath forgot that. 10 

1. Draw. Why, then, cover, and set them down: 
and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; 
Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some 
music. Dispatch: the room where they supped 
is too hot; they'll come in straight. is 



236 



ACT II. SC. IV.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



17 



2. Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince and 
Master Poins anon; and they will put on two 
of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must 
not know of it. Bardolph hath brought 
word. 20 

1. Draw. By the mass, here will be old Utis: 
it will be an excellent stratagem. 

2. Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sneak. 

Exit. 

Enter Hostess and Doll [Tearsheef]. 

Host. V faith, sweetheart, methinks now you 
are in an excellent good temperality: your 
pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart 
would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, 
is as red as any rose, in good truth, la ! But, 
i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries ; and 
that's a marvellous searching wine, and it per- 
fumes the blood ere we can say 'What's this?' 
How do you now? 

Dol. Better than I was : hem ! 

Host. Why, that's well said; a good heart's 
worth gold. Look, here comes Sir John. 35 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. [Singing.] 'When Arthur first in court' — 
Empty the Jordan. [Exit First Drawer.] — 
[Singing.] 'And was a worthy king.' How 
now. Mistress Doll! 

Host. Sick of a calm ; yea, good faith. 40 

Fal. So is all her sect ; if they be once in a calm, 
they are sick. 

Dol. A pox damn you, you muddy rascal, is that 
all the comfort you give me? 

Fal. You make fat rascals. Mistress Doll. 45 

Dol. I make them ! gluttony and diseases make 
them ; I make them not. 

Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you 
help to make the diseases, Doll: we catch of 
you, Doll, we catch of you; grant that, my 
poor virtue, grant that. 51 

Dol. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels. 

Fal. 'Your brooches, pearls, and ouches:' for to 
serve bravely is to come halting off, you know : 
to come off the breach with his pike bent 
bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture 
upon the charg'd chambers bravely, — 

Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang 
yourself ! 59 

Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you 



two never meet but you fall to some discord: 
you are both, i' good truth, as rheumatic as 
two dry toasts ; you cannot one bear with an- 
other's confirmities. What the good-year ! 
one must bear, and that must be you: you are 
the weaker vessel, as they say, the emptier 
vessel. 
Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge 
full hogshead ? there's a whole merchant's ven- 
ture of Bordeaux stuff in him; you have not 
seen a hulk better stuffed in the hold. Come, 
I'll be friends with thee. Jack: thou art going 
to the wars ; and whether I shall ever see thee 
again or no, there is nobody cares, 73 

Enter Drawer. 

Draw. Sir, Ancient Pistol is below, and would 
speak with you. 75 

Dol. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let him not 
come hither: it is the foul-mouthed'st rogue in 
England. 

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here: no, 
by my faith; I must live amongst my neigh- 
bours ; I'll no swaggerers : I am in good name 
and fame with the very best: shut the door; 
there comes no swaggerers here: I have not 
lived all this while, to have swaggering now: 
shut the door, I pray you. 85 

Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess? 

Host. Pray you, pacify yourself. Sir John: there 
comes no swaggerers here. 

Fal. Dost thou hear ? it is mine ancient. 89 

Host. Tilly- f ally. Sir John, never tell me: your 
ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I 
was before Master Tisick, the debuty, t'other 
day; and, as he said to me, 'twas no longer 
ago than Wednesday last, 'I' good faith, neigh- 
bour Quickly,' says he; Master Dumbe, our 
minister, was by then; 'neighbour Quickly,' 
says he, 'receive those that are civil; for,' 
saith he, 'you are in an ill name:' now a' said 
so, I can tell whereupon; 'for,' says he, 'you 
are an honest woman, and well thought on; 
therefore take heed what guests you receive: 
receive,' says he, 'no swaggering companions.' 
There comes none here: you would bless you 
to hear what he said: no, I'll no swaggerers. 104 

Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess ; a tame cheater, 
i' faith; you may stroke him as gently as a 
puppy greyhound: he'll not swagger with a 
Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any 



237 



18 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act II. SC. IV. 



show of resistance. Call him up, drawer. 109 

[Ea:it Drawer,] 
Host. Cheater, call you him.^ I will bar no 
honest man my house, nor no cheater : but I do 
not love swaggering, by my troth; I am the 
w^orse, when one says swagger: feel, masters, 
how I shake; look you, I warrant you. 
Dol. So you do, hostess. 115 

Host. Do I .f* yea, in very truth, do I, and 'twere 
an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swagger- 
ers. 

Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 

Pist. God save you. Sir John ! 119 

Fal. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I 
charge you with a cup of sack: do you dis- 
charge upon mine hostess. 

Pist. I will discharge upon her. Sir John, with 
two bullets. 

Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly 
offend her. 126 

Host. Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets: 
I will drink no more than will do me good, 
for no man's pleasure, I. 

Pist. Then to you. Mistress Dorothy; I will 
charge you. 131 

Dol. Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy compan- 
ion. What! you poor, base, rascally, cheat- 
ing, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy 
rogue, away ! I am meat for your master. 135 

Pist. I know you. Mistress Dorothy. 

Dol. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy 
bung, away! by this wine, I'll thrust my knife 
in your mouldy chaps, if you play the saucy 
cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal ! 
you basket-hilt stale juggler, you! Since 
when, I pray you, sir? God's light, with two 
points on your shoulders ? much ! 

Pist. God let me not live, but I will murther 
your ruff for this. 145 

Fal. No more. Pistol; I would not have you go 
off here: discharge yourself of our company, 
Pistol. 

Host. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet 
captain. 150 

Dol. Captain ! thou abominable damn'd cheater, 
art thou not asham'd to be call'd captain? 
If captains were of my mind, they would 
truncheon you out, for taking their names upon 
you before you have earn'd them. You a cap- 
tain ! you slave, for what? for tearing a poor 



whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a cap- 
tain! hang him, rogue! he lives upon mouldy 
stew'd prunes and dried cakes. A captain ! 
God's light, these villains will make the word 
as odious as the word 'occupy;' which was an 
excellent good word before it was ill sorted. 
Therefore captains had need look to't. 

Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. 

Fal. Hark thee hither. Mistress Doll. 165 

Pist. Not I: I tell thee what. Corporal Bar- 
dolph, I could tear her: I'll be revenged on 
her. 

Page. Pray thee, go down. 

Pist. I'll see her damn'd first; to Pluto's damn'd 
lake, by this hand, to the infernal deep, with 
Erebus and tortures vile also. Hold hook 
and line, say I. Down, down, dogs ! down, 
f aitors ! Have we not Hiren here ? 

Host. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very 
late, i' faith: I beseek you now, aggravate 
your choler. 176 

Pist. These be good humours, indeed! Shall 
pack-horses 

And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, 
Which cannot go but thirty mile a day. 
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals, 180 
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them 

with 
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar. 
Shall we fall foul for toys? 

Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bit- 
ter words. 185 

Bard. Be gone, good ancient: this will grow 
to a brawl anon. 

Pist. Die men like dogs ! give crowns like pins ! 
Have we not Hiren here? 189 

Host. On my word, captain, there's none such 
here. What the good-year! do you think I 
would deny her? For God's sake, be quiet. 

Pist, Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis. 
Come, give me some sack. 194 

'Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contente.' 
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give 

fire: 
Give me some sack: and, sweetheart, lie thou 
there. [Laying down his sword.~\ 

Come we to full points here ; and are etceteras 
nothing? 

Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. 

Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: what! we 
have seen the seven stars. 201 

Dol. For God's sake, thrust him down stairs; 



238 



ACT II. SC. IV.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



19 



I cannot endure such a fustian rascal. 

Pist. Thrust him down stairs ! know we not 
Galloway nags ? 205 

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove- 
groat shilling: nay, and a' do nothing but 
speak nothing, a' shall be nothing here. 

Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 

Pist. What ! shall we have incision ? shall we im- 
brue? [Snatching up his sword.] 210 
Then death rock me asleep, abridge my dole- 
ful days ! 
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping 

wounds 
Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, 
I say! 

Host. Here's goodly stufF toward! 

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. 215 

Dol. I prethee. Jack, I prethee, do not 
draw. 

Fal. Get you down stairs. 

[Drawing, and driving Pistol out, Bardolph fol- 
lowing.] 

Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear 
keeping house, afore I'll be in these tirrits 
and frights. So; murder, I warrant now. 
Alas, alas ! put up your naked weapons, put 
up your naked weapons. 

Dol. I prethee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's 
gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, 
you ! 225 

Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin? methought 
a' made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 

[Re-enter Bardolph.] 

Fal. Have you turn'd him out of doors? 

Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have 
hurt him, sir, in the shoulder. 231 

Fal. A rascal ! to brave me ! 

Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, 
poor ape, how thou sweat'st! come, let me 
wipe thy face ; come on, you whoreson chops : 
ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee: thou art as 
valorous as Hector of Troy, worth five of 
Agamemnon, and ten times better than the 
Nine Worthies: ah, villain! 

Fal. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in 
a blanket. 241 

Dol. Do, if thou darest for thy heart: if thou 
dost, I'll canvass thee between a pair of 
sheets. 



Enter Music, 



Page. The music is come, sir. 245 

Fal. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my 
knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave ! the 
rogue fled from me like quicksilver. 
Dol. T faith, and thou followedst him like a 
church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholo- 
mew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting 
o' days and foining o* nights, and begin to 
patch up thine old body for heaven ? 253 

Enter the Prince and Poins, disguised. 

Fal. Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a 
death's-head; do not bid me remember mine 
end. 

Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of? 

Fal. A good shallow young fellow : a' would have 
made a good pantler, a' would have chipped 
bread well. 

Dol. They say Poins hath a good wit. 260 

Fal. He a good wit ? hang him, baboon ! his wit 
is as thick as Tewkesbury mustard; there is 
no more conceit in him than is in a mallet. 

Dol. Why doth the prince love him so, then? 

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness, 
and a' plays at quoits well, and eats conger 
and fennel, and drinks oiF candles' ends for 
flap-dragons, and rides the wild-mare with 
the boys, and jumps upon join'd-stools, and 
swears with a good grace, and wears his boots 
very smooth, like unto the sign of the leg, 
and breeds no bate with telling of discreet 
stories; and such other gambol faculties a' 
has, that show a weak mind and an able body, 
for the which the prince admits him: for the 
prince himself is such another; the weight of 
an hair will turn the scales between their 
avoirdupois. 277 

Prince. Would not this nave of a wheel have his 
ears cut off? 

Poins. Let's beat him before his whore. 280 

Prince. Look, whether the wither'd elder hath 
not his poll claw'd like a parrot. 

Poins. Is it not strange that desire should so 
many years outlive performance? 

Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 285 

Prince. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunc- 
tion ! what says the almanac to that ? 

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his 
man, be not lisping to his master's old tables, 
his note-book, his counsel-keeper. 290 

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 



239 



20 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act II. SC. IV. 



DoL By my troth, I kiss thee with a most con- 
stant heart. 

Fal. I am old, I am old. 

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy 
young bo}^ of them all. 296 

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall 
receive money a-Thursday: shalt have a cap 
to-morrow. A merry song, come: it grows 
late; we'll to bed. Thou'lt forget me when 
I am gone. 300 

Dol. By my troth, thou'lt set me a-weeping, and 
thou sayest so: prove that ever I dress myself 
handsome till thy return: well, hearken the 
end. 

Fal. Some sack, Francis. 305 

Prince.'] . 

r, • r Anon, anon, sir. 

[Coming forward. '\ 

Fal. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's ? And art 
not thou Poins his brother? 

Prince. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, 
what a life dost thou lead ! 310 

Fal. A better than thou: I am a gentleman; 
thou art a drawer. 

Prince. Very true, sir; and I come to draw you 
out by the ears. 

Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace ! by 
my troth, welcome to London. Now, the Lord 
bless that sweet face of thine! O Jesu, are 
you come from Wales? 318 

Fal Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, 
by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art 
welcome. 321 

Dol. How, you fat fool ! I scorn you. 

Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your 
revenge aiid turn all to a merriment, if you 
take not the heat. 32s 

Prince. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how 
vildly did you speak of me even now before 
this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman ! 

Host. God's blessing of your good heart ! and 
so she is, by my troth. 330 

Fal. Didst thou hear me? 

Prince. Yea, and you knew me, as you did when 
you ran away by Gadshill: you knew I was 
at your back, and spoke it on purpose to try 
my patience. 335 

Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou 
wast within hearing. 

Prince. I shall drive you then to confess the 
wilful abuse; and then I know how to handle 
you. 



Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour ; no abuse. 

Prince. Not to dispraise me, and call me pantler 
and bread-chipper and I know not what? 

Fal. No abuse, Hal. 

Poins. No abuse? 344 

Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, 
none. I disprais'd him before the wicked, that 
the wicked might not fall in love with him; 
in which doing, I have done the part of a 
careful friend and a true subject, and thy 
father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, 
Hal: none, Ned, none: no, faith, boys, none. 

Prince. See now, whether pure fear and entire 
cowardice doth not make thee wrong this 
virtuous gentlewoman to close with us? is 
she of the wicked? is thine hostess here of 
the wicked? or is the boy of the wicked? or 
honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his 
nose, of the wicked? 

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 358 

Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph ir- 
recoverable; and his face is Lucifer's privy- 
kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast malt- 
worms. For the boy, there is a good angel 
about him; but the devil outbids him too. 

Prince. For the women? 364 

Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already, 
and burns poor souls. For the other, I owe 
her money; and whether she be damn'd for 
that, I know not. 

Host. No, I warrant you. 369 

Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think thou art 
quit for that. Marry, there is another in- 
dictment upon thee, for suffering flesh to be 
eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for 
the which I think thou wilt howl. 

Host. All victuallers do so: what's a joint of 
mutton or two in a whole Lent? 376 

Prince. You, gentlewoman, — 

Dol. What says your grace? 

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh re- 
bels against. [Knocking within.'] 380 

Host. Who knocks so loud at door? Look to 
the door there, Francis. 382 

Enter Peto, 

Prince. Peto, how now! what news? 

Peto. The king your father is at Westminster; 
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts 
Come from the north: and, as I came along, 
I met and overtook a dozen captains, 387 



240 



ACT II. SC. IV.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



21 



Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the tav- 
erns, 
And asking every one for Sir John FalstafF. 

Prince. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to 
blame, 390 

So idly to profane the precious time. 
When tempest of commotion, like the south 
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt 
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
Give me my sword and cloak. FalstafF, good 
night. 

Exit [with Poins and Peto]. 

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the 
night, and we must hence and leave it un- 
picked. [Knocking within.'] More knocking 
at the door. [Bardolph goes to the door.] 

How now ! what's the matter ? 400 

Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; 
A dozen captains stay at door for you. 

Fal. [To the Page.] Pay the musicians, sirrah. 
Farewell, hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, 
my good wenches, how men of merit are sought 

» after: the undeserver may sleep, when the man 
of action is call'd on. Farewell, good 
wenches: if I be not sent away post, I will 
see you again ere I go. 408 

Dol. I cannot speak; if my heart be not ready 
to burst, — well, sweet Jack, have a care of 
thyself. 
Fal. Farewell, farewell. 

Exit [with Bardolph]. 

Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee 

these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; 

but an honester and truer-hearted man, — well, 

fare thee well. 415 

Bard. [Within.] Mistress Tearsheet ! 

Host. What's the matter? 

Bard. [Within.] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come 
• to my master. 419 

Host. O, run, Doll, run; run^ good Doll. 

Exeunt. 



ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — [King Henry's palace.] 

Enter the King in his nightgown, with a Page. 

King. Go call the earls of Surrey and of War- 
wick; 



But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these 

letters. 
And well consider of them: make good speed. 

[Exit Page. 
How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle 

sleep, s 

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. 
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids 

down 
And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? 
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs. 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee 10 

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy 

slumber, 
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great. 
Under the canopies of costly state. 
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody ? 
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vild 15 
In loathsonfe beds, and leav'st the kingly couch 
A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell? 
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
In cradle of the rude imperious surge 20 

And in the visitation of the winds. 
Who take the ruffian billows by the top. 
Curling their monstrous heads and hanging 

them 
With deaf 'ning clamours in the slippery clouds. 
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes? 25 
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose 
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude. 
And in the calmest and most stillest night, 
With all appliances and means to boot. 
Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie 

down ! 30 

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 

Enter Warwick and Surrey. 

War. Many good morrows to your majesty! 

King. Is it good morrow, lords ? 

War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. 

King. Why, then, good morrow to you all, my 

lords. 35 

Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you ? 

War. We have, my liege. 

King. Then you perceive the body of our king- 
dom 
How foul it is ; what rank diseases grow. 
And with what danger, near the heart of it. 40 

War. It is but as a body yet distemper'd; 



241 



22 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act III. SC. I. 



Which to his former strength may be restor'd 
With good advice and little medicine: 
My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. 
King. O God! that one might read the book of 

fate, 45 

And see the revolution of the times 
Make mountains level, and the continent, 
Weary of solid firmness, melt itself 
Into the sea ! and, other times, to see 
The beachy girdle of the ocean 50 

Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances 

mock. 
And changes fill the cup of alteration 
With divers liquors ! O, if this were seen. 
The happiest youth, viewing his progress 

through. 
What perils past, what crosses to ensue, 55 
Would shut the book, and sit him down and 

die. 
'Tis not ten years gone 
Since Richard and Northumberland, great 

friends. 
Did feast together, and in two years after 
Were they at wars : it is but eight years since 
This P^rcy was the man nearest my soul, 61 
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs 
And laid his love and life under my foot, 
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard 
Gave him defiance. But which of you was 

by — 6s 

You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember — 

[To Warwick. 1 
When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears. 
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, 
Did speak these words, nov^ prov'd a proph- 
ecy? 
'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which 70 
My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne;' 
Though then, God knows, I had no such intent. 
But that necessity so bow'd the state 
That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss: 
'The time shall come,' thus did he follow it, 75 
'The time will come, that foul sin, gathering 

head. 
Shall break into corruption:' so went on. 
Foretelling this same time's condition 
And the division of our amity. 
War. There is a history in all men's lives, 80 
Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd; 
The which observ'd, a man may prophesy. 
With a. near aim, of the main chance of things 
As yet not come to life, which in their seeds 



And weak beginnings lie intreasured. 85 

Such things become the hatch and brood of 

time; 
And by the necessary form of this 
King Richard might create a perfect guess 
That great Northumberland, then false to him, 
Would of that seed grow to a greater false- 
ness ; 90 
Which should not find a ground to root upon. 
Unless on you. 

King. Are these things then necessities.^ 

Then let us meet them like necessities : 
And that same word even now cries out on us: 
They say the bishop and Northumberland 95 
Are fifty thousand strong. 

War. It cannot be, my lord; 

Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo. 
The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your 

grace 
To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord. 
The powers that you already have sent forth 
Shall bring this prize in very easily. loi 

To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd 
A certain instance that Glendower is dead. 
Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill. 
And these unseason'd hours perforce must add 
Unto your sickness. 

King. I will take your counsel : 106 

And were these inward wars once out of hand. 
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. 

Exeunt. 

Scene II. — [Justice Shallow's house in Glou- 
cestershire.^ 

Enter Shallow and Silence; with Mouldy^ 
Shadow, Warty Feeble, Bullcalf. 

Shal. Come on, come on, come on; give me your 
hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early 
stirrer, by the rood ! And how doth my good 
cousin Silence? 

Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 5 

Shal. And how doth my cousin^ your bedfellow? 
and your fairest daughter and 'mine, my god- 
daughter Ellen? 

Sil. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow! 9 

Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say my cousin 
William is become a good scholar: he is at 
Oxford still, is he not? 

Sil. Indeed, sir, to my cost. 

Shal. A' must, then, to the inns o' court shortly. 



242 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



2S 



» 



I was once of Clement's Inn, where I think 
they will talk of mad Shallow yet. i6 

Sil. You were call'd 'lusty Shallow' then, 
cousin. 

Shal. By the mass, I was call'd any thing ; and I 
would have done any thing indeed too, and 
roundly too. There was I, and little John 
Doit of Staffordshire, and black George 
Barnes, and Francis Pickbone, and Will 
Squele, a Cotswold man ; you had not four such 
swinge-bucklers in all the inns o' court again: 
and I may say to you, we knew where the 
bona-robas were and had the best of them all 
at commandment. Then was Jack FalstafF, 
now Sir John, a boy, and page to Thomas 
Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. 29 

Sil. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither 
anon about soldiers? 31 

Shal. The same Sir John, the very same. I see 
him break Scoggan's head at the court-gate, 
when a' was a crack not thus high: and the 
very same day did I fight with one Sampson 
Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. 
Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent ! 
and to see how many of mine old acquaintance 
are dead! 

Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 39 

Shal. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure: 
death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; 
all shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks 
at Stamford fair ? 

Sil. By my troth, I was not there. 

Shal. Death is certain. Is old Double of your 
town living yet ? 46 

Sil. Dead, sir. 

Shal. Jesu, Jesu, dead ! a' drew a good bow ; and 
dead ! a' shot a fine shoot : John o' Gaunt loved 
him well, and betted much money on his head. 
Dead ! a' would have clapped i' the clout at 
twelve score; and carried you a forehand shaft 
at fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it 
would have done a man's heart good to see. 
How a score of ewes now? ss 

Sil. Thereafter as they be: a score of good ewes 
may be worth ten pounds. 

Shal. And is old Double dead? 

Enter Bardolph and his Boy, 

Sil. Here come two of Sir John FalstafF's men, 
as I think. 60 

Shal. Good morrow, honest gentlemen. 



Bard. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow? 

Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire 
of this county, and one of the king's justices 
of the peace: what is your good pleasure witli 
me ? 65 

Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you; 
my captain. Sir John FalstafF, a tall gentle- 
man, by heaven, and a most gallant leader. 

Shal. He greets me well, sir. I knew him a 
good backsword man. How doth the good 
knight? may I ask how my lady his wife 
doth? 

Bard. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommo- 
dated than with a wife. 73 

Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is well 
said indeed too. Better accommodated ! it is 
good; yea, indeed, is it: good phrases are 
surely, anH ever were, very commendable. 
Accommodated 1 it comes of 'accommodo :' very 
good; a good phrase. 79 

Bard. Pardon me, sir; I have heard the word. 
Phrase call you it? by this good day, I know 
not the phrase; but I will maintain the word 
with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and 
a word of exceeding good command, by heaven. 
Accommodated ; that is, when a man is, as they 
say, accommodated; or when a man is, being, 
whereby a' may be thought to be accommo- 
dated; which is an excellent thing. 

Shal. It is very just. 89 

Enter Falstaff. 

Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me 
your hand, give me your worship's good hand: 
by my troth, you look well and bear your years 
very well: welcome, good Sir John. 

Fal. I am glad to see you well, good Master Rob- 
ert Shallow: Master Surecard, as I think? 95 

Shal. No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in 
commission with me. 

Fal. Good Master Silence, it well befits you 
should be of the peace. 

Sil. Your good worship is welcome. 100 

Fal. Fie ! this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have 
you provided me here half a dozen of sufficient 
men? 

Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit? 

Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 105 

Shal. Where's the roll ? where's the roll ? where's 
the roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see. 
So, so, so, so : yea, marry, sir : Ralph Mouldy ! 



243 



24 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act III, SC. II. 



Let them appear as I call; let them do 
so, let them do so. Let me see; where is 
Mouldy? Ill 

Moid. Here, and't please you. 

Shal. What think you, Sir John? a good-limb'd 
fellow; young, strong, and of good friends. 

Fal. Is thy name Mouldy? 115 

Moul. Yea, and't please you. 

Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i' faith ! 
Things that are mouldy lack use: very singu- 
lar good ! in faith, well said. Sir John, very 
Avell said. 120 

Fal. Prick him. 

Moul. I was pricked well enough before, and 
you could have let me alone : my old dame will 
be undone now for one to do her husbandry 
and her drudgery: you need not to have 
pricked me; there are other men fitter to go 
out than I. 126 

Fal. Go to: peace. Mouldy; you shall go. 
Mouldy, it is time you were spent. 

Moul. Spent! 

Shal. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside. Know 
you where you are ? For the other. Sir John : 
let me see: Simon Shadow! 

Fal. Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under: 
he's like to be a cold soldier. 

Shal. Where's Shadow? 13s 

Shad. Here, sir. 

Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou? 

Shad. My mother's son, sir. 

Fal. Thy mother's son ! like enough, and thy 
father's shadow: so the son of the female is 
the shadow of the male: it is often so, indeed; 
but not of the father's substance ! 142 

Shal. Do you like him. Sir John? 

Fal. Shadow will serve for summer; prick him, 
for we have a number of shadows to fill up 
the muster-book. 146 

Shal. Thomas Wart! 

Fal. Where's he? 

Wart. Here, sir. 

Fal. Is thy name Wart? 150 

Wart. Yea, sir. 

Fal. Tliou art a very ragged wart. 

Shal. Shall I prick him down, Sir John? 

Fal. It were superfluous ; for his apparel is built 
upon his back and the whole frame stands upon 
pins : prick him no more. 156 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do 
it: I commend you well. Francis Feeble! 



Fee, Here, sir. 

Fal. What trade art thou. Feeble? 160 

Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 

Shal. Shall I prick him, sir? 

Fal. You may : but if he had been a man's tailor, 
he'ld ha' prick'd you. Wilt thou make as 
many holes in an enemy's battle as thou hast 
done in a woman's petticoat? 166 

Fee. I will do my good will, sir: you can have 
no more. 

Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor ! well said, 
courageous Feeble ! thou wilt be as valiant as 
the wrathful dove or most magnanimous mouse. 
Prick the woman's tailor well. Master Shal- 
low; deep. Master Shallow. 

Fee. I would Wart might have gone, sir. 174 

Fal. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou 
might'st mend him and make him fit to go. I 
cannot put him to a private soldier that is the 
leader oi so many thousands. Let that suffice, 
most forcible Feeble. 

Fee. It shall suffice, sir. 180 

Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who 
is the next? 

Shal. Peter Bullcalf o' the green ! 

Fal. Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf. 

Bull. Here, sir. 185 

Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow ! Come, prick 
me Bullcalf till he roar again. 

Bull. O Lord ! good my lord captain, — 

Fal. What, dost thou roar before th' art 
prick'd ? 190 

Bull. O Lord, sir ! I am a diseased man. 

Fal. What disease hast thou? 

Bull. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which 
I caught with ringing in the king's affairs upon 
his coronation-day, sir. 195 

Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown; 
we will have away thy cold; and I will take 
such order that thy friends shall ring for thee. 
Is here all? 199 

Shal. There is two more called than your num- 
ber ; you must have but four here, sir : and so, 
I pray you, go in with me to dinner. 

Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I can- 
not tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, by 
my troth, Master Shallow. 205 

Shal. O, Sir John, do you remember since we 
lay all night in the windmill in Saint George's 
field? 

Fal. No more of that, good Master Shallow, no 
more of that. 



244 



ACT III. SC. 



II.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



25 



Shot. Ha! 'twas a merry night. And is Jane 
Nightwork alive .^ 211 

Fal. She lives. Master Shallow. 

Shal. She never could away with me. 

Fal. Never, never; she would always say she 
could not abide Master Shallow. 215 

Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the 
heart. She was then a bona-roba. Doth she 
hold her own well.^ 

Fal. Old, old. Master Shallow. 219 

Shal. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose 
but be old; certain she's old; and had Robin 
Nightwork by old Nightwork before I came 
to Clement's Inn. 

Sil. That's fifty-five year ago. 224 

Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen 
that that this knight and I have seen ! Ha, 
Sir John, said I well.^ 

Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight. 
Master Shallow. 229 

Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have ; 
in faith. Sir John, we have: our watchword 
was 'Hem boj^s !' Come, let's to dinner; come, 
let's to dinner: Jesus, the days that we have 
seen! Come, come. 234 

\^Ea;eunt Falstafjf and the Justices.^ 

Bull. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand 
my friend ; and here's four Harry ten shillings 
in French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, 
I had as lief be hang'd, sir, as go : and yet, for 
mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather, 
because I am unwilling, and, for mine own 
part, have a desire to stay with my friends ; 
else, sir, I did not care, for mine own part, so 
much. 

Bard. Go to; stand aside. 243 

Moul. And, good master corporal captain, for 
my old dame's sake, stand my friend: she hath 
nobody to do any thing about her when I am 
gone; and she is old, and cannot help herself: 
you shall have forty, sir. 

Bard. Go to; stand aside. 249 

Fee. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but 
once: we owe God a death: I'll ne'er bear a 
base mind : and't be my destiny, so ; and't be 
^ot, so : no man is too good to serve his prince ; 
and let it go which way it will, he that dies 
this year is quit for the next. 255 

Bard. Well said; thou'rt a good fellow. 

Fee. Faith, I'll bear no base mind. 



[^Re-enter Falstaff and the Justices.] 



Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have ? 

Shal. Four of which you please. 

Bard. Sir, a word with you: I have three pound 
to free Mouldy and BuUcalf. 261 

Fal. Go to; well. 

Shal. Come, Sir John, which four will you 
have } 

Fal. Do you choose for me. 26s 

Shal. Marry, then, Mouldy, BuUcalf, Feeble and 
Shadow. 

Fal. Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you. Mouldy, 
stay at home till you are past service: and for 
your part, Bullcalf, grow till you come unto 
it: I will none of you. 271 

Shal. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong: 
they are your likeliest men, and I would have 
you serv'd with the best. 274 

Fal. Will y(3u tell me. Master Shallow, how to 
choose a man? Care I for the limb, the 
thewes, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance 
of a man ! Give me the spirit, Master Shal- 
low. Where's Wart? [Wart steps out.'] You 
see what a ragged appearance it is: a' shall 
charge you and discharge you with the motion 
of a pewterer's hammer, come ofF and on 
swifter than he that gibbets on the brewer's 
bucket. And this same half-faced fellow. 
Shadow; give me this man: he presents no 
mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as 
great aim level at the edge of a penknife. 
And for a retreat; how swiftly will this 
Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give 
me the spare men, and spare me the great 
ones. Put me a caliver into Wart's hand, 
Bardolph. 290 

Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus. 

Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So: very 
well: go to: very good, exceeding good. O, 
give me always a little, lean, old, chopt, bald 
shot. Well said, i' faith. Wart ; thou'rt a good 
scab: hold, there's a tester for thee. 296 

Shal. He is not his craft's master; he doth not 
do it right. I remember at Mile-end Green, 
when I lay at Clement's Inn, — I was then Sir 
Dagonet in Arthur's show, — there was a little 
quiver fellow, and a' would manage you his 
piece thus ; and a' would about and about, and 
come you in and come you in: *rah, tah, tah,' 
would a' say; 'bounce' would a' say; and away 
again would a' go, and again would a come : I 
shall ne'er see such a fellow. 306 

Fal. These fellows will do well. Master Shallow. 



245 



26 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act III. SC. II. 



God keep you. Master Silence: I will not use 
many words with you. Fare j^ou well, gentle- 
men both: I thank you: I must a dozen mile 
to-night. Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. 311 

Shal. Sir John, the Lord bless you! God pros- 
per your affairs ! God send us peace ! As 
3'ou return visit my house ; let our old acquaint- 
ance be renewed : peradventure I will with you 
to the court. 316 

Fal. Tore God, I would you would. Master 
Shallow. 

Shal. Go to; I have spoke at a word. God 
keep you. 320 

Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [Exeunt 
Justices.] On, Bardolph; lead the men away. 
[Exeunt Bardolph, Recruits, ^-c] As I return, 
I will fetch off these justices: I do see the bot- 
tom of Justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how sub- 
ject we old men are to this vice of lying! 
This same starv'd justice hath done nothing 
but prate to me of the wildness of his youth, 
and the feats he hath done about Turnbull 
Street; and every third word a lie, duer paid 
to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do re- 
member him at Clement's Inn like a man made 
after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was 
naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked 
radish, with a head fantastically carv'd upon 
it with a knife: a' was so forlorn, that his 
dimensions to any thick sight were invincible: 
a' was the very genius of famine ; yet lecherous 
as a monkey, and the whores call'd him man- 
drake: a' came ever in the rearward of the 
fashion, and sung those tunes to the over- 
scutched huswives that he heard the carmen 
whistle, and sware they were his fancies or his 
good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger 
become a squire, and talks as familiarly of 
John o' Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother 
to him; and I'll be sworn a' ne'er saw him but 
once in the Tilt-yard; and then he burst his 
Lead for crowding among the marshal's men. 
I saw it, and told John o' Gaunt he beat his 
own name; for you might have truss'd him 
and all his apparel into an eel-skin; the case 
of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a 
court: and now hath he land and beeves. 
Well, I'll be acquainted with him, if I return; 
and it shall go hard but I will make him a 
philosopher's two stones to me. If the young 
dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason 
in the law of nature but I may snap at him. 



Let time shape^ and there an end. Exit. 



ACT FOURTH 

Scene I. — [Galtres Forest, near York.'] 

Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, 
Hastings, and others. 

Arch. What is this forest call'd.? 

Hast. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, and't shall please 
your grace. 

Arch. Here stand, my lords; and send discover- 
ers forth 
To know the numbers of our enemies. 

Hast, We have sent forth already. 

Arch. 'Tis well done, s 

My friends and brethren in these great affairs, 
I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd 
New-dated letters from Northumberland; 
Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus : 
Here doth he wish his person, with such 
powers 10 

As might hold sortance with his quality. 
The which he could not levy; whereupon 
He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes. 
To Scotland: and concludes in hearty prayers 
That your attempts may overlive the hazard 15 
And fearful meeting of their opposite. 

Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch 
ground 
And dash themselves to pieces. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Hast. Now, what news ? 

Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile. 
In goodly form comes on the enemy; 2c 

And, by the ground they hide, I judge their 

number 
Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand. 
Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them 
out. 
Let us sway on and face them in the field. 

Enter Westmoreland. 

Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us 
here ? 25 

Mowb. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland. 

West. Flealth and fair greeting from our gen- 
eral. 



246 



ACT IV. 



SC. I.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



27 



The prince_, Lord John and Duke of Lancas- 
ter. 
Arch. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in 
peace: 
What doth concern your coming? 
West. Then, my lord, 30 

Unto your grace do I in chief address 
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion 
Came like itself, in base and abject routs. 
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rage. 
And countenanc'd by bo3^s and beggary, 35 
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd. 
In his true, native, and most proper shape, 
You, reverend father, and these noble lords 
Had not been here, to dress the ugly form 
Of base and bloody insurrection 40 

With your fair honours. You, lord arch- 
bishop. 
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd. 
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath 

touch'd. 
Whose learning and good letters peace hath 

»tutor'd. 
Whose white investments figure innocence, 45 
The dove and very blessed spirit of peace. 
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself 
Out of the speech of peace that bears such 

grace. 
Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war; 
Turning your books to greaves, your ink to 

blood, 50 

Your pens to lances and your tongue divine 
To a loud trumpet and a point of war? 
Arch. Wherefore do I this? so the question 

stands. 
Briefly to this end: we are all diseas'd. 
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours 55 
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, 
And we must bleed for it; of which disease 
Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. 
But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland, 
I take not on me here as a physician, 60 

Nor do I as an enemy to peace 
Troop in the throngs of military men; 
But rather show awhile like fearful war. 
To diet rank minds sick of happiness 64 

And purge th' obstructions which begin to stop 
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. 
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd 
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs 

we suffer. 
And find our griefs heavier than our offences. 



We see which way the stream of time doth 



70 



And are enforc'd from our most quiet there 
By the rough torrent of occasion; 
And have the summary of all our griefs, 
When time shall serve, to show in articles; 
Which long ere this we offer'd to the king, 75 
And might by no suit gain our audience : 
When we are wrong'd and would unfold our 

griefs. 
We are denied access unto his person 
Even by those men that most have done us 

wrong. 
The dangers of the days but newly gone, 80 
Whose memory is written on the earth 
With yet appearing blood, and the examples 
Of every minute's instance, present now. 
Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms. 
Not to break peace or any branch of it, 85 

But to establish here a peace indeed,. 
Concurring both in name and quality. 

West. When ever yet was your appeal denied? 
Wherein have you been galled by the king? 
What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on 

you, 
That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine 92 

And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? 

Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth. 
To brother born an household cruelty, 95 

I make my quarrel in particular. 

West. There is no need of any such redress; 
Or if there were, it not belongs to you. 

Mowb. Why not to him in part, and to us all 
That feel the bruises of the days before, 100 
And suffer the condition of these times 
To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
Upon our honours ? 

West. O, my good Lord Mowbray, 

Construe the times to their necessities. 
And you shall say indeed, it is the time, 105 
And not the king, that doth you injuries. 
Yet for your part, it not appears to me 
Either from the king or in the present time 
That you should have an inch of any ground 
To build a grief on: were you not restor'd no 
To all the Duke of Norfolk's signories. 
Your noble and right well remember'd fath- 
er's ? 

Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father 
lost, 
That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me? 



247 



28 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act IV. SC. I. 



The king that lov'd him^ as the state stood 

then, 115 

Was force perforce compell'd to banish him: 
And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he. 
Being mounted and both roused in their seats, 
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur. 
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers 

down, 120 

Their eyes of iire sparkling through sights of 

steel 
And the loud trumpet blowing them together. 
Then, then, when there was nothing could have 

stay'd 
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, 
O, when the king did throw his warder down. 
His own life hung upon the staff he threw ; 126 
Then threw he down himself and all their 

lives 
That by indictment and by dint of sword 
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. 
West. You speak. Lord Mowbray, now you know 

not what. 130 

The Earl of Hereford was reputed then 
In England the most valiant gentleman: 
Who knows on whom fortune would then have 

smil'd ? 
But if your father had been victor there. 
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry: 135 
For all the country in a general voice 
Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers 

and love 
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on 
And bless'd and grac'd indeed, more than the 

king. 
But this is mere digression from my purpose. 
Here come I from our princely general 141 
To know your griefs ; to tell you from his 

grace 
That he will give you audience; and wherein 
It shall appear that your demands are just. 
You shall enjoy them, ever}^ thing set off 145 
That might so much as think you enemies. 
Mowh. But he hath forc'd us to compel this 

offer; 
And it proceeds from policy, not love. 
West. Mowbray, you overween to take it so; 
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear: 
For, lo ! within a ken our army lies, 151 

Upon mine honour, all too confident 
To give admittance to a thought of fear. 
Our battle is more full of names than yours. 
Our men more perfect in the use of arms, 155 



Our armour all as strong, our cause the best; 
Then reason will our hearts should be as good: 
Say you not then our offer is compell'd. 

Mowh. Well_, by my will we shall admit no 
parley. 

West. That argues but the shame of your of- 
fence : 160 
A rotten case abides no handling. 

Hast. Hath the Prince John a full commission. 
In very ample virtue of his father. 
To hear and absolutely to determine 
Of what conditions we shall stand upon? 165 

West. That is intended in the general's name: 
I muse you make so slight a question. 

Arch. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, 
this schedule. 
For this contains our general grievances: 
Each several article herein redress'd, 170 

All members of our cause, both here and hence. 
That are insinew'd to this action. 
Acquitted by a true substantial form 
And present execution of our wills 
To us and to our purposes confin'd, 17s 

We come within our awful banks again 
And knit our powers to the arm of peace. 

West. This will I show the general. Please 
you, lords. 
In sight of both our battles we may meet; 
And either end in peace, which God so frame ! 
Or to the place of difference call the swords 181 
Which must decide it. 

Arch. My lord, we will do so. [Exit West.'] 

Mowh. There is a thing within my bosom tells 
me 
That no conditions of our peace can stand. 

Hast. Fear you not that: if we can make our 
peace 185 

Upon such large terms and so absolute 
As our conditions shall consist upon. 
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky moun- 
tains. 

Mowh. Ay, but our valuation shall be such 

That every slight and false-derived cause, 190 
Yea, every idle, nice and wanton reason 
Shall to the king taste of this action; 
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love. 
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind 
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff 
And good from bad find no partition. 196 

Arch. No, no, my lord. Note this; the king is 
weary 
Of dainty and such picking grievances: 



248 



ACT IV. 



SC. I.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



29 



For he hath found to end one donbt by death 

Revives two greater in the heirs of life, 200 

And therefore will he wipe his tables clean 

And keep no tell-tale to his memory 

That may repeat and history his loss 

To new remembrance; for full well he knows 

He cannot so precisely weed this land 205 

As his misdoubts present occasion: 

His foes are so enrooted with his friends 

That, plucking to unfix an enemy, 

He doth unfasten so and shake a friend: 

So that this land, like an offensive wife 210 

That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes. 

As he is striking, holds his infant up 

And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm 

That was uprear'd to execution. 

Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods 
On late offenders, that he now doth lack 216 
The very instruments of chastisement: 
So that his power, like to a fangless lion. 
May offer, but not hold. 

Arch. 'Tis very true: 

And therefore be assur'd, my good lord mar- 
shal, 220 
If we do now make our atonement well. 
Our peace will, like a broken limb united. 
Grow stronger for the breaking. 

Mowb. Be it so. 

Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland. 

Enter Westmoreland. 

West. The prince is here at hand: pleaseth your 

lordship 225 

To meet his grace just distance 'tween our 

armies. 
Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name, then, 

set forward. 
Arch. Before, and greet his grace: my lord, we 

come. [Eajeunt.l 



[Scene II. — Another part of the forest.] 

Enter, from one side, Mowbray, attended; after- 
wards the Archbishop, Hastings, and others: 
from the other side. Prince John of Lancas- 
ter, and Westmoreland; Officers, and others 
with them. 

Lan. You are well encounter'd here, my cousin 
Mowbray : 



Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop; 
And so to you. Lord Hastings, and to all. 
My Lord of York, it be.tter show'd with you 
When that your flock, assembled by the bell, 5 
Encircled you to hear with reverence 
Your exposition on the holy text 
Than now to see you here an iron man. 
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum. 
Turning the word to sword and life to death. 
That man that sits within a monarch's heart, 
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, 12 
Would he abuse the countenance of the king, 
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach 
In shadow of such greatness ! With you, lord 
bishop, - 15 

It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken 
How deep you were within the books of God.? 
To us the speaker in his parliament; 
To us th' image and voice of God himself; 
The very opener and intelligencer 2c 

Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, 
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe 
But you misuse the reverence of your place. 
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven. 
As a false favourite doth his prince's name, 25 
In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up. 
Under the counterfeited zeal of God, 
The subjects of his substitute, my father. 
And both against the peace of heaven and him 
Have here up-swarm'd them. 

Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster, 30 

I am not here against your father's peace; 
But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland, 
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense. 
Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form. 
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace 35 
The parcels and particulars of our grief, 
The which hath been with scorn shov'd from 

the court. 
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born ; 
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd 

asleep 
With grant of our most just and right desires. 
And true obedience, of this madness cur'd, 41 
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 

Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes 
To the last man. 

Hast. And though we here fall down. 

We have supplies to second our attempt: 45 
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them; 
And so success of mischief shall be born 
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up 



249 



so 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act IV. sc. 



Whiles England shall have generation. 
Lan. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too 
shallow, so 

To sound the bottom of the after-times. 
West. Pleaseth your grace to answer them di- 
rectly 
How far forth you do like their articles. 
Lan. I like them all, and do allow them well, 
And swear here, by the honour of my blood, 55 
My father's purposes have been mistook. 
And some about him have too lavishly 
Wrested his meaning and authority. 
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed re- 

dress'd; 
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please 
you, 60 

Discharge your powers unto their several 

counties. 
As we will ours: and here between the armies 
Let's drink together friendly and embrace. 
That all their eyes may bear those tokens 

home 
Of our restored love and amity. 65 

Arch. I take your princely word for these re- 
dresses. 
Lan. I give it you, and will maintain my word: 

And thereupon I drink unto your grace. 
Hast. Go, captain, and deliver to the army 

This news of peace: let them have pay, and 
part : 70 

I know it will well please them. Hie thee, 
captain. Exit [^Captain']. 

Arch. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland. 
West. I pledge your grace; and, if you knew 
what pains 
I have bestow'd to breed this present peace. 
You would drink freely : but my love to ye 75 
Shall show itself more openly hereafter. 
Arch. I do not doubt you. 
West. I am glad of it. 

Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mow- 
bray. 
Mowh. You wish me health in very happy sea- 
son; 
For I am, on the sudden, something ill. 80 

Arch. Against ill chances men are ever merry; 

But heaviness foreruns the good event. 
West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden 
sorrow 
Serves to say thus, 'some good thing comes to- 
morrow.' 
Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. 



Mowh. So much the worse, if your own rule be 
true. [Shouts within.] 

Lan. The word of peace is render'd: hark, how 
they jshout! 87 

Mowh. This had been cheerful after victory. 
Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; 
For then both parties nobly are subdued, 90 
And neither party loser. 
Lan. Go, my lord, 

And let our army be discharged too. 

[Exit Westmoreland.'] 
And, good my lord, so please you, let our 

trains 
March by us, that we may peruse the men 
We should have cop'd withal. 
Arch. Go, good Lord Hastings, 95 

And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. 

Exit [Hastings]. 
Lan. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night to- 
gether. 

Enter Westmoreland. 

Now cousin, wherefore stands our army still? 
West. The leaders, having charge from you to 
stand. 

Will not go off until they hear you speak. 100 
Lan. They know their duties. 

Enter Hastings. ^ 

Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already: 
Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their 

courses 
East, west, north, south; or, like a school 

broke up. 
Each hurries towards his home and sporting- 
place, los 
West. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the 
which 
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason : 
And you, lord archbishop, and you. Lord Mow- 
bray, 
Of capital treason I attach you both. 
Mowh. Is this proceeding just and honourable? 
West. Is your assembly so? m 
Arch. Will you thus break your faith? 
Lan. I pawn'd thee none: 
I promis'd you redress of these same griev- 
ances 
Whereof you did complain; which, by mine 
honour. 



250 



ACT IV. SC. II.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



31 



I will perform with a most Christian care, ns 
But for you, rebels, look to taste the due 
Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours. 
Most shallowly did you these arms commence, 
Fondly brought here and foolishly sent hence. 
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd 

stray : 120 

God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. 
Some guard these traitors to the block of 

death. 
Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath. 

Exeunt. 



[Scene III. — Another part of the forest.] 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Falstaff and Cole- 
vile, meeting. 

Fal. What's your name, sir? of what condition 
are you, and of what place, I pray? 

Cole. I am a knight, sir; and my name is Cole- 
vile of the dale. 4 

Fal. Well, then, Colevile is your name, a knight 
is your degree, and your place the dale: Cole- 
vile shall still be your name, a traitor your 
degree, and the dungeon your place, a place 
deep enough; so shall you be still Colevile of 
the dale. ' 10 

Cole. Are not you Sir John FalstafF? 

Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. 
Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? If 
I do sweat, they are the drops of thy lovers, 
and they weep for thy death: therefore rouse 
up fear and trembling, and do observance to 
my mercy. 

Cole. I think you are Sir John FalstafF, and in 
that thought yield me. 19 

Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this 
belly of mine, and not a tongue of them all 
speaks any other word but my name. And I 
had but a belly of any indifferency, I were 
simply the most active fellow in Europe: my 
womb, my womb, my womb, undoes me. Here 
comes our general. 26 

Enter Prince John, Westmoreland, and others. 

Lan. The heat is past; follow no farther now: 

Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. 

[Exit Westmoreland.'] 

Now, FalstafF, where have you been all this 

while ? 



When every thing is ended, then you come : 30 
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life. 
One time or other break some gallows' back. 

Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be 
thus: I never knew yet but rebuke and check 
was the reward of valour. Do you think me 
a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet ? have I, in my 
poor and old motion, the expedition of thought ? 
I have speeded hither with the very extremest 
inch of possibility; I have foundered nine 
score and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted 
as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate 
valour, taken Sir John Colevile of the dale, a 
most furious knight and valorous enemy. But 
what of that? he saw me, and yielded; that I 
may justly say, with the hook-nos'd fellow of 
Rome, 'I came, saw, and overcame.' 46 

Lan. It was more of his courtesy than your de- 
serving. 

Fal. I know not: here he is, and here I yield 
him: and I beseech your grace, let it be booked 
with the rest of this day's deeds; or, by the 
Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad else, 
with mine own picture on the top on't, Colevile 
kissing my foot: to the which course if I be 
enforc'd, if you do not all show like gilt two- 
pences to me, and I in the clear sky of fame 
o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth 
the cinders of the element, which show like 
pins' heads to her, believe not the word of the 
noble: therefore let me have right, and let 
desert mount. 61 

Lan. Thine's too heavy to mount. 

Fal. Let it shine, then. 

Lan. Thine's too thick to shine. 64 

Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that 
may do me good, and call it what you will. 

Lan. Is thy name Colevile? 

Cole. It is, my lord. 

Lan. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 

Fal. And a famous true subject took him. 70 

Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are 

That led me hither: had they been rul'd by 

me. 
You should have won them dearer than you 
have. 

Fal. I know not how they sold themselves: but 
thou, like a kind fellow, gav'st thyself away 
gratis ; and I thank thee for thee. 76 

Enter Westmoreland. 



Lan. Now, have you left pursuit ? 



251 



32 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act IV. SC. III. 



West. Retreat is made and execution stay'd. 

Lan. Send Colevile with his confederates 

To York^ to present execution: 80 

Blunt^ lead him hence; and see you guard him 
sure. 

Eiit [Bhmt] with Colevile, 
And now dispatch we toward the court, my 

lords : 
I hear the king my father is sore sick: 
Our news shall go before us to his majesty. 
Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him. 
And we with sober speed will follow you. 86 

Fal. INIy lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go 
Through Gloucestershire : and, when you come 

to court. 
Stand my good lord, pray, in your good report. 

Lan. Fare you well, FalstafF: I, in my condition, 

Shall better speak of you than you deserve. 91 

Exit [with his train'] . 

Fal. I would you had but the wit: 'twere better 
than your dukedom. Good faith, this same 
young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor 
a man cannot make him laugh; but that's no 
marvel, he drinks no wine. There's never 
none of these demure boys come to any proof; 
for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, 
and making many fish-meals, that they fall 
into a kind of male green-sickness; and then, 
when they marry, they get wenches. They 
are generally fools and cowards ; which some 
of us should be too, but for inflammation. A 
good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in 
it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me 
there all the foolish and dull and crudy 
vapours which environ it; makes it apprehen- 
sive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, ^erj, and 
delectable shapes ; which, deliver'd o'er to the 
voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes 
excellent wit. The second property of your 
excellent sherris is, the warming of the blood; 
which, before cold and settled, left the liver 
white and pale, which is the badge of pusil- 
lanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms 
it and makes it course from the inwards to the 
parts extremes: it illumineth the face, which 
as a beacon gives warning to all the rest of 
this little kingdom, man, to arm ; and then the 
vital commoners and inland petty spirits mus- 
ter me all to their captain, the heart, who, 
great and puffed up with this retinue, doth 
any deed of courage ; and this valour comes of 
sherris. So that skill in the weapon is noth- 

2 



ing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and 
learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, 
till sack commences it and sets it in act and 
use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is 
valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally in- 
herit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile 
and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled 
with excellent endeavour of drinking good and 
good store of fertile sherris, that he is become 
very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand 
sons, the first humane principle I would teach 
them should be, to forswear thin potations and 
to addict themselves to sack. 135 

Enter Bardolph. 

How now, Bardolph? 

Bard. The army is discharged all and gone. 

Fal. Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire; 
and there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, 
Esquire: I have him already tempering be- 
tween my finger and my thumb, and shortly 
will I seal with him. Come away. Exeunt. 



Scene IV. — [The Jerusalem Chamber, West- 
minster.] 

Enter King, Clarence, Gloucester, Warwick. 

King. Now, lords, if God doth give successful 
end 
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, 
We will our youth lead on to higher fields 
And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
Our navy is address 'd, our power collected, 5 
Our substitutes in absence well invested. 
And every thing lies level to our wish: 
Only, we want a little personal strength ; 
And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot. 
Come underneath the yoke of government. 10 

War. Both which we doubt not but your majesty 
Shall soon enjoy. 

King. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, 

Where is the prince your brother? 

Glou. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at 
Windsor. 

King. And how accompanied? 

Glou. I do not know, my lord. 

King. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, 
with him? 16 

Glou. No, my good lord; he is in presence here. 
52 



ACT IV. SC. IV.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



33 



Clar. What would my lord and father? 

King. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of 

Clarence. 

How chance thou art not with the prince thy 

brother ? 20 

He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, 

Thomas ; 
Thou hast a better place in his affection 
Than all thy brothers : cherish it, my boy. 
And noble offices thou mayst effect 
Of mediation, after I am dead, 25 

Between his greatness and thy other brethren : 
Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love. 
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace 
By seeming cold or careless of his will; 
For he is gracious, if he be observ'd: 30 

He hath a tear for pity and a hand 
Open as day for melting charity: 
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint. 
As humorous as winter and as sudden 
As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 35 
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd: 
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently. 
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth; 
But, being moody, give him line and scope. 
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground. 
Confound themselves with working. Learn 
this, Thomas, 41 

And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, 
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in. 
That the united vessel of their blood. 
Mingled with venom of suggestion — 45 

As, force perforce, the age will pour it in — 
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong 
As aconitum or rash gunpowder. 

Clar, I shall observe him with all care and love. 

King. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, 
Thomas ? 50 

Clar. He is not there to-daj^; he dines in Lon- 
don. 

King. And how accompanied ? canst thou tell 
that? 

Clar. With Poins, and other his continual fol- 
lowers. 

King. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; 
And he, the noble image of my youth, 5S 

Is overspread with them: therefore my grief 
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death. 
The blood weeps from my heart when I do 

shape 
In forms imaginary th' unguided days 
And rotten times that you shall look upon 60 



When I am sleeping with my ancestors. 
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb. 
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors. 
When means and lavish manners meet to- 
gether, 
O, with what wings shall his affections fly 65 
Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay ! 
War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him 

quite : 
The prince but studies his companions 
Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the 

language, 
'Tis needful that the most immodest word 70 
Be look'd upon and learn'd; which once at- 

tain'd. 
Your highness knows, comes to no farther use 
But to be known and hated. So, like gross 

terms. 
The prince will in the perfectness of time 
Cast off his followers; and their memory 75 
Shall as a pattern or a measure live, 
By which his grace must mete the lives of 

others. 
Turning past evils to advantages. 
King. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her 

comb 
In the dead carrion. 

Enter Westmoreland. 

Who's here? Westmoreland? 80 
West. Health to my sovereign, and new happi- 
ness 
Added to that that I am to deliver ! 
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's 

hand: 
Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and 

all 
Are brought to the correction of your law; 85 
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd. 
But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere. 
The manner how this action hath been borne 
Here at more leisure may your highness read, 
With every course in his particular. 90 

King. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, 
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
The lifting up of day. 

Enter Harcourt. 

Look, here's more news, 
Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty; 



253 



34 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



And, when they stand against you, may they 

fall 95 

As those that I am come to tell you of! 
The Earl Northumberland and the Lord 

Bardolph, 
With a great power of English and of Scots, 
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown: 
The manner and true order of the fight loo 

This packet, please it you, contains at large. 
King. And wherefore should these good news 

make me sick? 
Will Fortune never come with both hands full. 
But write her fair words still in foulest let- 
ters ? 
She either gives a stomach and no food; 105 
Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast 
And takes away the stomach; such are the 

rich. 
That have abundance and enjoy it not. 
I should rejoice now at this happy news; 
And now my sight fails, and my brain is 

giddy: no 

O me ! come near me ; now I am much ill. 
Glou. Comfort, your majesty! 
Clar. O my royal father ! 

West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, 

look up. 
War. Be patient, princes; you do know, these 

fits 
Are with his highness very ordinary. 115 

Stand from him, give him air ; he'll straight be 

well. 
Clar. No, no, he cannot long hold out these 

pangs : 
Th' incessant care and labour of his mind 
Hath wrought the mure that should confine 

it in 
So thin that life looks through and will break 

out. 120 

Glou. The people fear me; for they do observe 
Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature: 
The seasons change their manners, as the year 
Had found some months asleep and leap'd 
them over. 
Clar. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb be- 
tween ; 125 
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
Say it did so a little time before 
That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick'd and 
died. 
War. Speak lower, princes, for the king re- 
covers. 



Glou. This apoplexy will certain be his end. 130 
King. I pray you, take me up, and bear me 
hence 
Into some other chamber: softly, pray. 

[Ej;eunt.'] 



[Scene V. — Another chamber.] 

The King lying on a bed: Clarence, Gloucester, 
Warwick, and others in attendance. 

King. Let there be no noise made, my gentle 
friends ; 
Unless some dull and favourable hand 
Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 

War. Call for the music in the other room. 

King. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. 5 

Clar. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 

War. Less noise, less noise! 

Enter Prince Henry. 

Prince, Who saw the Duke of Clarence ? 

Clar, I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 

Prince. How now! rain within doors and none 
abroad ! 
How doth the king? 10 

Glou. Exceeding ill. 

Prince. Heard he the good news yet? 

Tell it him. 

Glou. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. 

Prince. If he be sick with joy, he'll recover 
without physic. j 

War. Not so much noise, my lords : sweet prince, 1 
speak low; 
The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. 15 

Clar. Let us withdraw into the other room. 

War. Will't please your grace to go along with 
us? 

Prince. No; I will sit and watch here by the 
king. \_Exeunt all but the Prince.] 20 

Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow. 
Being so troublesome a bedfellow? 
O polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! 9 

That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide ^ 
To many a watchful night ! sleep with it now ! 
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet 26 
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound 
Snores out the watch of night. O maj esty ! 
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, 3c 



254 



ACT IV. SC. 



v.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



That scalds with safety. By his gates of 

breath 
There lies a downy feather which stirs not: 
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
Perforce must move. My gracious lord ! my 

father ! 
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep 35 
That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd 
So many English kings. Thy due from me 
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood, 
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, 
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously : 40 
My due from thee is this imperial crown. 
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood. 
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits. 
Which God shall guard: and put the world's 

whole strength 
Into one giant arm, it shall not force 45 

This lineal honour from me : this from thee 
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. Exit. 
King. Warwick ! Gloucester ! Clarence ! 

Enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence. 

Clar. Doth the king call? 

War. What would your majesty.^ How fares 

your grace? 50 

King. Why did you leave me here alone, my 

lords ? 
Clar. We left the prince my brother here, my 
liege. 
Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 
King The Prince of Wales! Where is he? let 
me see him: 
He is not here. 55 

War. This door is open; he is gone this way. 
Glou. He came not through the chamber where 

we stay'd. 
King. Where is the crown? who took it from 

my pillow? 
War. When we withdrev/, my liege, we left it 

here. 
King. The prince hath ta'en it hence: go, seek 
him out. 60 

Is he so hasty that he doth suppose 
My sleep my death? 

Find him, my Lord of Warwick; chide him 
hither. [Exit Warwick.] 

This part of his conjoins with my disease, 
And helps to end me. See, sons, what things 



you are ! 
How quickly nature falls into revolt 



65 



When gold becomes her object! 

For this the foolish over-careful fathers 

Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their 

brains with care, 
Their bones with industry; 70 

For this they have engrossed and pil'd up 
The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold; 
For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
Their sons with arts and martial exercises: 
When, like the bee, culling from every flower 
The virtuous sweets, 76 

Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with 

honey, * 
We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees, 
Are murther'd for our pains. This bitter 

taste 
Yields his engrossments to the ending father. 

Enter Warwick. 

Now, where is he that will not stay so long 81 

Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me? 

War. My lord, I found the prince in the next 

room. 
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks. 
With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow 85 
That tyranny, which never quaiF'd but blood. 
Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his 

knife 
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 
King. But wherefore did he take away the 

crown ? 

Enter Prince Henry. 

Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, 
Harry. 90 

Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 

[Exeunt Warwick and the rest.] 
Prince. I never thought to hear you speak again. 
King. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that 
thought : 

I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 

Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair 95 

That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine 
honours 

Before thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth ! 

Thou seek'st the greatness that will over- 
whelm thee. 

Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity 

Is held from falling with so weak a wind 100 

That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 



255 



36 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act IV. SC. V. 



Thou hast stolen that which after some few 

hours 
Were thine without offence; and at my death 
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation. 
Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not, 105 
And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. 
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy 

thouglits. 
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, 
To stab at half an hour of my life. 
What! canst thou not forbear me half an 

hour? no 

Then get thee gone and dig my grave thyself, 
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear 
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse 
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head: 115 
Only compound me with forgotten dust; 
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. 
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees; 
For now a time is come to mock at form: 
Henry the Fifth is crown'd: up, vanity! 120 
Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, 

hence ! 
And to the English court assemble now. 
From every region, apes of idleness ! 
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your 

scum : 
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, 

dance, 125 

Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit 
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? 
Be happy, he will trouble you no more; 
England shall double gild his treble guilt, 
England shall give him office, honour, might; 
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks 
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 132 
Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 

my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
When that my care could not withhold thy 

riots, 135 

What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? 
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again. 
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! 
Prince. O, pardon me, my liege! but for my 

tears. 
The moist impediments unto my speech, 140 

1 had forestaird this dear and deep rebuke 
Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard 
The course of it so far. There is your crown; 
And He that wears the crown immortally 
Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more 14b 



Than as your honour and as your renown, i 

Let me no more from this obedience rise. 
Which my most true and inward duteous spirit 
Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending. 
God witness with me, when I here came in, 150 J 
And found no course of breath within your ^ 

majesty. 
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign, 
O, let me in my present wildness die 
And never live to show th' incredulous world 
The noble change that I have purposed ! 155 
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead. 
And dead almost, my liege, to think you were, 
I spake unto this crown as having sense. 
And thus upbraided it: 'The care on thee 

depending 
Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 160 

Therefore, thou best of gold art worst of 

gold: 
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious. 
Preserving life in medicine potable; 
But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most re- 

nown'd, 
Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal 

liege, i6s 

Accusing it, I put it on my head. 
To try with it, as with an enemy 
That had before my face murder'd my father. 
The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
But if it did infect my blood with joy, 170 

Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; 
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
Did with the least affection of a welcome 
Give entertainment to the might of it. 
Let God for ever keep it from my head 175 
And make me as the poorest vassal is 
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! 
King. O my son, 

God put it in thy mind to take it hence. 
That thou mightst win the more thy father's 

love, 180 

Pleading so wisely in excuse of it! 
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed; 
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my 

son. 
By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways 
I met this crown ; and I myself know well 186 
How troublesome it sate upon my head. 
To thee it shall descend with better quiet, 
Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
For all the soil of the achievement goes 190 



^56 



ACT IV. SC. v.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



37 



\ 



With me into the earth. It seem'd in me 
But as an honour snatch'd with boist'rous 

hand, 
And I had many living to upbraid 
My gain of it by their assistances; 
Which daily grew to quarrel and to blood- 
shed, 195 
Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears 
Thou see'st with peril I have answered; 
For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
Acting that argument: and now my death 
Changes the mood; for what in me was pur- 

chas'd, 200 

Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort; 
So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I 

could do. 
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are 

green ; 
And all my friends, which thou must make 

thy friends, 205 

Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en 

out; 
By whose fell working I was first advanc'd 
And by whose power I well might lodge a 

fear 
To be again displac'd: which to avoid, 
I cut them off; and had a purpose now 210 
To lead out many to the Holy Land, 
Lest rest and lying still might make them 

look 
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my 

Harry, 
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds 
With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence 

borne out, 215 

May waste the memory of the former days. 
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so 
That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 
How I came by the crown, O God forgive; 
And grant it may with thee in true peace 

live ! 220 

Prince. My gracious liege. 

You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; 
Then plain and right must my possession be: 
Which I with more than with a common pain 
'Gainst all the world will rightfully main- 
tain. 225 



Enter Lord John of Lancaster. 



King. Look, look, here comes njy John of Lan- 
caster. 



Lan. Health, peace, and happiness to my royal 

father ! 
King. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, 
son John; 
But health, alack, with youthful wings is 

flown 
From this bare wither'd trunk: upon thy sight 
My worldly business makes a period. 231 

Where is my Lord of Warwick? 
Prince. My Lord pf Warwick! 

[Enter Warwick.] 

King. Doth any name particular belong 

Unto the lodging where I first did swound? 
War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord: 235 
King. Laud be to God! even there my life must 
end. 236 

It hath been proph'sied to me many years, 
I should not die but in Jerusalem; 
Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land: 
But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; 240 
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. Exeunt, 



ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — [Gloucestershire. Shallow's house.] 
Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and Page. 

Shal. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away 
to-night. What, Davy, I say ! 

Fal. You must excuse me. Master Robert Shal- 
low. 

Shal. I will not excuse you; you shall not be 
excused; excuses shall not be admitted; there 
is no excuse shall serve; you shall not be ex- 
cused. Why, Davy ! 

Enter Davy. 

Davy. Here, sir. 9 

Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy, let me see, 
Davy; let me see, Davy; let me see: yea, 
marry, William cook, bid him come hither. 
Sir John, you shall not be excused. 

Davy. Marry, sir, thus; those precepts cannot 
be served: and, again, sir, shall we sow the 
headland with wheat? 16 

Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for Willian^ 
cook : are there no young pigeons ? 



257 



38 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act v. SC. I. 



Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note 
for shoeing and plough-irons. 20 

Shal. Let it be cast and paid. Sir John, you 
shall not be excused. 

Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must 
needs be had: and, sir, do you mean to stop 
any of William's wages, about the sack he 
lost the other day at Hinckley fair? 26 

Shal. A' shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, 
a couple of short-legg'd hens, a joint of mut- 
ton, and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell 
William cook. 30 

Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, 
sir .^ 

Shal. Yea, Davy. I will use him well: a friend 
i' the court is better than a penny in purse. 
Use his men well, Davy; for they are arrant 
knaves, and will backbite. 36 

Davy. No worse than they are backbitten, sir; 
for they have marvellous foul linen. 

Shal. Well conceited, Davy: about thy business, 
Davy. 40 

Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance Wil- 
liam Visor of Woncot against Clement Perkes 
of the hill. 

Shal. There is many complaints, Davy, against 
that Visor: that Visor is an arrant knave, on 
my knowledge. 46 

Davy. I grant your worship that he is a knave, 
sir; but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave 
should have some countenance at his friend's 
request. An honest man, sir, is able to speak 
for himself, when a knave is not. I have 
served your worship truly, sir, this eight 
years; and if I cannot once or twice in a 
quarter bear out a knave against an honest 
man, I have but a very little credit with your 
worship. The knave is mine honest friend, 
sir; therefore, I beseech your worship, let 
him be countenanced. 57 

Shal. Go to ; I say he shall have no wrong. 
Look about, Davy. [Exit Davy.] Where 
are you. Sir John? Come, come, come, off 
with your boots. Give me your hand. Mas- 
ter Bardolph. 

Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 

Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind Mas- 
ter Bardolph: and welcome, my tall fellow 
I to the Page]. Come, Sir John. 66 

Fal. I'll follow you, good Master Robert Shal- 
low. [Exit Shallow.] Bardolph, look to our 
horses. [Exit Bardolph.] If I were saw'd 



into quantities, I should make four dozen 
of such bearded hermits' staves as Mas- 
ter Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see 
the semblable coherence of his men's spirits 
and his: they, by observing of him, do bear 
themselves like foolish justices; he, by con- 
versing with them, is turn'd into a j ustice-like 
serving-man: their spirits are so married in 
conjunction with the participation of society 
that they flock together in consent, like so 
many wild-geese. If I had a suit to Master 
Shallow, I would humour his men. with the 
imputation of being near their master: if to 
his men, I would curry with Master Shallow 
that no man could better command his serv- 
ants. It is certain that either wise bearing 
or ignorant carriage is caught, as men take 
diseases, one of another: therefore let men 
take heed of their company. I will devise 
matter enough out of this Shallow to keep 
Prince Harry in continual laughter the wear- 
ing out of six fashions, which is four terms, 
or two actions, and a' shall laugh without 
intervallums. O, it is much that a lie with a 
slight oath and a jest with a sad brow will 
do with a fellow that never had the ache in 
his shoulders ! O, you shall see him laugh 
till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up ! 95 

Shal. [Within.] Sir John! 

Fal. I come. Master Shallow; I come. Master 
Shallow. Exit. 



Scene II. — [Westminster.] 

Enter the Earl of Warwick and the Lord Chief- 
Justice^ [meeting]. 

War. How now, my Lord Chief-Justice ! 

whither away ? 
Ch. Just. How doth the king? 
War. Exceeding well; his cares are now all 

ended. 
Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. 

War. He's walk'd the way of nature; 

And to our purposes he lives no more. 5 

Ch. Just. I would his majesty had call'd me 
with him: 
The service that I truly did his life 
Hath left me open to all injuries. 
War. Indeed I think the young king loves you 
not. 



258 



ACT V. SC. II.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



39 



Ch. Just. I know he doth not, and do arm my- 
self 10 
To welcome the condition of the time, 
Which cannot look more hideously upon me 
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. 

Enter John of Lancaster, Clarence, and Glou- 
cester. 

War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry: 

that the living Harry had the temper is 
Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen! 
How many nobles then should hold their 

places. 
That must strike sail to spirits of vild sort! 

Ch. Just. O God, I fear all will be overturn'd ! 

Lan. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good mor- 
row. 20 

Glou.l 

Clar f ^^^^ morrow, cousin. 

Lan. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. 
War. We do remember; but our argument 

Is all too heavy to admit much talk. 
Lan. Well, peace be with him that hath made 
us heavy! 25 

Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier ! 
Glou. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend 
indeed ; 
And I dare swear you borrow not that face 
Of seeming sorrow; it is sure your own. 
Lan. Though no man be assur'd what grace to 
find, 30 

You stand in coldest expectation: 

1 am the sorrier; would 'twere otherwise. 
Clar. Well, you must now speak Sir John Fal- 

stafF fair; 
Which swims against your stream of quality. 

Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in 
honour, 35 

Led by the impartial conduct of my soul; 
And never shall you see that I will beg 
A ragged and forestall'd remission. 
If truth and upright innocency fail me, 
I'll to the king my master that is dead, 40 

And tell him who hath sent me after him. 

War. Here comes the prince. 

Enter Prince Henry [as hing^^. 

Ch. Just. Good morrow; and God save your 
maj esty ! 

King. This new and gorgeous garment, maj- 
esty. 



Sits not so easy on me as you think. 45 

Brothers, you mix your sadness with some 

fear: 
This is the English, not the Turkish court; 
Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds. 
But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good broth- 
ers. 
For, by my faith, it very well becomes you: 50 
Sorrow so royally in you appears 
That I will deeply put the fashion on 
And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad; 
But entertain no more of it, good brothers. 
Than a joint burthen laid upon us all. 55 

For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd, 
I'll be your father and your brother too; 
Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your 

cares. 
Yet weep that Harry's dead ; and so will I ; 
But Harry lives, that shall convert those 
tears 60 

By number into hours of happiness. 
Princes. We hope no other from your majesty. 
King. You all look strangely on me: and you 
most; 
You are, I think, assur'd I love you not. 
Ch. Just. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly, 
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 
King. No! 67 

How might a prince of my great hopes for- 
get 
So great indignities you laid upon me? 
What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to 
prison 70 

Th' immediate heir of England! Was this 

easy } 
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten? 
Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your fa- 
ther ; 
The image of his power lay then in me: 
And, in th' administration of his law, 75 

Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth. 
Your highness pleased to forget my place, 
The majesty and power of law and justice. 
The image of the king whom I presented, 
And struck me in my very seat of judgment; 
Whereon, as an offender to j^our father, 81 
I gave bold way to my authority 
And did commit you. If the deed were ill, 
Be you contented, wearing now the garland. 
To have a son set your decrees at naught, 85 
To pluck down justice from your awful bench. 
To trip the course of law and blunt the sword 



259 



40 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act v. SC. II. 



That guards the peace and safety of your per- 
son; 
Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image 
And mock your workings in a second body. 90 
Question your royal thoughts, make the case 

yours ; 
Be now the father and propose a son. 
Hear your own dignity so much profan'd. 
See your most dreadful laws so loosely 

slighted. 
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd; 95 

And then imagine me taking your part 
And in your power soft silencing your son. 
After this cold considerance, sentence me; 
And, as you are a king, speak in your state 
What I have done that misbecame my place. 
My person, or my liege's sovereignty. loi 

King. You are right. Justice, and you weigh this 

well; 
Therefore still bear the balance and the sword : 
And I do wish your honours may increase. 
Till you do live to see a son of mine 105 

Offend you and obey you, as I did. 
So shall I live to speak my father's words; 
'Happy am I, that have a man so bold. 
That dares do justice on my proper son; 
And no less happy, having such a son, no 

That would deliver up his greatness so 
Into the hands of justice.' You did commit 

me: 
For which, I do commit into your hand 
Th' unstained sword that you have us'd to 

bear ; 
With this remembrance, that you use the 

same 115 

With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit 
As you have done 'gainst me. There is my 

hand. 
You shall be as a father to my youth : 
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine 

ear. 
And I will stoop and humble my intents 120 
To your well-practis'd wise directions. 
And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you; 
My father is gone wild into his grave. 
For in his tomb lie my affections ; 
And with his spirit sadly I survive, 125 

To mock the expectation of the world. 
To frustrate prophecies and to raze out 
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down 
After my seeming. The tide of blood in me 
Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now: 130 



Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea. 
Where it shall mingle with the state of floods 
And flow henceforth in formal majesty. 
Now call we our high court of parliament: 
And let us choose such limbs of noble coun- 
sel:? 135 
That the great body of our state may go 
In equal rank with the best govern'd nation; 
That war, or peace, or both at once, may be 
As things acquainted and familiar to us; 
In which you, father, shall have foremost 
hand. 140 
Our coronation done, we will accite. 
As I before remember'd, all our state: 
And, God consigning to my good intents. 
No prince nor peer shall have just cause to 

say, 
God shorten Harry's happy life one day ! 145 

Evceunt. 



Scene III. — [Gloucestershire. Shallow's 
orchard^ . 

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, [Davy,'] Bar- 
dolph, and the Page. 

Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard, where, 
in an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin 
of my own graffing, with a dish of caraways, 
and so forth: come, cousin Silence: and then 
to bed. 5 

Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwell- 
ing and a rich. 
Shal. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beg- 
gars all. Sir John: marry, good air. Spread, 
Davy; spread, Davy: well said, Davy. 10 

Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses ; he 

is your serving-man and your husband. 
Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good 
varlet. Sir John: by the mass, I have drunk 
too much sack at supper : a good varlet. Now 
sit down, now sit down: come, cousin. 16 

Sil. [Singing.] 'Ah, sirrah! quoth-a, we shall 
Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer. 
And praise God for the merry year; 
When flesh is cheap and females dear, 20 
And lusty lads roam here and there 

So merrily. 
And ever among so merrily.' 
Fal. There's a merry heart ! Good Master Si- 
lence, I'll give you a health for that anon. 25 



260 



ACT V. SC. 



III.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



41 



Shot. Give Master Bardolph some wine, 

Davy. 
Davy. Sweet sir, sit; I'll be with you anon; 
most sweet sir, sit. Master page, good mas- 
ter page, sit. Proface ! What you want in 
meat, we'll have in drink: but you must bear; 
the heart's all. 
Slial. Be merry. Master Bardolph; and, my lit- 
tle soldier there, be merry. 
Sil. [Singing.] 'Be merry, be merry, my wife has 
all ; 35 

Be merry, be merry.' 

For women are shrews, both short and tall: 
'Tis merry in hall when beards wag all. 

And welcome merry Shrove-tide. 
Be merry, be merry.' 
Fal. I did not think Master Silence had been 
a man of this mettle. 41 

Sil. Who, I ? I have been merry twice and once 

ere now. 
Davy. There's a dish of leather-coats for you. 

[To Bardolph.] 
Shal. Davy! 45 

Davy. Your worship ! I'll be with you straight, 

[To Bardolph.] A cup of wine, sir? 
Sil. [Singing.] 'A cup of wine that's brisk and 
fine. 
And drink unto the leman mine; 

And a merry heart lives long-a.' 50 

Fal. Well said. Master Silence. 
Sil. And we shall be merry, now comes in the 

sweet o' the night. 
Fal. Health and* long life to you. Master Si- 
lence. 55 
Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come; [Singing.] 

I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom. 
Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome: if thou 
want'st any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew 
thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief [to 
the Page], and welcome indeed too. I'll 
drink to Master Bardolph, and to all the 
cavalieros about London. 
Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. 
Bard. And I might see you there, Davy, — 
Shal. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together, 

ha! will you not. Master Bardolph? 
Bard. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot. 
Shal. By God's liggens, I thank thee: the knave 
will stick by thee, I can assure thee that. A' 
will not out; he is true bred. 71 

Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir. 
Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing: 



be merry. [Knocking within.] Look who's 
at door there, ho ! who knocks ? 75 

[Exit Davy.] 
Fal. Why, now you have done me right. 

[To Silence, seeing him take off a bumper.] 
Sil. [Singing.] 'Do me right, 
And dub me knight: 
Samingo.' 
Is't not so? 80 

Fal. 'Tis so. 

Sil. Is't so? Why then, say an old man can do 
somewhat, 

[Re-enter Davy.] 

Davy. And't please your worship, there's one 
Pistol come from the court v/ith news. 85 

Fal. From the court! let him come in. 

Enter Pistol. 

How now. Pistol ! 
Pist. Sir John, God save you ! 
Fal. What wind blew you hither. Pistol? 89 

Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to 

good. Sweet knight, thou art now one of the 

greatest men in this realm. 
Sil. By'r lady, I think a' be, but goodman Puff 

of Barson. 
Pist. Puff! 95 

Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base ! 

Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend, 

And helter-skelter have I rode to thee. 

And tidings do I bring and lucky joys 

And golden times and happy news of price. lo^ 
Fal. I prethee now, deliver them like a man of 

this world. 
Pist. A f outre for the world and worldlings 
base! 

I speak of Africa and golden joys. 105 

Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? 

Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. 
Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John, 

[Singing.] 
Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons ? 

And shall good news be baflled? 

Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap, no 
Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breed- 
ing. 
Pist. Why then, lament therefore. 
Shal. Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come 

with news from the court, I take it there is 



261 



42 



HENRY IV, PART II 



[act v. SC. III. 



but two ways, either to utter them, or to con- 
ceal them. I am, sir, under the king, in some 

ii8 

which king, besonian? speak, or 



authority. 
Pist. Under 

die. 
Shal Under 
Pist. 

Shal. Harry 
Pist. 



King Harry. 

Harry the Fourth? or Fifth? 
the Fourtli. 

A f outre for thine office! 121. 



Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king; 
Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the 

truth : 
When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like 
The bragging Spaniard. 125 

Fal. What, is the old king dead? 

Pist. As nail in door: the things I speak are 
just 

Fal. Away, Bardolph ! saddle my horse. Mas- 
ter Robert Shallow, choose what office thou 
wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I will 
double-charge thee with dignities. 131 

Bard.. O joyful day! 

I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. 

Pist. What! I do bring good news. 

Fal. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master 
Shallow, my Lord Shallow, — be what thou 
wilt; I am fortune's steward — get on thy 
boots: we'll ride all night. O sweet Pistol! 
Away, Bardolph! [Exit Bard.] Come, Pis- 
tol, utter more to me ; and withal devise some- 
thing to do thyself good. Boot, boot. Master 
Shallow: I know the young king is sick for 
me. Let us take any man's horses ; the laws 
of England are at my commandment. Blessed 
are they that have been my friends; and woe 
unto my lord Chief- Justice ! 145 

Pist. Let vultures vild seize on his lungs also ! 
'Where is the life that late I led?' say they: 
Why, here it is ; welcome these pleasant days ! 

Eaieunt. 

Scene IV. — [A street in London.] 

Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess Quicldy and 
Doll Tearsheet. 

Host. No, thou arrant knave; I would to God 
that I might die, that I might have thee 
hanged: thou hast drawn my shoulder out of 
joint. 

First Bead. The constables have delivered her 
over to me; and she shall have whipping- 



cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath 
been a man or two lately killed about her. 7 

Dol. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; 
I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged 
rascal, and the child I now go with do mis- 
carry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy 
mother, thou paper-faced villain. 12 

Host. O the Lord, that Sir John were come ! he 
would make this a bloody day to somebody. 
But I pray God the fruit of her womb mis- 
carry ! 

First Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of 
cushions again; you have but eleven now. 
Come, I charge you both go with me; for the 
man is dead that you and Pistol beat among 
you. 

Dol. I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, 
I will have you as soundly swinged for this, 
— you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy famished 
correctioner, if you be not swinged, I'll for- 
swear half-kirtles. 24 

First Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, 
come. 

Host. O God, that right should thus o'ercome 
might! Well, of sufferance comes ease. 

Dol. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a jus- 
tice. 30 

Host. Ay, come, you starved blood-hound. 

Dol. Goodman death, goodman bones ! 

Host. Thou atom}^, thou! 

Dol. Come, you thin thing; come, you rascal. 

First Bead. Very well. Exeunt. 



Scene V. — \_A 'public place near Westminster 
Abbey.] 

Enter two Grooms, [strewing rushes]. 1 

Fii'st Groom. More rushes, more rushes. ' 

Sec. Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 
First Groom. 'Twill be two o'clock ere they 
come from the coronation: dispatch, dispatch. I 

Exeunt grooms. < 

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, and 
Page. 

Fal. Stand here by me. Master Robert Shallow; 
I will make the king do you grace: I will 
leer upon him as he comes by; and do but 
mark the countenance that he will give me. 



262 



ACT V. 



sc. v.] 



HENRY IV, PART II 



43 



Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 9 

Fal. Come here. Pistol; stand behind me. O, 
if I had had time to have made new liveries, 
I would have bestowed the thousand pound I 
borrowed of you. But 'tis no matter ; this 
poor show doth better: this doth infer the 
zeal I had to see him. 15 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection, — 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. My devotion, — 

Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 20 

Fal. As it were, to ride day and night; and not 
to deliberate, not to remember, not to have 
patience to shift me, — 

Shal. It is best, certain. 24 

Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweat- 
ing with desire to see him; thinking of noth- 
ing else, putting all affairs else in oblivion, as 
if there were nothing else to be done but to 
see him. 29 

Pist. 'Tis 'semper idem,' for 'absque hoc nihil 
est:' 'tis all in every part. 

Shal. 'Tis so, indeed. 

Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver, 
And make thee rage. 

Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, 35 
Is in base durance and contagious prison; 
Hal'd thither 

By most mechanical and dirty hand. 

Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell 

Alecto's snake, 39 

For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but 

troth. 40 

Fal. I will deliver her. 

[Shouts within, and'\ the trumpets sound. 

Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clan- 
gour sounds. 

Enter King Henry the Fifth, his brothers, the 
Lord Chief -Justice, and others. 

Fal. God save thy grace. King Hal ! my royal 

Hal! 
Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most 
royal imp of fame ! 45 

Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 
King. My Lord Chief- Justice, speak to that vain 

man. 
Ch. Just. Have you your wits? know you what 

'tis you speak? 
Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my 
heart ! 50 



King. I know thee not, old man: fall to thy 
prayers ; 
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester! 
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man, 
So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane; 
But, being awake, I do despise my dream. 55 
Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace ; 
Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth 

gape 
For thee thrice wider than for other men. 
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest: 
Presume not that I am the thing I was ; 60 

For God doth know, so shall the world per- 
ceive, 
That I have turn'd away my former self; 
So will I those that kept me company. 
When thou dost hear I am as I have been, 
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast. 
The tutor and the feeder of my riots : 66 

Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death. 
As I have done the rest of my misleaders. 
Not to come near our person by ten mile. 
For competence of life I will allow you, 70 
That lack of means enforce you not to evil: 
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves. 
We will, according to your strength and qual- 
ities. 
Give you advancement. Be it your charge, 

my lord. 
To see perform'd the tenour of our word. 75 
Set on. 

Exit King [with his train.] 

Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand 
pound. 

Shal. Ay, marry. Sir John; which I beseech you 
to let me have home with me. 80 

Fal. That can hardly be. Master Shallow. Do 
not you grieve at this; I shall be sent for in 
private to him: look you, he must seem thus 
to the world: fear not your advancement; I 
will be the man yet that shall make you great. 

Shal. I cannot well perceive how, unless you 
should give me your doublet and stuff me out 
with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John, 
let me have five hundred of my thousand. 

Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word. This 
that you heard was but a colour. 91 

Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in. Sir 
John. 

Fal. Fear no colours: go with me to dinner. 
Come, Lieutenant Pistol; come, Bardolph. I 
shall be sent for soon at night. 96 



263 



44. 



HENRY IV, PART 11 



[act v. sc. v. I 



[Re-eJiter Prince John, the Lord Chief -Justice; 
Officers with them.] 

Ch. Just. Go^ carry Sir John FalstafF to the 
Fleet: 
Take all his company along with him. 
Fal. j\Iy lord, my lord, — 

Ch. Just. I cannot now sjDeak : I will hear you 
soon, 100 

Take them away. 
Pist. Si fortuna me tormento, spero me con- 

tento. 
[Exeunt all but Prince John and the Chief- 

J'Ustice.] 
Lan. I like this fair proceeding of the king's: 
He hath intent his wonted followers 
Shall all be very well provided for; 105 

But all are banish'd till their conversations 
Appear more wise and modest to the world. 
Ch. Just. And so they are. 
Lan. The king hath call'd his parliament, my 

lord. 
Ch. Just. He hath. no 

Lan. I will lay odds that, ere this year expire. 
We bear our civil swords and native fire 
As far as France: I heard a bird so sing, 
Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. 
Come, will you hence .^ Exeunt. 

EPILOGUE 

[Spoken by a Dancer.] 

First my fear; then my curt'sy; last my 
speech. My fear is, your displeasure; my 
curt'sy, my duty; and my speech, to beg your 



pardons. If you look for a good speech now, 
you undo me: for what I have to say is of 
mine own making; and what indeed I should 
say will, I doubt, prove mine own marring. 
But to the purpose, and so to the venture. 
Be it known to you, as it is very well, I was 
lately here in the end of a displeasing play, 
to pray your patience for it and to promise 
you a better. I did mean indeed to pay you 
with this; which, if like an ill venture it 
come unluckily home, I break, and you, my 
gentle creditors, lose. Here I promised you 
I would be and here I commit my body to 
your mercies: bate me some and I will pay 
you some and, as most debtors do, promise 
you infinitely. jg 

If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, 
will you command me to use my legs } and yet 
that were but light paj^ment, to dance out' of 
your debt. But a good conscience will make 
any possible satisfaction, and so will I. All 
the gentlewomen here have forgiven me: if 
the gentlemen will not, then the gentlemen do 
not agree with the gentlewomen, which was 
never seen before in such an assembly. 26 

One word more, I beseech you. If you be not 
too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble 
author will continue the story, with Sir John 
in it, and make you merry with fair Kathar- 
ine of France: where, for any thing I know, 
FalstafF shall die of a sweat, unless already 
he be killed with your hard opinions ; for Old- 
castle died a martyr, and this is not the man. 
My tongue is weary ; when my legs are too, I 
will bid you good night: and so kneel down 
before you ; but, indeed, to pray for the queen. 



18 , 



FINIS 



NOTES 



Textual Note: F refers to the Folio edition of 
Shakespeare (1623), Q the Quarto edition of this 
play (1600). 

Head-title. Henry the Fifth. 'Fift,' which 
Shakespeare uses throughout the play is the proper 
form of the numeral, the modern 'fifth' being due 
to the analop^y of 'fourth.' 

Induction. S. D. Rumour, painted full of 



tongues. Compare Vergil's description of Fame, 
/Eneid iv, 174, etc. F omits painted . . . tongues 
and changes tongues in line 6 to 'tongue.' 
8 men] Q; them F. 

17 stop, hole by which the music of the pipe is modu- 
lated. 

33 peasant, provincial. 

35 hold] Theobald; hole Q F. 



264 



HENRY IV, PART II 



45 



37 tiring-, rushing busily. 

ACT I 

1. 8 stratagem, dreadful blow of fate. 
13 and, if. God] Q; heaven F. (See note on 
1 Henry IV I. ii. ^2-2). 
19 brawn, a boneless mass of flesh. 
30 over-rode, outrode. 

33 with] Q; from F. 
37 forspent, exhausted. 

44 armed] Q; able F. 

53 point, a lace. See note on 1 Henry IV II. iv. 
238. 
57 hilding, base. 
62 whereon] Q; when F. 

72 drew Priam's curtain, a typical anachronism: 
Priam is assumed to be sleeping in an Elizabethan 
four-poster bed with curtains. 
103 knelling] F; toiling Q. 
108 faint quittance, weak return of blows. 

116 mettle, the same word as 'metal'; both mean- 
ings are here involved. 

117 abated, blunted. 

128 appearance of the king, apparent king. 

129 vail his stomach, lower his courage. 
141 buckle, bend. 

145 nice, silly, effeminate; wanton, line 148, has the 

same sense. 
147 quoif, skull-cap. 

161 Line om. F; assigned to Z7w/r(eville) in Q. 
163 complices, accomplices, allies. 
166-179 You cast ... to be] om. Q. 
166 cast, calculated, event, outcome. 

168 make head, take arms. See note on 1 Henry IV 
I. iii. 284. 

169 dole, distribution. 
174 trade, traflfic. 

189-209 The gentle . . . follow him] om. Q. 

192 corpse, bodies; see note on 1 Henry IV I. i. 43. 

209 more and less, high and low. 

214 posts, couriers. 

215 need, necessary; alluding to friends, who were 
never so few or so much needed. 

ii. 4 ow'd, owned. 
17 mandrake, the narcotic plant mandragora, whose 

forked root resembled the human figure and was 

supposed to have weird powers. 
19 mann'd, attended. Agate stones were made into 

cameos representing human figures. 
28 face-royal, a pun on the coin royal, worth ten 

shillings. 
30 writ man, subscribed himself a man. 

34 slops, full trousers. 

40, 41 Achitophel, the evil counselor of Absalom in 
the second book of Samuel. Eighty years later 
Dryden likewise selected Achitophel as the type of 
an arch-Protestant when he satirized the Earl of 
Shaftesbury in Absalom and Achitophel (1681). 

41, 42 bear in hand, delude with false hopes. 
43 smooth-pates, round-heads, Puritans. 

45 throug^h, downright, serious. (Same word as 
thorough.) 

46 taking up, ordering goods on credit. 



52 lightness, a pun on two meanings of the word. 
Horn was used in place of glass for the light of 
lanterns to shine through; hence the common mis- 
spelling, 'lanthorn.' 

56 Smithfield, half a mile north of St. Paul's, was 
in Shakespeare's time a cattle and horse market. 
It is now the chief meat market of the city. 
58 Paul's, St. Paul's Cathedral. Persons wishing 
employment used to advertise their services by post- 
ing notices on the columns of the church. The main 
aisle was a public promenade. 

102, 103 hunt counter, follow the scent backwards. 

Ill age] F; an ague Q. 

127 and't please your lordship; a kind of] Q; a F 
(perhaps better). 

131 it original, its source. The possessive form, 
'its,' was not current in Shakespeare's time, 'his' 
being generally used for neuter as well as mascu- 
line; see his effects in 1. 133. 'It' for the possessive 
is somewhat rare. 

143 do become] Q; be F. 

187 ill angel, bad coin. An angel was worth between 
a third and a half of a pound sterling. 

191 costermonger's times, times of huckstering. 

192 bear-herd, bear-keeper; one of the occupations 
possible for disbanded soldiers. The 'baiting' of 
bears with bulldogs and performances of trained 
bears were both popular diversions in Shakespeare's 
day. 

pregnancy, quick wit. 
199 vaward, van, first part. 
211, 212 about three . . . afternc^on] om. F. 
238 never spit white again, L e., spit blood till I die. 

Falstaff wishes he may be killed in the battle if 

he brandish anything but a bottle on a hot day. 

The passage has been much misunderstood. 
240-247 but it was . . . motion] om. F. 
253 crosses, a pun alluding to the cross stamped on 

cerkiin coins. 
255 three-man beetle, a pile-driver. 
260 prevent, anticipate. 
263 groats, coins worth fourpence. 

iii. 5 allow, approve. 

21-24 Till we . . . admitted] om. Q. 

33 winking, shutting his eyes (to the facts). 

36-55 Yes ... or else] om. Q. 

36-41 Many editors think this passage corrupt, but 
it can be interpreted: 'Yes, it does do harm, if this 
present quality or circumstance of war lives so 
in hope as buds in spring. 37 is parenthetical, ex- 
plaining 'quality of war.' 

81 like, likely. 

85-108 Archbishop's speech om. Q. 

ACT II 

i. 17 foin, thrust. 

30 Lubber's-head, libbard's or leopard's head, a 
shop sign. 

52 channel, gutter. 

54 there] F; in the channel Q. 

56 honey-suc"kle, the Hostess's corruption of 'homi- 
cidal.' So in the next line honey-seed for 'homi- 
cide.' 



^Q5 



46 



HENRY IV, PART II 



94 parcel-gilt, partly gilded or gold-plated. 

95 Dolphin-chamber. See note on 1 Henry IV II. 
iv. 30. 

97,98 liking his father] Q; lik'ning him F. 
108 so familiarity] Q; familiar F. 

125 I know you ha'] F; you have, as it appears to 
me Q. 

126 woman. After this word Q adds: 'and made her 
serve your uses both in purse and in person.' 

132 sneap, snub. 

155 the only drinking, the only thing to drink from. 

158 water-work, water-color frescoes. 

164, 165 dost not know me? come] om. F. 

182 Basingstoke, in Hampshire, 48 miles southwest 
of London. The Quarto substitutes 'Billingsgate,' 
the London fishmarket, which has never been a 
proper place for a king to sleep. 

ii. 10 studied, inclined. 
25-30 and God knows . . . strengthened] om. F 

(because irreverent). 
64 accites, incites. 
72 proper, good-looking. 
80 virtuous] Q; pernicious F. 
102 cankers, worms. 
110 martlemas, prize ox. Martlemas or St. Martin's 

Day (Nov. 11) was the time for laying in beef. 
125 borrower's] Theobald; borrowed Q F. 
129-131, 133, 134 [Reads] . . . greeting; [Reads] . . . 
brevity] Hanmer assigned these passages to Poins. 
160 frank, boar-pen; alluding to the Boar's-head 

Tavern. 
164 Ephesians, boon-companions. 

of the old church, of the old sort. 
185 St. Albans, twenty miles from London, long the 

most usual first stage for travelers riding north. 
190, 191 drawers, waiters. 

iii. 17 the God of heaven] Q; may heavenly glory F. 
23-45 He had . . . Monmouth's grave] om. Q. 
61 recordation, memorial. 



iv. 2 apple-johns, a withered-looking but lasting kind 

of apples. 
12 noise, band of musicians. 
14, 15 Dispatch . . . straight] om. F. 
21 old Utis, great sport. 'Utis,' from utaves, oc- 
tave, means the eight-day period of merriment after 

a festival. 
29 canaries, canary wine. 
36-38 When Arthur first in court . . . And was a 

worthy king. Falstaff hums the first lines of an 

old ballad. 
40 calm, qualm. 
43 muddy, foul, rascal, properly a thin deer; hence 

Falstaff's play on the word. 
53 ouches, ornaments. The proper spelling is 

'nouches.' 
58, 59 Dol Hang . . . yourself] om. F. 
58 conger, sea-eel. 
64 good-year, said to come from French, goujere, 

pox. 

74 Ancient, Ensign; the lowest commissioned officer. 
Ill cheater, used by Mrs. Quickly for 'escheator.' 



138 bung, pickpocket. 
140 cuttle, probably equivalent to 'bully.' 
143 points, epaulets. 

161, 162 as odious . . . -sorted] Q; Captain odious F. 
161 occupy. The word had been vulgarized by over- 
use. 
173 Hiren, Irene, probably a character in a lost play 

by Peele. Pistol seems to have named his sword 

after her. 
178, 179 An inexact repetition of two ranting lines 

in the second part of Marlowe's Tamburlaine. 
180 Cannibals, Pistol means 'Hannibals.' 
193 Calipolis, a starving lady in Peek's Battle of 

A Icazar. 
195 'If fortune torments me, hope contents me.' 

The saying occurs both in Italian and in French. 

It is doubtful which version Pistol is trying to 

quote. 
200 neif, fist. For the other spelling, 'neaf,' see Mid- 

savfimer Night's Dream IV. i. 20. 
203 fustian, coarse; fustian was a rough kind of 

cloth. 
205 Galloway nags, worthless jades, alluding to Doll. 

The horses of Galloway in southwest Scotland were 

an inferior breed. 
206, 207 shove-groat shilling, shilling used in the 

game of 'shove-groat' or shovel-board. 
219 tirrits, a coined word probably meaning 'terrors.' 
250, 251 Bartholomew boar-pig. Roast-pig was the 

particular delicacy sold at Bartholomew Fair, which 

was celebrated in Smithfield Market every year at 

the feast of St. Bartholomew. 
258 pantler, pantry-servant. 

262 Tewkesbury, in Gloucestershire, about twenty 
mUes southwest of Stratford-on-Avon; well-kpown 
in Shakespeare's time for the manufacture of 
mustard. 

263 conceit, wit. 

268 flap-dragons, raisins floating in a vessel of burn- 
ing spirits. The meaning of this line and the pre- 
ceding is that Poins has an invincible digestion, 
wild-mare, see-saw. 

271 the sign of the leg, a bootmaker's sign. 

272 bate, disturbance. 

282 poll, head. Doll is stroking Falstaff's head. 

288 whether] Collier; where Q; if F. 

238 fiery Trigon, the red-nosed Bardolph. The fiery 
trigon is in astrology the triangle made up by the 
three fiery signs of the zodiac: Aries,, Leo, and 
Sagittarius. 

289 tables, account-book, alluding to the Hostess. 
325 take not the heat, do not act while your anger 

is hot. 

332-33 you knew me, etc. See 1 Henry IV II. iv. 
295. 

363 outbids] F; blinds Q. 

372 suffering flesh to be eaten. During Elizabeth's 
reign the eating of flesh during Ivcnt was illegal. 
Eminent persons in ill-health sometimes secured 
special indulgence from the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury. 

413 peascod time, early summer, when peas are in 
pod. 

420 good Doll. After these words Q adds: 'come, 
she comes blubbered, yea will you come, Doll?' 



266 



HENRY IV, PART II 



47 



ACT III 

i. 15 vild, vile. The Quarto has the modern spelling. 
17 watch-case, probably a sentry-box. 
53-56 0, if this . . . die] om. F. For the omission 
of this entire scene (III. i.) in some copies of Q 
see the Introduction. 
70-79 See Richard 11 V. i. 55-68. 
103 a certain instance, positive information; but 
the news was incorrect, for Glendower outlived 
Henry IV. 

ii. 3 rood, cross. 

9 ousel, blackbird. See Mklsmmner Night's 
Dream III. i. 13S. 

14 inns o' court, colleges in London for the study 
of law, fourteen in all. The most important are 
Lincoln's Inn, Gray's Inn, and the Inner and 
Middle Temple. Clement's Inn was attached to the 
Inner Temple. 

23 Cotswold man. The Cotswold Hills, mainly in 
Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire, extend to within 
five or six miles of Stratford-on-Avon. Cotswold 
men were famous patrons of sport, and still are. 

32 see, a dialect form of 'saw'; the Folio substi- 
tutes the latter. 'Scogin's Jests' were published 
in 1565. Another Scogan, a poet, really lived in 
Henry TV's time. 

34 crack, a pert boy. 

41 as the Psalmist saith] om. F (because irrever- 
ent). 

42 How, what is the price of? 

43 Stamford fair. Perhaps Shakespeare meant 
Stratford fair, one of the imjoortant cattle mar- 
kets of the region. No Stamford is known in this 
district. 

51 clapped i' the clout, hit the bull's eye. 

52 twelve score, two hundred and forty yards, 
forehand shaft, an arrow of special strength 

for long shots, as opposed to 'underhand shafts.' 
61 Shal. . . . gentlemen. This speech is given to 
Bardolph in some copies of Q, to Silence in others. 
67 tall, valiant; see note on 1 Henry IV I. iii. 63. 
92 look] F; like Q. 

131 other, others. In early English this pronoun al- 
ways formed its plural without -s. 

178 so many thousands, i. e., of vermin. 

236 four Harry ten shillings, a blundering way of 
saying forty shillings, which Bullcalf pays in eight 
French crowns worth five shillings each. Ten- 
shilling pieces with King Henry's image were first 
coined in the reign of Henry VII. 

260 three pound. The amount really offered was 
four pounds, but Bardolph evidently means to give 
himself a commission of twenty-five per cent. 

290 caliver, light musket. See note on 1 Henry IV 
IV. ii. 31. 

291 traverse, march. 
294 chopt, chapped. 
296 tester, sixpence. 

298 Mile-end Green, the training-place for the Lon- 
don militia. 

300 Sir Dagonet in Arthur's show. Arthur's Show 
was an archery exhiljition given by a society of 
Shakespeare's time whose members took the names 



of the various knights of the Round Table. Sir 
Dagonet was Arthur's jester. 

313,314 As you return, visit my] F; At your re- 
turn, visit our Q. 

329, 330 Turnbull Street, properly Turnmill Street, a 
disreputable quarter north of Holborn and very 
close to Gray's Inn. 

338-344 yet' lecherous . . . good-nights] F omits all 
except 'he came ever in the rearward of the fash- 
ion.' 

339,340 mandrake; see note on I. ii. 17. 

341, 342 overscutched, over-whipped. 

343, 344 fancies . . . goodnights, popular titles for 
songs. 

344 Vice's dagger. The vice in interludes often car- 
ried a wooden dagger, 

351 truss'd] F; thrust Q. 

357 a philosopher's two stones. Two conceptions of 
the philosopher's stone prevailed: one that it would 
banish sickness and age; the other that it would 
transmute base metal into gold. Perhaps Falstaff 
only means that Shallow will be worth to him twice 
as much as the philosopher's stone. 

ACT IV 

i. 2 Gaultree Forest, properly Galtres, formerly ex- 
tended almost to the waUs of York. It remained 
royal property till 1670. 
11 "hold sortance, accord. 

34 guarded with rage. Most modern editors ex- 
plain guarded as 'trimmed' and change rage to 
'rags.' 
50 greaves, spelled graves in early editions. 
55-79 And with . . . wrong] om. Q. 
93 and 95] F omits these two lines. 
94-96 The precise meaning of these lines is uncer- 
tain and many critics believe them corrupt. The 
archbishop's main idea is clear, however: he bases 
his action upon the general injuries of the com- 
monwealth and upon the private cruelty of his 
brother's death. 

103-139 0, my good ... the king] om. Q. 

116 force] Theobald; forc'd F. 

117-25 A reminiscence of Richard II I, iii. 

121 sights of steel, eye-holes in the beaver, or face- 
g-uard of the helmet. 

139 indeed] Theobald; and did F. 

149 overween, are arrogant. 

168 intended, understood. 

167 muse, wonder. 

176 awful, full of awe, submissive. 

198 picking, fastidious, frivolous. 

201 tables, memorandum-books. 

213 hangs, arrests, causes to hang irresolute. 

226 just, equal. 

ii. 19 image and] Rami; image Q F; imagin'd 
Rowe. 

47 success, succession. 

97 lie, lodge. 
119 fondly, stupidly. 

iii. 16 observance, homage. 

22 And, if, as very frequently in Shakespeare. 



267 



I 



48 



HENRY IV, PART II 



23 indifferency, normal size. 
40 posts, post-horses. 

58 the element, used particularly of the element of 
air, the sky, 
105 ascends me . . . dries me; 'me' the ethical da- 
tive. See note on 1 Henry IV II, iv. 115. 
108 forgetive, apt to forge, inventive. 

iv. 5 address'd, prepared. 
30 observ'd, treated with respect. 

35 flaws, probably blades of ice. 
39 line] F; time Q. 

45 venom of suggestion, poisonous insinuations. 

77 mete, measure. 

92 haunch, the tail end. 
104 write . . . letters] F; wet . . . terms Q. 
119 mure, wall. 

V. 27 biggen, night-cap. 

36 rigol, circle. 

72 canker'd, unhealthy. 

75 culling] F; toling Q. 

76 The virtuous sweets] om. Q. 

80 engrossments, accumulations. This word is 
probably the subject of Yields, a plural in -s, as 
often in Shakespeare. 
82 determined, ended. 

124 neighbour confines, boundaries of neighboring 
states. 

148 true and inward] F; inward true and Q. 

163 medicine potable, dissolved gold was regarded 
as the great elixir of life by medieval doctors. 

200 purchas'd, acquired by other means than in- 
heritance: a legal term. 

205 my friends. Tyrwhitt's conjecture. The old 
editions have 'thy friends.* Dyce substituted 'my 
foes.' The true reading is very doubtful. 

235 Jerusalem. The Jerusalem Chamber, immedi- 
ately south-west of Westminster Abbey, probably 
got the name which it still retains from wall- 
tapestries illustrating the history of Jerusalem. It 
was only about thirty years old at the time of 
Henry IV's death. 

ACT V 

i. 1 By cock and pie, a corrupted oath. 'Cock' is an 
inoffensive substitute for 'God.' 'Pie,' Latin Pica, 
was a slang name for the priests' guide or Ordi- 
nate. 

16 headland, strip of field on which the horses 
turn when ploughing the rest, and consequently not 
sown so early. 

21 cast, calculated. 

26 Hinckley, on the edge of Warwickshire and 
lyeicestershire. 

29 kickshaws, trifles; from French quelque chose. 

39 well conceited, well jested. 

42, 43 Woncot . . . the hill; said to be farms in the 
immediate vicinity of Stratford. 



82 curry, curry favor. 

91 intervallums, legal vacations. 

ii. 34 swims against your stream of quality, is re- 
pugnant to your gentlemanly instincts. 

36 Impartial] Q; imperial F. 

38 ragged and forestall'd, incomplete and nullified. 

48 Amurath an Amurath succeeds. See Introduc- 
tion, 'Date.' 

90 in a second body, in the person of a representa- 
tive. 

92 propose, imagine. 

124 affections, wild habits. 
141 accite, summon. 

iii. 10 well said, well 'sayed, well done. 
12 husband, husbandman, steward. 
30 Preface, equivalent to Latin proflciat: may it do 

you good! 
44 leather-coats, a kind of russet apple, said to be 

still peculiar to the neighborhood of Stratford. 
63 cavalieros, gallants. 

68 pottle-pot, a tankard holding two quarts. 

69 By God's liggens, a coined oath; lirigens is per- 
haps, like laUn, a corruption of ladykin, the Vir- 
gin. 

79 Samingo, a drunken abbreviation of San Do- 
mingo. 'Do me right. And dub me knight, Do- 
mingo,' ends a stanza in one of the songs in Nashe's 
play. Summer's Last Will and Testament, pub- 
lished in the same year as ^ Henry IV (1600). 
94 Barson, probably Barston in Warwickshire, fif- 
teen miles north of Stratford. 

104 foutre, a word of contempt. 

107 King Cophetua. Falstaff adapts his style of 
speech to that of Pistol and takes the character of 
a ballad hero. The mention of King Cophetua sug- 
gests to the drunken Silence three other famous 
characters of the ballads. 

119 besonian, base rustic; properly a beggar, from 
Italian hisoqno, need. 



1 



iv. 8 Nut-hook. The catch-pole or beadle carried a 
long hook as badge of office, not unlike the hook 
used to gather nuts from high branches. 
33 atomy] Q; Anatomy F. The meaning is 'skele- 
ton.' 

V. 1 rushes. See note on 1 Henry IV III. i. 214. 
38 mechanical, base. 
45 imp, scion. 

EPILOGUE 

13 come unluckily home, return with an un- 
profitable cargo; a metaphor from the maritime 
commerce of the day. 

36, 37 and so . . . queen] In Q these words follow 
infinitely (line 18), which suggests that the Epi- 
logue once ended at that point. 



268 



HENRY V 



SOURCES — Shakespeare's main authority for 
Henry V was the same as he had already used for 
Henry IV — the second edition of Holinshed's Chroni- 
cles, published in 1587. To Holinshed he was in- 
debted for practically all his historical material — 
political intrigues and conspiracies, military cam- 
paigns, marches, sieges, and battles, messages by 
ambassadors and heralds, the intervention of the em- 
peror, the treaty of Troyes, and the betrothal of 
Henry and Katharine. In passages such as the ac- 
count of the bill against the clergy (I. i.) and the 
argument about the Salic law (I. ii,), Shakespeare 
contents himself with versifying Holinshed's prose, 
which he follows even in its minor errors; the list of 
the captured and slain at Agincourt (IV. viii.) is 
also taken over bodily, and in the final negotiations 
(V. ii.), where Holinshed mistranslates trds cher by 
the Latin prceclarissimus, Shakespeare does the same; 
the correct reading, prwcharissimus, is given by Hall, 
Holinshed's authority, in his 1548 edition, but the 
misprinted I having crept into the 1550 issue, Holin- 
shed — and after him Shakespeare — continued it. Yet 
it must not be thought that Shakespeare follows his 
authority slavishly. He makes changes freely for 
dramatic purposes — concentrating time, transferring 
places and persons, and omitting a four years' cam- 
paign before the treaty in the last act. 

For a few hints and a phrase or two Shakespeare 
was indebted to the old play, the Famous Victories 
of Henry V, also used in Shakespeare's Henry IV; 
the most remarkable parallels are in the embassy of 
the tennis balls; a scene between the clown Dericke 
and a French soldier who takes him prisoner, con- 
taining perhaps a suggestion for the dialogue be- 
tween Pistol and Monsieur le Fer; and the wooing 
scene at the end of the play. There is, however, no 
"fausse French" in the old play, and the resem- 
blances, though striking in character, are slight in 
extent, amounting only to a few lines of anything 
like real indebtedness. Throughout the comic scenes, 
which give life and movement to the historical events 
narrated rather than presented, Shakespeare is pro- 
I foundly and entirely original. 

The stirring rhetoric by which the sieges and battle 



scenes are enlivened is original in another sense; it 
differs by a whole poetic world from Holinshed's 
prose, on which it is founded. Yet Shakespeare took 
from the Chronicles an occasional phrase that served 
his purpose. Henry's reply to the herald (III. vi.), 

If we be hinder'd 
We shall your tawny ground ivith your red blood 
Discolour, 

has the right Shakespearean ring; but the M^ords in 
italics are taken directly from the passage describing 
the incident in Holinshed. Another phrase of Henry's 
in the Chronicles, "I would not wish a man more than 
I have," gives the hint for one of Shakespeare's best 
speeches (IV. iii., 18-67), and the fine piece of 
rhetoric which follows (90-125) has its suggestion in 
Holinshed's report of Henry's answer "that his dead 
carcass should rather be a prize to the Frenchmen 
than his living body should pay any ransom." The 
famous description of the death of Y'ork and Suffolk 
(IV. vi.) is, on the other hand, entirely original, as 
Holinshed merely gives their names the first place on 
the list of those slain on the English side. In gen- 
eral, Holinshed gives the bare facts or a phrase or 
two which may serve as a suggestion or be adopted 
as they stand; but at the most they merely afford 
Shakespeare's poetic faculty something to work on. 
The imagination, the life and vigor of the rhetoric 
are as much Shakespeare's own as the movement of 
the blank verse. 

Beside the historical events which form the back- 
bone of the plot such as it is, Shakespeare took over 
from Holinshed the main outlines of the conception 
of Henry as a national hero, which gives the drama 
such unity as it possesses. In Henry IV Shakespeare 
had already amplified and emphasized Holinshed's 
hints as to Prince Henry's audacious youth, and his 
dismissal of his boon companions on his accession. 
Holinshed's plea that the Prince's youthful behavior 
"was not offensive or at least tending to the damage 
of anybody since he had a care to avoid doing' of 
wrong and to tether his affections within the tract 
of virtue" was enlarged by Shakespeare into a delib- 
erate intention on Henry's part to make the "loose 
behaviour" of his youth an effective contrast for the 



269 



2 



HENRY V 



real achievements of his manhood. This difficulty 
once overcome, and Henry as king separated from 
his base associates, Shakespeare proceeded to develop 
the character of "the mirror of all Christian kings" 
on the lines Holinshed had already laid down. The 
passage from the Chronicles is a long one, but it is 
too important to be omitted: — 

"This Henry was a king, of life without spot; a 
prince whom all men loved, and of none disdained; 
a captain against whom fortune never frowned, nor 
mischance once spurned; whose people him so severe 
a justicer both loved and obeyed, (and so human 
withal,) that he left no oifense unpunished, nor 
friendship unrewarded; a terror to rebels, and sup- 
pressor of sedition; his virtues notable, his qualities 
most praiseworth}^ 

"In strength and nimbleness of body from his 
youth few to him comparable; for in wrestling, leap- 
ing, and running, no man well able to compare. In 
casting of great iron bars and hea\y stones he ex- 
celled commonly all men; never shrinking at cold, 
nor slothful for heat; and, when he most labored, 
his head commonly uncovered; no more weary of 
harness than a light cloak; very valiantly abiding at 
needs both hunger and thirst; so manful of mind as 
never seen to flinch at a wound, or to smart at the 
pain; to turn his nose from evil savor, or to close 
his eyes from smoke or dust; no man more moderate 
in eating and drinking, with diet not delicate, but 
rather more meet for men of war than for princes 
or tender stomachs. Every honest person was per- 
mitted to come to him, sitting at meal; where either 
secretly or openly to declare his mind. High and 
weighty causes, as well between men of war and 
other, he would gladly hear; and either determined 
them himself, or else for end committed them to 
others. He slept very little, but that very soundly, 
in so much that when his soldiers sang at nights, or 
minstrels played, he then slept fastest; of courage 
invincible, of purpose unmutable; so wisehardy al- 
ways, as fear was banished from him; at every alarm 
he first In armor, and foremost in ordering. In time 
of war such was his providence, bounty and hap, as 
be had true intelligence not only what his enemies 
did, but what they said and intended; of his devices 
and purposes, few, before the thing was at the point 
to be done, should be made" private. 

"He had such knowledge in ordering and guiding 
an army, with such a gift to encourage his people, 
that the Frenchmen had constant opinion he could 
never be vanquished in battle. Such wit, such pru- 
dence, and such policy withal, that he never enter- 



prised anything, before he had fully debated and 
forecast all the main chances that might happen; 
Avhich done, with all diligence and courage, he set his 
purpose forward. What policy he had in finding 
present remedies for sudden mischief, and what en- 
gines in saving himself and his people in sharp dis- 
tresses, were it not that by his acts they did plainly 
appear, hard were it by words to make them credible. 
Wantonness of life and thirst in avarice had he quite 
quenched in him — virtues indeed in such an estate of 
sovereignty, youth, and power, as very rare, so right 
commendable in the highest degree. So staid of 
mind and countenance beside, that never jolly or tri- 
umphant for victory, nor sad or damped for loss or 
misfortune. For bountifulness and liberality, no man 
more free, gentle, and frank, in bestowing rewards 
to all persons, according to their deserts: for his say- 
ing was, that he never desired money to keep, but 
to give and spend. 

"Of person and form was this prince rightly repre- 
senting his heroical affects; of stature and proportion 
tall and manly, rather lean than gross, somewhat long 
necked, and black haired, of countenance amiable; 
eloquent and grave was his speech, and of great grace 
and power to persuade; for conclusion, a majesty 
was he that both lived and died a pattern in prince- 
hood, a lodestar in honor, and mirror of magnificence; 
the more highly exalted in his life, the more deeply 
lamented at his death, and famous to the world 
always." 

STAGE HISTOEY— To the Elizabethans the po- 
tent rhetoric of Henry V offered a natural outlet 
for the patriotic enthusiasm aroused by the victory 
over Spain. The publication of two quarto editions 
of the play within three years of its first production 
attests its immediate popularity, and a contemporary 
elegy of Richard Burbage mentions King Harry as 
one of his famous parts. After the closing of the 
theatres at the Commonwealth, Henry V seems to 
have been lost to the stage for nearly a century, for 
the first certain record of its performance dates from 
1738. Garrick revived the play in 1747, appearing 
himself as Chorus, arrayed in the costume of his 
own day, "a full-dress court suit with powdered bag- 
wig, ruffles, and sword;" the part of Henry fell to 
Spranger Barry, whose physical proportions gave him 
a memorable advantage. There were spectacular pro- 
ductions at Covent Garden in 1761, 1769, and 1778, 
introducing a Coronation procession (taken over 
from 2 Henry IV) and the defense of Henry's title 
to the crown by a champion in full armor on horse- 
back. John Philip Kemble in 1789 made a deep im- 



270 



INTRODUCTION 



pression at Drury Lane by "the heroic perfection of 
his countenance and his figure;" his oratorical style 
was well adapted to the part, to which he thought 
himself particularly suited "for reasons as much men- 
tal as personal;" he made a noteworthy stage effect 
at the end of lY. i, by suddenly breaking off the 
prayer at the sound of the trumpet and rushing from 
the scene, sword in hand. Edmund Kean's last ap- 
pearance at Covent Garden was made as Henry in 
1830, shortly before his death; he forgot his lines 
and apologized from the stage for the failure of his 
memory. Macready frequently acted the part and 
said himself: "By diligent study I made Henry one 
of my most popular assumptions;" the most brilliant 
triumph of his career was an elaborate production at 
Covent Garden in 1839, for which the leading men 
of letters and artists of the day gave first counsel 
and afterwards congratulations. Between 1850 and 
1860 there were rival productions by Samuel Phelps 
at Sadler's Wells and Charles Kean at the Princess's 
Theatre; it was Kean's last Shakespearean revival, 
and had an unusually long run, due more to its ex- 
pensive mounting than the excellence of its acting. 
In his farewell speech Kean said:— 

"The siege of Harfleur as presented on this stage 
was no ideal battle, no imaginary fight: it was a cor- 
rect representation of what actually had taken place: 
the engines of war, the guns, banners, fire-balls, the 
attack and defense, the barricades at the breach, 
the conflagration within the town, the assault and 
capitulation were all taken from the account left to 
us by a priest who accompanied the army, — ^was an 
eye-witness, and whose Latin manuscript is now in 
the British Museum." Kean made an elaborate show 
of Henry's entry into London, and this substitute for 
the^ Chorus's appeal to the imagination of the audi- 
ence has appeared in nearly all the popular produc- 
tions since his day. This "historical episode," re- 
produced with gorgeous pageantry from the account 
of an eye witness of the royal procession of 1415, 
was again a feature of Charles Calvert's Manchester 
revival of 1873, in which George Ringold endowed 
the character of Henry with "a singular personal 
attractiveness." F. R. Benson gave "a rather quiet, 
dignified presentation" at the London Lyceum in 
1900, closely followed by a more magnificent produc- 
tion on the same stage in which Lewis Waller appeared 
as Henry and Lily Hanbury as Chorus. The Boer 
war accounted for the renewed popularity of the 
play, which had been somewhat neglected during the 
previous twenty years because of its lack of dramatic 
interest. Mr. Waller revived it with increased mag- 



nificence at the Imperial Theatre in 1904 and at the 
Lyric in 1908. Ben Greet's players early in the 
twentieth century acted Henry V without scenery 
for the Elizabethan Stage Society in London, and 
have since repeated the performance on both sides of 
the Atlantic on their own responsibility. 

On the European Continent the play has been, for 
obvious reasons, less popular. The Emperor and 
Empress of Germany attended a performance at the 
Royal Theatre at Berlin in 1903, which seems to have 
been intended partly as a compliment to the members 
of the British Embassy, who were present on the 
Emperor's invitation. 

The first recorded performance of Henry V in the 
United States was at the old Park Theatre, New 
York, in 1804, when Cooper, then a reigning favorite, 
chose it for his benefit night on his return from a 
successful European tour. The play was brought 
across the Atlantic by Macready in 1826, by Calvert 
and Ringold in 1875, and -by Lewis Waller in 
1912. Lawrence Barrett put it on at the California 
Theatre, San Francisco, in 1876; and in the same 
year, at New York, John Coleman was responsible for 
an expensive setting, which, in spite of its success, 
involved him in financial difficulties and kept the 
stage only for a week. But the most memorable pro- 
duction in America, and probably anywhere, was that 
of Richard Mansfield, in 1900. Mansfield spent be- 
tween $30,000 and $40,000 before the first perform- 
ance was given, and though there were crowded 
houses night after night, first at the Garden Theatre, 
New York, and afterwards in Philadelphia and Chi- 
cago, the enterprising actor-manager did not succeed 
in recouping himself for his outlay. Of the many 
gorgeous spectacles Henry's triumphal entry into 
London was the most elaborate; the siege of Harfleur 
and the battle of Agincourt were represented with 
knights, pikemen and bowmen, culverins, battering 
rams, axes, swords and daggers all in full view, every 
historical detail of costume and equipment being 
carefully reproduced. Mansfield was much com- 
mended for his stage generalship; about his presen- 
tation of the character of Henry the critics were not 
agreed; some condemned it as lacking in fire, too 
introspective and philosophic; William Winter de- 
scribed it as "winning, eloquent, and more sympa- 
thetic than any embodiment that he has hitherto set 
before this public." Its characteristic note was that 
of intellectual concentration, as that of Kemble was 
dignity tempered by spontaneous buoyancy, and that 
of Macready restless energy. 

CRITICAL COMMENT— The play affords little 



271 



HENRY V 



opportunity for critical comment except in the analy- 
sis of the character of King Henry. Dr. Johnson 
pronounced the conception of the youthful Prince 
Harry "great, original, and just" and the character 
of the king well supported, "except in his courtship, 
where he has neither the vivacity of Hal, nor the 
grandeur of Henry." Nineteenth century criticism 
is one long chorus of admiration of "Henry's free- 
dom from egoism, his modesty, his integrity, his joy- 
ous humor, his practical piety, his habit of judging 
things by natural and not artificial standards" 
(Dowden). With the twentieth century there came 
a change. Professor A. C. Bradley in a paper en- 
titled The Rejection of Falstaf (1903) denied that 
Henry was Shakespeare's ideal man, or even his ideal 
man of action. He condemns the treatment of Fal- 
staff as unnecessarily harsh, and points out that when 
Henry adjured the Archbishop to tell the unvar- 
nished truth about his claim to the French throne, 
he knew the clergy wanted the war, which is, indeed, 
foreshadowed at the end of Henry IV, the dying 
king having advised his successor "to busy giddy 
minds with foreign quarrels." Henry is cast in the 
same mold as his scheming father, and has no af- 
fections beyond the circle of the royal family. 
"Henry always succeeded," says Professor Bradley, 
and he finds in Falstaff "the inexplicable touch of 
infinity which Shakespeare bestowed on Hamlet and 
Macbeth and Cleopatra, but denied to Henry V" 
(Oxford Lectures on Poetry). About the same time 
Mr. W. B. Yeats, reviewing the Shakespeare per- 
formances at Stratford in 1901, was writing inde- 
pendently in much the same vein. Henry "has the 
gross vices, the coarse nerves, of one who is ruler 
among violent people. He is as remorseless and un- 
distinguished as some natural force, and the finest 
thing in his play is the way his old companions fall 
out of it broken-hearted or on their way to the gal- 



lows." Instead of the lyrical phantasy of Richard 
n, Shakespeare has given him "a resounding rhetoric 
that moves men, as a leading article does today" 
(Ideas of Good and Evil). Mr. John Masefield in 
his little book on Shakespeare goes further in the 
same direction. Henry is "a popular hero as com- 
mon as those who love him." He is "the one 
commonplace man" in the historical plays. He "woos 
his bride like a butcher, and jokes among his men 
like a groom. He has the knack of life that fits 
human beings for whatever is animal in human 
affairs." These views are interesting as criticisms of 
the character, regarded objectively, but it may be 
doubted whether they fall within the range of Shake- 
speare's purpose, Mdiich was to present "the mirror 
of all Christian kings" as he found him described 
in Holinshed and enshrined in popular tradition. 
They indicate a change in the standard of spiritual 
values since Shakespeare's day, and are of impor- 
tance from this point of view rather than from that 
of the reader who wishes to approach the play in 
the spirit in which Shakespeare conceived it. 

DATE AND TEXT— The reference to the Earl of 
Essex in the last Chorus (see note) makes it all but 
certain that the play was written and produced in 
the summer of 1599; and this conclusion is borne out 
by its omission from the Meres list (1598), its men- 
tion in the Stationers' Registers under date August 
4, 1600, and the publication of the first quarto in 
the latter year. This quarto, reprinted in 1603 and 
1608, is exceedingly defective, containing less than 
half as many lines as the folio of 1623, upon which 
our text is based, with the occasional correction where 
the quarto reading is obviously preferable. The more 
important variations from the folio text are included 
in the Notes. 

C. 



272 



THE LIFE OF HENRY THE FIFTH 



[Scene: England; afterwards France. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 



King Henry the Fifth. 

Duke of Gloucester, ) 

T-v Tj i brothers to the Kinar. 

Duke of Bedford, ) => 

Duke of Exeter, uncle to the King. 
Duke of York, cousin to the King. 
Earls of Salisbury, Westmoreland, and Warwick. 
Archbishop of Canterbury. 
Bishop of Ely. 
Earl of Cambridge. 
Lord Scroop. 
Sir Thomas Grey, 

Sir Thomas Erpingham, Gower, Fluellen, Mac- 
morris, Jamy, oflBcers in King Henry's army. 
Bates, Court, Williams, soldiers in the same. 
Pistol, Nym, Bardolph. 
Boy. 
A Herald. 



Charles the Sixth, King of France. 

Lewis, the Dauphin. 

Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bourbon. 

The Constable of France. 

Rambures and Grandpre, French Lords. 

Governor of Harfleur. 

MoNTjoY, a French Herald. 

Ambassadors to the King of England. 

Isabel, Queen of France. 

Katharine, daughter to Charles and Isabel. 
Alice, a lady attending on her. 

Hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap, formerly Mistress 
Quickly, and now married to Pistol. 

Lords, Ladies, OflS.cers, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, 
and Attendants. Chorus.] 



Enter Prologue. 

[^Chor.'\ O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend 
The brightest heaven of invention, 
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act 
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, 5 
Assume the port of Mars ; and at his heels, 
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, 

and fire 
Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles 

all. 
The flat unraised spirits that have dar'd 
On this unworthy scaff"old to bring forth 10 
So great an object. Can this cockpit hold 
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram 
Within this wooden O the very casques 
That did affright the air at Agincourt.^ 
O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may ' 15 

Attest in little place a million; 
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, 
On your imaginary forces work. 



Suppose within the girdle of these walls 
Are now confined two mighty monarchies, 20 
Whose high upreared and abutting fronts 
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder. 
Piece out our imperfections with your 

thoughts : 
Into a thousand parts divide one man. 
And make imaginary puissance ; 25 

Think, when we talk of horses, that you see 

them 
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving 

earth. 
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our 

kings. 
Carry them here and there; jumping o'er 

times. 
Turning the accomplishment of many years 30 
Into an hour-glass; for the which supply. 
Admit me Chorus to this history; 
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray. 
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. 

Exit. 



273 



HENRY V 



[act I. sc. 



ACT [FIRST] 

Scene I. — [London. An ante-chamber in the 
King's palace. '\ 

Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the 
Bishop of Ely. 



Cant. My lord, I'll tell you; that self bill is 
urg'd, 
Which in the eleventh year of the last king's 

reign 
Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, 
But that the scambling and unquiet time 
Did push it out of farther question. s 

Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? 
Catit. It must be thought on. If it pass against 
us. 
We lose the better half of our possession: 
For all the temporal lands which men devout 
By testament have given to the church lo 

Would they strip from us; being valued thus: 
As much as would maintain, to the king's 

honour. 
Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights. 
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; 
And, to relief of lazars and weak age, 15 

Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil, 
A hundred almshouses right well supplied; 
And to the coffers of the king beside, 
A thousand pounds by the year: thus runs the 
bill. 
Ely. This would drink deep. 

Cant. 'Twould drink the cup and all. 20 

Ely. But what prevention? 

Cant. The king is full of grace and fair regard. 
Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. 
Cant. The courses of his youth promis'd it not. 
The breath no sooner left his father's body, 25 
But that his wildness, mortified in him, 
Seem'd to die too ; yea, at that very moment 
Consideration, like an angel, came 
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him. 
Leaving his body as a paradise, 30 

To envelope and contain celestial spirits. 
Never was such a sudden scholar made; 
Never came reformation in a flood. 
With such a lieady currance, scouring faults; 
Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness 35 

So soon did lose his seat and all at once 
As in this king. 
Ely. We are blessed in the change. 



i 



Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity. 
And all-admiring with an inward wish 
You would desire the king were made a prel- 
ate. 40 
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, 
You would say it hath been all in all his study. 
List his discourse of war, and you shall hear 
A fearful battle render'd you in music: 
Turn him to any cause of policy, 45 
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose. 
Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks, 
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still. 
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears. 
To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences ; 50 
So that the art and practic part of life 
Must be the mistress to this theoric: 
Which is a wonder how his grace should glean 

it, I 

Since his addiction was to courses vain, 1 

His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow, 55 
His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports, 
And never noted in him any study. 
Any retirement, any sequestration 
From open haunts and popularity. 
Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the net- 
tle 60 
And wholesome berries thrive ana ripen best 
Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality: 
And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation 
Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt. 
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, 
Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. 66 
Cant. It must be so; for miracles are ceas'd; 
And therefore we must needs admit the means 
How things are perfected. 
Ely. But, my good lord. 
How now for mitigation of this bill 70 
Urg'd by the commons? Doth his majesty 
Incline to it, or no? 
Cant. He seems indifferent. 
Or rather swaying more upon our part 
Than cherishing the exhibiters against us; 
For I have made an offer to his majesty. 
Upon our spiritual convocation 
And in regard of causes now in hand. 
Which I have open'd to his grace at large. 
As touching France, to give a greater sum 
Than ever at one time the clergy yet 80 
Did -to his predecessors part withal. 
Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord? 
Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty; 
Save that there was not time enough to hear, 



274 



ACT I. SC. 



!•] 



HENRY V 



As I perceiv'd his grace would fain have 
done^ 85 

The severals and unhidden passages 
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms 
And generally to the crown and seat of France 
Deriv'd from Edward, his great-grandfather. 

Ely. What was the impediment that broke this 
oiF ? 90 

Cant. The French ambassador upon that instant 
Crav'd audience ; and the hour, I think, is come 
To give him hearing: is it four o'clock? 

Ely. It is. 

Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy; 95 
Which I could with a ready guess declare. 
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. 

Ely. I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. 

Exeunt. 

Scene II. — \^The same. The Presence Cham- 
ber.^ 

Enter King Henry, Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, 
Warwick, Westmoreland [^and Attendants^. 

K. Hen. Where is my gracious Lord of Canter- 
bury? 
Exe. Not here in presence. 

K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. 

West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege ? 

K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin: we would be re- 

solv'd. 

Before we hear him, of some things of weight. 

That task our thoughts, concerning us and 

France. 6 

Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the 
Bishop of Ely. 

Cant. God and his angels guard your sacred 
throne 
And make you long become it! 

K. Hen. Sure, we thank you. 

My learned lord, we pray you to proceed 
And justly and religiously unfold 10 

Why the law Salique that they have in France 
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. 
And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord. 
That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your 

reading. 
Or nicely charge your understanding soul 15 
With opening titles miscreate, whose right 
Suits not in native colours with the truth. 
For God doth know how many now in health 
Shall drop their blood in approbation 



Of what your reverence shall incite us to. 20 
Therefore take heed how you impawn our 

person^ 
How you awake our sleeping sword of war: 
We charge you, in the name of God, take heed. 
For never two such kingdoms did contend 
Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless 

drops 25 

Are every one a woe, a sore complaint 
'Gainst him whose wrongs give edge unto the 

swords 
That make such waste in brief mortality. 
Under this conjuration speak, my lord; 
For we will hear, note and believe in heart 30 
That what you speak is in your conscience 

wash'd 
As pure as sin with baptism. 
Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and 

you peers. 
That owe yourselves, your lives and services 
To this imperial throne. There is no bar 35 
To make against your highness' claim to 

France 
But this, which they produce from Phara- 

mond, 
Tn terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:' 
'No woman shall succeed in Salique land:' 
Which Salique land the French unjustly glose 
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond 41 
The founder of this law and female bar. 
Yet their own authors faithfully affirm 
That the land Salique is in Germany, 
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe; 45 
Where Charles the Great, having subdued the 

Saxons, 
There left behind and settled certain French ; 
Who, holding in disdain the German women 
For some dishonest manners of their life, 
Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female 50 
Should be inheritrix in Salique land: 
Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, 
Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen. 
Then doth it well appear the Salique law 
Was not devised for the realm of France; 55 
Nor did the French possess the Salique land 
Until four hundred one and twenty years 
After defunction of King Pharamond, 
Idly suppos'd the founder of this law; 
Who died within the year of our redemption 60 
Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the 

Great 
Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French 



275 



8 



HENRY V 



[act I. SC. II. 



Beyond the river Sala, in the year 

Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers 

say. 
King Pepin, which deposed Childeric, 65 

Did, as heir general, being descended 
Of Blithild, which was daughter to King 

Clothair, 
Make claim and title to the crown of France. 
Hugh Capet also, who usurp'd the crown 
Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir 

male 70 

Of the true line and stock of Charles the 

Great, 
To find his title with some shows of truth. 
Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and 

naught, 
Convey'd himself as heir to the Lady Lingare, 
Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son 75 
To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son 
Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the 

Tenth, 
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 
Could not keep quiet in his conscience. 
Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied 80 
That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother. 
Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, 
Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of 

Lorraine: 
By the which marriage the line of Charles the 

Great 
Was re-united to the crown of France. 85 
So that, as clear as is the summer's sun. 
King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim. 
King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear 
To hold in right and title of the female. 
So do the kings of France unto this day; 90 
Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law 
To bar your highness claiming from the fe- 
male. 
And rather choose to hide them in a net 
Than amply to imbar their crooked titles 
Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. 95 
K. Hen. May I with right and conscience make 

this claim? 
Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign ! 
For in the book of Numbers is it writ, 
When the man dies, let the inheritance 
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, 100 
Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; 
Look back into your mighty ancestors. 
Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's 

tomb. 



From whom you claim; invoke his warlike 

spirit. 
And your great-u»i*Je's, Edward the Black 

Prince, 105 

Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy. 
Making defeat on the full power of France, 
Whiles his most mighty father on a hill 
Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp 
Forage in blood of French nobility. no 

O noble English, that could entertain 
With half their forces the full pride of France 
And let another half stand laughing by. 
All out of work and cold for action! 
Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant 

dead 115 

And with your puissant arm renew their feats: 
You are their heir; you sit upon their throne; 
The blood and courage that renowned them 
Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant 

liege 
Is in the very May-morn of his youth, 120 
Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. 
Exe, Your brother kings and monarchs of the 

earth 
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself. 
As did the former lions of your blood. 
West. They know your grace hath cause and 

means and might. 125 

So hath your highness ; never king of England 
Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects, 
Whose hearts have left their bodies here in 

England 
And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. 
Cant. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege. 
With blood and sword and fire to win your 

right; 131 

In aid whereof we of the spiritualty 
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum 
As never did the clergy at one time 
Bring in to any of your ancestors. 135 

K, Hen. We must not only arm to invade the 

French, 
But lay down our proportions to defend 
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us 
With all advantages. 
Cant. They of those marches, gracious sover- 
eign, 140 
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend 
Our inland from the pilfering borderers. 
K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers 

only, 
But fear the main intendment of the Scot, 



I 



276 



ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



HENRY V 



Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to 
us ; 145 

For you shall read that my great-grandfather 
Never went with his forces into France 
But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom 
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach. 
With ample and brim fulness of his force, 150 
Galling the gleaned land with hot assays. 
Girding with grievous siege castles and towns ; 
That England, being empty of defence, 
Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbour- 
hood. 
Cant, She hath been then more fear'd than 
harm'd, my liege; iss 

For hear her but exampled by herself: 
When all her chivalry hath been in France 
And she a mourning widow of her nobles. 
She hath herself not only well defended 
But taken and impounded as a stray 160 

The King of Scots; whom she did send to 

France, 
To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner 

kings 
And make her chronicle as rich with praise 
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea 
With. sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. 165 
West. But there's a saying very old and true, 
'If that you will France win. 
Then with Scotland first begin :' 
For once the eagle England being in prey. 
To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot 170 
Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely 

eggs. 
Playing the mouse in absence of the cat. 
To tear and havoc more than she can eat. 
Exe. It follows then the cat must stay at home: 
Yet that is but a crush'd necessity, 17s 

Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries. 
And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 
While tha^. the armed hand doth fight abroad. 
The advised head defends itself at home; 
For government, though high and low and 
lower, 180 

Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, 
Congreeing in a full an(J natural close. 
Like music. 
Cant. Therefore doth heaven divide 

The state of man in divers functions, 
Setting endeavour in continual motion ; 185 

To which is fixed, as an aim or butt. 
Obedience: for so work the honey-bees. 
Creatures that by a rule in nature teach 



K, 



The act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
They have a king and officers of sorts ; 190 

Where some, like magistrates, correct at home. 
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad. 
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings. 
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds. 
Which pillage they with merry march bring 
home 19s 

To the tent-royal of their emperor; 
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
The singing masons building roofs of gold. 
The civil citizens kneading up the honey. 
The poor mechanic porters crowding in 200 
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate. 
The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum. 
Delivering o'er to executors pale 
The lazy yawning drone. I this infer. 
That many things, having full reference 205 
To one consent, may work contrariously : 
As many arrows, loosed several ways. 
Come to one mark; as many ways meet in one 

town; 
As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; 
As many lines close in the dial's centre; 210 
So may a thousand actions, once afoot. 
End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. 
Divide your happy England into four; 
Whereof take you one quarter into France, 215 
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. 
If we, with thrice such powers left at home. 
Cannot defend our own doors from the dog. 
Let us be worried and our nation lose 
The name of hardiness and policy. 220 

, Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the 
Dauphin. [^Exeunt some attendants.^ 

Now are we well resolv'd; and, by God's help. 
And yours, the noble sinews of our power, 
France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe. 
Or break it all to pieces. Or there we'll sit. 
Ruling in large and ample empery 226 

O'er France and all her almost kingly duke- 
doms. 
Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, 
Tombless, with no remembrance over them. 
Either our history shall with full mouth 230 
Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, 
Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless 

mouth. 
Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. 

Enter Ambassadors of France. 



277 



10 



HENRY V 



[act 



Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleas- 
ure 
Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear 235 
Your greeting is from him, not from the king. 
First Amb. May't please your majesty to give 
us leave 
Freely to render what we have in charge. 
Or shall we sparingly show you far off 
The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy? 240 
K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king; 
Unto whose grace our passion is as subject 
As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons : 
Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plain- 
ness 
Tell us the Dauphin's mind. 
First Amb. Thus, then, in few. 245 

Your highness, lately sending into France, 
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right 
Of your great predecessor. King Edward the 

Third. 
In answer of which claim, the prince our mas- 
ter 
Says that you savour too much of your youth. 
And bids you be advis'd there's nought In 
France 251 

That can be with a nimble galliard won; 
You cannot revel into dukedoms there. 
He therefore sends you, meeter for your 

spirit. 
This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, 255 
Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim 
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin 
speaks. 
K. Hen. What treasure, uncle? 
Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. 

K. Hen. We are glad the Dauphin is so pleas- 
ant with us; 
His present and your pains we thank you for. 
When we have match'd our rackets to these 
balls, 261 

We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set 
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. 
Tell him he hath made a match with such a 

wrangler 
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd 
With chaces. And we understand him well. 
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days. 
Not measuring what use we made of them. 268 
We never vahied this poor seat of England; 
And therefore, living hence, did give ourself 
To barbarous license; as 'tis ever common 271 



That men are merriest when they are from 

home. J 

But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state, \ 
Be like a king and show my sail of greatness 
When I do rouse me in my throne of France: 
For that I have laid by my majesty 276 

And plodded like a man for working-days, 
But I will rise there with so full a glory 
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. 280 
And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his 
Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones ; and his 

soul 
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful 



vengeance 
That shall fly with them : for many a thousand 

widows 
Shall this his mock mock out their dear hus- 
bands ; 285 
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles 

down; 
And some are yet ungotten and unborn 
That shall have cause to eurse the Dauphin's 

scorn. 
But this lies all within the will of God, 
To whom I do appeal; and in whose name 290 
Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on. 
To venge me as I may and to put forth 
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. 
So get you hence in peace; and tell the 

Dauphin 
His jest will savour but of shallow wit, 295 
When thousands weep more than did laugh 

at it. 
Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you 
well. [^Exeunt Ambassadors.^ 

Exe. This was a merry message. 
K, Hen, We hope to make the sender blush at it. 
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour 300 
That may give furtherance to our expedition ; 
For we have now no thought in us but France, 
Save tliose to God, that run before our busi- 
ness. 
Therefore let our proportions for these wars 
Be soon collected apd all things thought upon 
That may with reasonable swiftness add 306 
More feathers to our wings; for, God before, 
We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. 
Therefore let every man now task his thought, 
That this fair action may on foot be brought. 
Exeunt. [Flourish.'] 



278 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



HENRY V 



11 



[ACT SECOND] 

Flourish Enter Chorus. 

Char. Now all the youth of England are on fire, 
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies. 
Now thrive the armourers, and honour's 

thought 
Reigns solely in the breast of every man. 
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, 5 
Following the mirror of all Christian kings. 
With winged heels, as English Mercuries. 
For now sits Expectation in the air. 
And hides a sword from hilts unto the point 
With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, 10 
Promis'd to Harry and his followers. 
The French, advis'd by good intelligence 
Of this most dreadful preparation. 
Shake in their fear and with pale policy 
Seek to divert the English purposes. 15 

O England! model to thy inward greatness. 
Like little body with a mighty heart. 
What mightst thou do, that honour would thee 

do. 
Were all thy children kind and natural ! 
But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found 

out 20 

A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills 
With treacherous crowns ; and three corrupted 

men. 
One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the 

second, 
Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third. 
Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, 
Have, for the gilt of France, — O guilt in- 



deed 



26 



Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; 

And by their hands this grace of kings must 
die. 

If hell and treason hold their promises. 

Ere he take ship for France, and in Southamp- 
ton. 30 

Linger your patience on; and we'll digest 

The abuse of distance; force a play. 

The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; 

The king is set from London; and the scene 

Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton; 

There is the playhouse now, there must you 
sit. 36 

And thence to France shall we convey you 
safe. 



And bring you back, charming the narrow 

seas 
To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may. 
We'll not offend one stomach with our play. 40 
But, till the king come forth, and not till then. 
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. 

Exit. 

[Scene I. — London. A street.~\ 
Enter Corporal Nym and Lieutenant Bardolph. 

Bard. Well met. Corporal Nym. 

Nym. Good morrow. Lieutenant Bardolph. 

Bard. What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends 
yet? 4 

Nym. For my part, I care not: I say little; but 
when time shall serve, there shall be smiles; 
but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; 
but I will wink and hold out mine iron : it is a 
simple one; but what though? it will toast 
cheese, and it will endure cold as another 
man's sword will: and there's an end. n 

Bard. I will bestow a breakfast to make you 
friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers 
to France: let it be so, good Corporal Nym. 

Nym. Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's 
the certain of it; and when I cannot live any 
longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest, 
that is the rendezvous of it. 18 

Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married 
to Nell Quickly: and certainly she did you 
wrong; for you were troth-plight to her. 

Nym. I cannot tell : things must be as they may : 
men may sleep, and they may have their 
throats about them at that time; and some say 
knives have edges. It must be as it may: 
though patience be a tired mare, yet she will 
plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I 
cannot tell. 27 

Enter Pistol and Hostess. 

Bard. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: 
good corporal, be patient here. How now, 
mine host Pistol ! 30 

Pist. Base tike, call'st thou me host? 

Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term; 
Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. 

Host. No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot 
lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentle- 
women that live honestly by the prick of their 
needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy 



279 



12 



HENRY V 



[act II. SC. I, 



house straight. \Nym draics his sword. ^ O 
well a day^ Lady^, if he be not drawn now ! we 
shall see wilful adultery and murder com- 
mitted. 40 

Bard. Good lieutenant I good corporal! offer 
nothing here. 

Nym. Pish! 

Pist. Pish for thee^ Iceland dog! thou prick- 
ear'd cur of Iceland ! 

Host. Good Corporal Nym^ show thy valour^ 
and put up your sword. 

Nym. Will you shog off.^ I would have you 
solus. 

Pist. 'Solus^' egregious dog? O viper vile! 
The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face; 50 
The 'solus' in thy teeth^ and in thy throat, 
And in thy hateful lungS;, yea, in thy maw, 

perdy. 
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth ! 
I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels ; 
For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, 55 

And flashing fire will follow. 

Nym. I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure 
me. I have an humour to knock you indiffer- 
ently well. If you grow foul with me. Pistol, 
I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in 
fair terms. If you would walk off, I would 
prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I 
may. And that's the humour of it. 63 

Pist. O braggart vile and damned furious wight ! 
The grave doth gape, and doting death is 

near; 
Therefore exhale. [Draws.] 

Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say: he that 
strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the 
hilts, as I am a soldier. [Draws.] 

Pist. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall 
abate. [Sheathes his sword.] 

Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give: 71 
Thy spirits are most tall. 

Nym. [Sheathing his sword.] I will cut thy 
throat, one time or other, in fair terms: that 
is the humour of it. 

Pist. 'Couple a gorge !' 75 

That is the word. I thee defy again. 

hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to 
get? 

No; to the spital go. 
And from the powdering-tub of infamy 
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 80 
Doll Tcarsheet she by name, and lier espouse: 

1 have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly 



For the only she; and — pauca, there's enough. 
Go to. 

Enter the Boy. 

Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my 
master, and you, hostess: he is very sick, andj 
would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face 
between his sheets, and do the office of a] 
warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill. 

Bard. Away, you rogue! 90^ 

Host. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pud- 
ding one of these days. The king has killed 
his heart. Good husband, come home pres- 
ently. Exeunt Hostess and Boy. 

Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends? 
We must to France together: why the devil 
should we keep knives to cut one another's 
throats ? 96 

Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food 
howl on ! 

Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won 
of you at betting? 

Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 100 

Nym. That now I will have: that's the humour 
of it. 

Pist. As manhood shall compound: push home. 

[They draw.] 

Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first 
thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. 105 

Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have 
their course. 

Bard. Corporal Nym, and thou wilt be friends, 
be friends: and thou wilt not, why, then, be 
enemies with me too. Prithee, put up. 

Nym. I shall have my eight shillings I won of 
you at betting? m 

Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; 
And liquor likewise will I give to thee. 
And friendship shall combine, and brother- 
hood : 
I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me; 
Is not this just? for I shall sutler be 116 

Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. 
Give me thy hand. 

[He sheathes his sword.] 

Nym. I shall have my noble? 

Pist. In cash most justlj^ paid. 120 

Nym. Well, then, that's the humour oft. 

[Sheathes his sword and shakes hands.] 

Enter Hostess. 
Host. As ever you came of women, come in 



280 



ACT II. SC. 



I.] 



HENRY V 



13 



quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart! he is so 
shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it 
is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, 
come to him. 126 

Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the 
knight; that's the even of it. 

Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right; 

His heart is fracted and corroborate. 130 

Nym. The king is a good king: but it must be 
as it may; he passes some humours and ca- 
reers. 

Pist. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, 
we will live. 

[Scene II. — Southampton. A council-chamber.] 

Enter Exeter, Bedford, and Westmoreland. 

Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold to trust these 

traitors. 
Ea^e. They shall be apprehended by and b}^ 
West. How smooth and even they do bear them- 
selves ! 
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat. 
Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. 5 
Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend. 

By interception which they dream not of. 
Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, 
Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious 

favours. 
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell 10 
His sovereign's life to death and treachery. 

Sound trumpets. Enter King Henry, Scroop, 
Cambridge, Grey [and Attendants]. 

K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will 

aboard. 
My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of 

Masham, 
And you, my gentle knight, give me your 

thoughts. 
Think you not that the powers we bear with us 
Will cut their passage through the force of 

France, 16 

Doing the execution and the act 
For which we have in head assembled them ? 
Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his 

best. 
K. Hen. I doubt not that, since we are well 

persuaded 20 

We carry not a heart with us from hence 
That grows not in a fair consent with ours. 
Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish 



Success and conquest to attend on us. 

Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd and lov'd 
Than is your majesty. There's not, I think, 
a subject 26 

That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
Under the sweet shade of your government. 

Grey. True: those that were your father's 
enemies 
Have steep'd their galls in honey and do 
serve you 30 

With hearts create of duty and of zeal. 

K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of 
thankfulness ; 
And shall forget the office of our hand. 
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit 
According to the weight and worthiness. 35 

Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil, 
And labour shall refresh itself with hope. 
To do your grace incessant services. 

K. Hen. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, 
Enlarge the man committed yesterday, 40 

That rail'd against our person. Yv^e consider 
It was excess of wine that set him on. 
And on his more advice we pardon him. 

Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security. 
Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example 45 
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. 

K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. 

Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. 

Grey. Sir, 

You show great mercy, if you give him life, 50 
After the taste of much correction. 

K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of 
me 
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch ! 
If little faults, proceeding on distemper. 
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch 
our eye 55 

When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and 

digested. 
Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that 

man, 
Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their 

dear care 
And tender preservation of our person. 
Would have him punish'd. And now to our 
French causes : 60 

Who are the late commissioners ? 

Cam. I one, my lord: 

Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 

Scroop. So did you me, my liege. 

Grey. And I, my royal sovereign. 65 



281 



14 



HENRY V 



[act II. sc. 



K. Hen. Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, 
there is yours; 
There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, 

sir knight. 
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours. 
Read them; and know, I know your worthi- 
ness. 
My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, 
We will aboard to-night. Why, how now, 
gentlemen ! 71 

What see you in those papers that you lose 
So much complexion ? Look ye, how they 

change ! 
Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you 

there. 
That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood 
Out of appearance? 76 

Cam. I do confess my fault; 

And do submit me to your highness' mercy. 
Gvey 1 

Scroop. J ^^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ appeal. 
K. Hen. The mercy that was quick in us but 
late. 
By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd : 
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of 
mercy; 81 

For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, 
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. 
See you, my princes and my noble peers. 
These English monsters ! My Lord of Cam- 
bridge here, 85 
You know how apt our love was to accord 
To furnish him with all appertinents 
Belonging to his honour; and this man 
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly con- 

spir'd. 
And sworn unto the practices of France, 90 
To kill us here in Hampton: to the which 
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. 

But, O, 
What shall I say to thee. Lord Scroop.^ thou 

cruel, 
Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature ! 95 
Thou that didst bear the key of all my coun- 
sels. 
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, 
That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, 
Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy 

use ! 
May it be possible, that foreign hire 100 

Could out of thee extract one spark of evil 



That might annoy my finger.? 'tis so strange 
That, though the truth of it stands off as gross 
As black and white, my eye will scarcely see ii 
Treason and murder ever kept together, 
As two yoke-devils sworn to cither's purpose] 
Working so grossly in a natural cause. 
That admiration did not hoop at them: 
But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in! 
Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: no 
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was 
That wrought upon thee so preposterously 
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence. 
All other devils that suggest by treasons 
Do botch and bungle up damnation 115 

With patches, colours, and with forms being 

fetch'd 
From glistering semblances of piety. 
But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up. 
Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do 

treason, ng 

Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. 
If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus 
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world. 
He might return to vasty Tartar back. 
And tell the legions 'I can never win 
A soul so easy as that Englishman's.' 125 

O, how hast thou with jealousy infected 
The sweetness of affiance! Show men duti- 
ful.? 
Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and 

learned .? 
Why, so didst thou: come they of noble 

family ? 
Why, so didst thou : seem they religious ? 130 
Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet. 
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger. 
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the 

blood, 
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement. 
Not working with the eye without the ear, 135 
And but in purged j udgment trusting neither ? 
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem. 
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, 
To mark the full-fraught man and best indued 
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee ; 
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 141 
Another fall of man. Their faults are open: 
Arrest them to the answer of the law; 
And God acquit them of their practices ! 
Exe» I arrest thee of high treason, by the name 
of Richard Earl of Cambridge. 146 

I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 



282 



: 'dWEba^BKA^iOMk 



ACT II. SC. 



II.] 



HENRY V 



15 



Henry Lord Scroop of Masliam. 

I arrest tliee of high treason, by the name of 

Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. 150 

Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath dis- 

cover'd ; 
And I repent my fault more than my death ; 
Which I beseech your highness to forgive, 
Although" my body pay the price of it. 
Cam. For me, the gold of France did not seduce ; 
Although I did admit it as a motive 156 

The sooner to effect what I intended: 
But God be thanked for prevention; 
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, 
Beseeching God and you to pardon me. 160 
Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice 
At the discovery of most dangerous treason 
Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself. 
Prevented from a damned enterprise: 
My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. 
K. Hen. God quit you in his mercy ! Hear your 

sentence. 166 

You have conspir'd against our royal person, 
Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from 

his coffers 
Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death; 
Wherein you would have sold your king to 

slaughter, 170 

His princes and his peers to servitude. 
His subjects to oj^pression and contempt 
And his whole kingdom into desolation. 
Touching our person seek we no revenge; 
But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, 
Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws 
We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence. 
Poor miserable wretches, to your death: 178 
The taste whereof, God of his mercy give 
You patience to endure, and true repentance 
Of all your dear offences ! Bear them hence. 
Exeunt Cambridge^ Scroop and Grey [guarded] . 
Now, lords, for France; the enterprise 

whereof 182 

Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. 
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war. 
Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
This dangerous treason lurking in our way 186 
To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not 

now 
But every rub is smoothed on our way. 
Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver 
Our puissance into the hand of God, 190 

Putting it straight in expedition. 
Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: 



No king of England, if not king of France. 

Flourish. [Exeunt.'] 

[Scene III. — London. Before a tavern.] 

Enter Pistol, Hostess, Nym, Bardolph, and Boy. 

Host. Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me 
bring thee to Staines. 

Pist. No; for my manly heart doth yearn. 

Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting 

veins : 
Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for Falstaff he is 
dead, 5 

And we must yearn therefore. 

Bard. Would I were with him, wheresome'er 
he is, either in heaven or in hell ! 

Host. Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Ar- 
thur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's 
bosom. A' made a finer end and went away 
and it had been any christom child; a' parted 
even just between twelve and one, even at the 
turning o' the tide : for after I saw him fumble 
with the sheets and play with flowers and 
smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was 
but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a 
pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How 
now. Sir John !' quoth I : 'what, man ! be o' 
good cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God !' 
three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, 
bid him a' should not think of God; I hoped 
there was no need to trouble himself with any 
such thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more 
clothes on liis feet: I put my hand into the bed 
and felt them, and they were as cold as any 
stone; then I felt to his knees, and they were 
as cold as any stone, and so upward and up- 
ward, and all was as cold as any stone. 28 

Nym. They say he cried out of sack. 

Host. Ay, that a' did. 

Bard. And of women. 

Host. Nay, that a' did not. 

Boy. Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils 
incarnate. 34 

Host. A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a 
colour he never liked. 

Boy. A' said once, the devil would have him 
about women. 

Host. A' did in some sort, indeed, handle 
women ; but then he was rheumatic, and talked 
of the whore of Babylon. 41 

Boy. Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick 



283 



16 



HENRY V 



[act II. SC. III. 



ui^on Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a 
black soul burning in hell-fire? 

Bard. Well, the fuel is gone that maintained 
that fire: that's all the riches I got in his 
service. 46 

Nym. Shall we shog? the king will be gone 
from Southampton. 

Pist. Come, let's away. My love, give me thy 
lips. 
Look to my chattels and my movables: 50 

Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:' 
Trust none; 

For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer- 
cakes. 
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: 
Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. 55 

Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, 
Let us to France ; like horse-leeches, my boys. 
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck ! 

Boy. And that's but unwholesome food, they say. 

Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. 

Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her.'] 

Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; 
but, adieu. 

Pist. Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee 
command. 65 

Host. Farewell; adieu. Exeunt. 

[Scene IV. — France. The King's palace.'] 

Flourish. Enter the French King, the Dauphin, 
The DuJces of Berri and Bretagne, [the 
Constable, and others]. 

Fr. King. Thus comes the English with full 
power upon us ; 
And more than carefully it us concerns 
To answer royally in our defences. 
Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bre- 

tagne. 
Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth, 
And you. Prince Dauphin, with all swift dis- 
patch, 6 
To line and new repair our towns of war 
With men of courage and with means de- 
fendant ; 
For England his approaches makes as fierce 
As waters to the sucking of a gulf. 10 
It fits us then to be as provident 
As fear may teach us out of late examples 
Left by the fatal and neglected English 
Upon our fields. 



JDau. My most redoubted father. 

It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe; 15 
For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom. 
Though war nor no known quarrel were in 

question. 
But that defences, musters, preparations, 
Should be maintain'd, assembled and col- 
lected, 
As were a war in expectation. 20 

Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth 
To view the sick and feeble parts of France. 
And let us do it with no show of fear; 
No, with no more than if we heard that Eng- 
land 
Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance. 25 
For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd. 
Her sceptre so fantastically borne 
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth. 
That fear attends her not. 

Con. O peace. Prince Dauphin! 

You are too much mistaken in this king: 30 
Question your grace the late ambassadors. 
With what great state he heard their embassy, 
How well supplied with noble counsellors. 
How modest in exception, and withal 
How terrible in constant resolution, 35 

And you shall find his vanities forespent 
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
Covering discretion with a coat of folly; 
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
That shall first spring and be most delicate. 40 

Dau. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable; 
But though we think it so, it is no matter : 
In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh 
The enemy more mighty than he seems: 
So the proportions of defence are fill'd; 45 
Which of a weak and niggardly projection 
Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting 
A little cloth. 

Fr. King. Think we King Harry strong ; 

And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet 

him. 
The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us ; 
And he is bred out of that bloody strain 51 

That haunted us in our familiar paths: 
Witness our too much memorable shame 
When Cressy battle fatally was struck. 
And all our princes captiv'd by the hand 55 
Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of 

Wales ; 
Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain 
standing. 



284 



ACT II. SC. 



IV.] 



HENRY V 



17 



Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, 
Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him, 
Mangle the work of nature and deface 60 

The patterns that by God and by French 

fathers 
Had twenty years been made. This is a stem 
Of that victorious stock; and let us fear 
The native mightiness and fate of him. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Ambassadors from Harry King of Eng- 
land 65 
Do crave admittance to your maj esty. 
Fr. King. We'll give them present audience. 
Go, and bring them. 

[Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords.] 
You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. 
Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward 
dogs 
Most spend their mouths when what they seem 
to threaten 70 

Runs far before them. Good my sovereign. 
Take up the English short, and let them know 
Of what a monarchy you are the head: 
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
As self-neglecting. 

[Re-enter Lords, with] Exeter [and train]. 



Fr. King. 



From our brother England! 



Exe. From him; and thus he greets your 

maj esty. 
He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
That 3"ou divest yourself, and lay apart 
The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven. 
By law of nature and of nations, 'long 80 

To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown 
And all wide-stretched honours that pertain 
By custom and the ordinance of times 
Unto the crown of France. That you may know 
'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, 85 

Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd 

days. 
Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked. 
He sends you this most memorable line. 
In every branch truly demonstrative; 
Willing you overlook this pedigree: 90 

And when you find him evenly derived 
From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, 
Edward the Third, he bids you then resign 
Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held 
From him the native and true challenger. 95 



Fr. King. Or else what follows.'^ 

Exe. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the 
crown 
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: 
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming. 
In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, 100 
That, if requiring fail, he will compel; 
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, 
Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy 
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war 
Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head 105 
Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries. 
The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' 

groans. 
For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers. 
That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. 
This is his claim, his threatening and my 
message; no 

Unless the Dauphin be in presence here. 
To whom expressly I bring greeting too. 

Fr. Ki7ig. For us, we will consider of this 
further : 
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
Back to our brother England. 

Dau. For the Dauphin, 115 

I stand here for him: what to him from Eng- 
land.? 

Exe. Scorn and defiance; slight regard, con- 
tempt. 
And any thing that may not misbecome 
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
Thus says my king; and if your father's high- 
ness 120 
Do not, in grant of all demands at large. 
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty. 
He'll call you to so hot an answer of it. 
That caves and womby vaultages of France 
Shall chide your trespass and return your 
mock 125 
In second accent of his ordnance. 

Dau. Say, if my father render fair return. 
It is against my will; for I desire 
Nothing but odds with England: to that end. 
As matching to his youth and vanity, 130 

I did present him with the Paris balls. 

Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it. 
Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe. 
And, be assur'd, you'll find a difference. 
As we his subjects have in wonder found, 13s 
Between the promise of his greener days 
And these he masters now. Now he weighs 
time 



285 



18 



HENRY V 



[act II. SC. IV 



Even to the utmost grain; that you shall read 
In your own losses^ if he stay in France. 
Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind 
at full. Flourish. 140 

Exe. Dispatch us with all speedy, lest that our 
king 
Come here himself to question our delay; 
For he is footed in this land already. 
Fr. King. You shall be soon dispatch'd with fair 
conditions : 
A night is but small breath and little pause 145 
To answer matters of this consequence. 

[^Exeunt.^ 

ACT [THIRD] 

Flourish. Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene 
flies 
In motion of no less celerity 
Than that of thought. Suppose that you have 

seen 
The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
Embark his royalty ; and his brave fleet 5 
With silken streamers the young Phoebus fan- 
ning: 
Play with your fancies, and in them behold 
Upon the hempen tackle ship^boys climbing; 
Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give 
To sounds confus'd; behold the threaden 
sails, 10 

Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, 
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd 

sea. 
Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think 
You stand upon the rivage and behold 
A city on the inconstant billows dancing; 15 
For so appears this fleet majestical. 
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, fol- 
low: 
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy. 
And leave your England, as dead midnight 

still. 
Guarded with grandsires, babies and old 
women, 20 

Either past or not arrived to pith and puis- 
sance; 
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd 
With one appearing hair, that will not follow 
These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to 
France ? 



Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a 

siege ; 25 

Behold the ordnance on their carriages. 
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. 
Suppose the ambassador from the French 

comes back; 
Tells Harry that the king doth ofl^er him 
Katharine his daughter, and with her, to 

dowry, 30 

Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 
The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner 
With linstock now the devilish cannon 

touches. 

Alarum, and chambers go off. 
And down goes all before them. Still be kind, 
And eke out our performance with your mind. 

[Exit] 

[Scene I. — France. Before Harfleur.] 

Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, and Glou- 
cester. Alarum. Soldiers, with scaling- 
ladders. 

K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear 
friends, once more; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead. 
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility. 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, s 
Then imitate the action of the tiger; 
Stifl*en the sinews, summon up the blood. 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; 
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; 
Let it pry through the portage of the head 10 
Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm 

it 
As fearfully as doth a galled rock 
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, 1 

Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. ^ 

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide. 
Hold hard the breath and bend up every 
spirit 16 

To his full height. On, on, you noblest Eng- 
lish, 
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof ! 
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, 
Have in these parts from morn till even 
fought 20 

And sheath'd their swords for lack of argu- 
ment: 
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest 



286 



ACT III. SC. 



I.] 



HENRY V 



19 



That those whom you call'd fathers did beget 

you. 
Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 
And teach them how to war. And you, good 

yeomen, 25 

Whose limbs were made in England, show us 

here 
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding; which I 

doubt not; 
For there is none of you so mean and base. 
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 30 
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: 
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge 
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint 

George !' 
[Ejjeunt.] Alarum, and chambers go off. 

[Scene II. — The same.] 
Enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, and Boy. 

Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the 
breach ! 

Nym. Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are 
too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not 
a case of lives. The humour of it is too hot, 
that is the very plain-song of it. 6 

Pist. The plain-song is most just; for humours 
do abound: 
Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and 
die; 

And sword and shield. 
In bloody field, 10 

Doth win immortal fame. 

Boy. Would I were in an alehouse in London ! 

I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and 

safety. 
Pist. And I: ^15 

If wishes would prevail with me. 
My purjDose should not fail with me. 
But thither would I hie. 

Boy, As duly, but not as truly. 

As bird doth sing on bough. 20 

Enter Fluellen. 

Flu. Up to the breach, you dogs ! avaunt, you 

cullions ! [Driving them forward.'] 

Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould. 



Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage. 
Abate thy rage, great duke ! 25 

Good bawcock, bate thy rage ; use lenity, sweet 
chuck ! 

Nym. These be good humours ! your honour wins 
bad humours. Exeunt all but Boy, 

Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these 
three swashers. I am boy to them all three: 
but all they three, though they would serve 
me, could not be man to me; for indeed three 
such antics do not amount to a man. For 
Bardolph, he is w^hite-livered and red- faced; 
by the means whereof a' faces it out, but fights 
not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and 
a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks 
words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, 
he hath heard that men of few words are the 
best men; and therefore he scorns to say his 
prayers, lest a' should be thought a coward: 
but his few bad words are matched with as 
few good deeds; for a' never broke any man's 
head but his own, and that was against a post 
when he was drunk. They will steal any- 
thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a 
lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it 
for three half-pence. Nym and Bardolph are 
sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they 
stole a fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of 
service the men would carry coals. They 
would have me as familiar with men's pockets 
as their gloves or their handkerchers : which 
makes much against my manhood, if I should 
take from another's pocket to put into mine; 
for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I 
must leave them, and seek some better service: 
their villany goes against my weak stomach, 
and therefore I must cast it up. Exit. 57 

[Re-enter Fluellen] Gower [following]. 

Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently 
to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would 
speak with you. 60 

Flu. To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not 
so good to come to the mines; for, look you, 
the mines is not according to the disciplines 
of the war: the concavities of it is not suffi- 
cient; for, look you, th' athversary, you may 
discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt him- 
self four yard under the countermines: by 
Cheshu, I think a' will plough up all, if there 
is not better directions. 68 

Gow. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the 



287 



20 



HENRY V 



[act III. SC. II, 



order of the siege is given^ is altogether di- 
rected by an Irishman, a very valiant gentle- 



man, i' faith. 



Flu. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? 
Gozv, I think it be. 73 

Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: 
I will verify as much in his beard: he has no 
more directions in the true disciplines of the 
wars, look j'-ou, of the Roman disciplines, than 
is a puppy-dog. 

Enter Macmorris and Captain Jamy. 

Gow. Here a' comes; and the Scots captain. 
Captain Jamy, with him. 80 

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous 
gentleman, that is certain; and of great expe- 
dition and knowledge in th' aunchient wars, 
upon my particular knowledge of his direc- 
tions: by Cheshu, he will maintain his argu- 
ment as well as any military man in the world, 
in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the 
Romans. 

Jamy. I say gud-day. Captain Fluellen. 

Flu. God-den to your worship, good Captain 
James. 90 

Gow. How now. Captain Macmorris ! have you 
quit the mines .^ have the pioners given o'er? 

Mac. By Chrish, la ! tish ill done : the work ish 
give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By 
my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the 
work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would 
have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, 
la ! in an hour : O, tish ill done, tish ill done ; 
by my hand, tish ill done! 99 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, 
will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputa- 
tions with you, as partly touching or concern- 
ing the disciplines of the war, the Roman 
wars, in the way of argument, look you, and 
friendly communication; partly to satisfy my 
opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look 
you, of my mind, as touching the direction of 
the military discipline; that is the point. 108 

Jamy. It sail be vary gud, gud feith, gud cap- 
tains bath: and I sail quit you with gud Icve, 
as I may pick occasion; that sail I, marry, m 

Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save 
me: the day is hot, and the weather, and the 
wars, and the king, and the dukes: it is no 
time to discourse. The town is beseeched, 
and the trumpet call us to the breach ; and we 
talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing: 'tis shame 



for us all: so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand 
still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is 
throats to be cut, and works to be done; and 
there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la! 

Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take 
themselves to slomber, ay'll de gud service, or 
ay'll dig i' the grund for it ; ay, or go to death ; 
and ay'll pay 't as valorously as I may, that 
sail I suerly do, that is the brefF and the long. 
Marry, I wad full fain hear some question 
'tween you tway. 12S 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, un- 
der your correction, there is not many of your 
nation — 

Mac. Of my nation! What ish my nation? 
Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and 
a rascal — What ish my nation ? Who talks of 
my nation? 135 

Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise 
than is meant. Captain Macmorris, peradven- 
ture I shall think you do not use me with that 
affability as in discretion you ought to use me, 
look you; being as good a man as yourself, 
both in the disciplines of war, and in the deri- 
vation of my birth, and in other particularities. 

Mac. I do not know you so good a man as my- 
self: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your 
head. 145 

Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each 
other. 

Jamy. A! that's a foul fault. 

A parley sounded. 

Gow. The town sounds a parley. 149 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more 
better opportunity to be required, look you, I 
will be So bold as to tell you I know the disci- 
plines of war; and there is an end. 

Exeunt. 



[Scene III. — The same.'] 
[The Governor and some Citizens on the walls.] 

Enter King Henry and all his train before the 
gates. 

K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the 
town ? 
This is the latest parle we will admit: 
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves; 
Or like to men proud of destruction 
Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, 5 
A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, 



288 



Act III. sc. II.] 



HENRY V 



21 



If I begin the battery once again, 

I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur 

Till in her ashes she lie buried. 

The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, lo 

And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of 

heart, 
In liberty of bloody hand shall range 
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like 

grass 
Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering 

infants. 
What is it then to me, if impious war, 15 

Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends. 
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell 

feats 
Enlink'd to waste and desolation.^ 
What is't to me, when you yourselves are 

cause. 
If your pure maidens fall into the hand 20 
Of hot and forcing violation? 
What rein can hold licentious wickedness 
When down the hill he holds his fierce career ? 
We may as bootless spend our vain command 
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil 25 
As send precepts to the leviathan 
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of 

Harfleur, 
Take pity of your town and of your people. 
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; 
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of 

grace 30 

O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds 
Of heady murder, spoil and villany. 
If not, why, in a moment look to see 
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking 

daughters ; 35 

Your fathers taken by the silver beards. 
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the 

walls. 
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes. 
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls con- 

fus'd 
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of 

Jewry 40 

At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 
What say you? will you yield, and this avoid. 
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? 
Gov. [Stepping forzcard.] Our expectation hath 

this day an end. 
The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated. 
Returns us that his powers are yet not ready 



To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great 
king, 47 

We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. 
Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; 
For we no longer are defensible. 50 

K. Hen. Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter, 
Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain. 
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: 
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle. 
The winter coming on and sickness growing 55 
Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. 
To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest; 
To-morrow for the march are we addrest. 

Flourish. The King and his train enter 

the town. 

[Scene IV. — The French King's palace.] 

Enter Katharine and [Alice], an old Gentle- 
woman. 
Kath. Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu paries 

bien le langage. 
Alice. Un peu, madame. 
Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez ; il faut que 

j'apprenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous 

la main en Anglois ? 6 

Alice. La main? elle est appelee de hand. 
Kath. De hand. Et les doigts ? 
Alice. Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; 

mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense 

qu'ils sont appeles de fingres ; oui, de fingres. n 
Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. 

Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne 

deux mots d'Anglois vitement. Comment 

appelez-vous les ongles ? 15 

Alice. Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails. 
Kath. J) e nails. Ecoutez ; dites-moi, si je 

parle bien : de hand, de fingres, et de nails. 
Alice. C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon 

Anglois. 20 

Kath. Dites-moi I'Anglois pour le bras. 
Alice. De arm, madame. 
Kath. Et le coude? 

Alice. De elbow. 24 

Kath. De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de 

tons les mots que vous m'avez appris des a 

present. 
Alice. II est trop difficile, madame, comme je 

pense. 
Kath. Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de 

fingres, de nails, de arma, de bilbow, 31 

Alice, De elbow, madame. 



289 



20 



HENRY V 



[act III. SC. II, 



world: 
has no 



order of the siege is given, is altogether di 
rected by an Irishman, a very valiant gentle- 
man, i' faith. 

Flu. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? 

Gow. I think it be. 

Flu, By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the 
I will verify as much in his beard: he 
more directions in the true disciplines of the 
wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than 
is a puppy-dog. 

Enter Macmorns and Captain Jamy. 

Gow. Here a' comes; and the Scots captain, 
Captain Jamy, with him. 80 

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous 
gentleman, that is certain; and of great expe- 
dition and knowledge in th' aunchient wars, 
upon my particular knowledge of his direc- 
tions: by Cheshu, he will maintain his argu- 
ment as well as any military man in the world, 
in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the 
Romans. 

Jamy. I say gud-day. Captain Fluellen. 

Flu. God-den to your worship, good Captain 
James. 90 

Gow. How now. Captain Macmorris ! have you 
quit the mines .^ have the pioners given o'er.^ 

Mac. By Chrish, la ! tish ill done : the work ish 
give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By 
my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the 
work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would 
have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, 
la! in an hour: O, tish ill done, tish ill done; 
by my hand, tish ill done! 99 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, 
will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputa- 
tions with you, as partly touching or concern- 
ing the disciplines of the war, the Roman 
wars, in the way of argument, look you, and 
friendly communication; partly to satisfy my 
opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look 
you, of my mind, as touching the direction of 
the military discipline; that is the point. 108 

Jamy. It sail be vary gud, gud feith, gud cap- 
tains bath: and I sail quit you with gud Icve, 
as I may pick occasion; that sail I, marry, m 

Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save 
me: the day is hot, and the weather, and the 
wars, and the king, and the dukes: it is no 
time to discourse. The town is beseeched, 
and the trumpet call us to the breach ; and we 
talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing: 'tis shame 

288 



for us all; so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand 
still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is 
throats to be cut, and works to be done; and 
there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la! 

Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take 
themselves to slomber, ay'U de gud service, or 
ay'U dig i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death; 
and ay'U pay 't as valorously as I may, that 
sail I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. 
Marry, I wad full fain hear some question 
'tween you tway. 125 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, un- 
der your correction, there is not many of your 
nation — 

Mac. Of my nation! What ish my nation? 
Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and 
a rascal — What ish my nation ? Who talks of 
my nation? 135 

Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise 
than is meant. Captain Macmorris, peradven- 
ture I shall think you do not use me with that 
aiFability as in discretion you ought to use me, 
look you; being as good a man as yourself, 
both in the disciplines of war, and in the deri- 
vation of my birth, and in other particularities. 

Mac. I do not know you so good a man as my- 
self: so Chrish save me, I will cut off 
head. 

Gow. Gentlemen both, you will 
other. 

Jamy. A! that's a foul fault. 

A parley sounded. 

Gow. The town sounds a parley. 149 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more 
better opportunity to be required, look you, I 
will be So bold as to tell you I know the disci- 
plines of war; and there is an end. 

Exeunt. 

[Scene III. — The same.] 
[The Governor and some Citizens on the walls.] 

Enter King Henry and all his train before the 
gates. 

K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the 
town ? 
This is the latest parle we will admit: 
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves; 
Or like to men proud of destruction 
Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, 5 
A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, 



your 

14s 
mistake each 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



HENRY V 



21 



If I begin the battery once again, 

I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur 

Till in her ashes she lie buried. 

The gates of mercy shall be all shut up^ lo 

And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of 

heart. 
In liberty of bloody hand shall range 
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like 

grass 
Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering 

infants. 
What is it then to me, if impious war, 15 
Array 'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, 
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell 

feats 
Enlink'd to waste and desolation .f* 
What is't to me, when you yourselves are 

cause. 
If your pure maidens fall into the hand 20 
Of hot and forcing violation? 
What rein can hold licentious wickedness 
When down the hill he holds his fierce career ? 
We may as bootless spend our vain command 
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil 25 
As send precepts to the leviathan 
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of 

Harfleur, 
Take pity of jour town and of your people. 
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; 
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of 

grace 30 

O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds 
Of heady murder, spoil and villany. 
If not, why, in a moment look to see 
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking 

daughters ; 35 

Your fathers taken by the silver beards. 
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the 

walls. 
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, 
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls con- 

fus'd 
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of 

Jewry 40 

At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 
What say you? will you yield, and this avoid, 
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? 
Gov. [Stepping forward.] Our expectation hath 

this day an end. 
The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated. 
Returns us that his ppwers are yet not ready 



To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great 
king, 47 

We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. 
Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; 
For we no longer are defensible. 50 

K. Hen. Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter, 
Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain. 
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: 
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, 
The winter coming on and sickness growing 55 
Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. 
To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest; 
To-morrow for the march are we addrest. 

Flourish. The King and his train enter 

the town. 

[Scene IV. — The French King's palace.] 

Enter Katharine and [Alice], an old Gentle- 
woman. 
Kath. Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu paries 

bien le langage. 
Alice. Un peu, madame. 
Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez ; il faut que 

j'apprenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous 

la main en Anglois ? 6 

Alice. La main? elle est appelee de hand. 
Kath. De hand. Et les doigts ? 
Alice. Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; 

mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense 

qu'ils sont appeles de fingres ; oui, de fingres. n 
Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. 

Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne 

deux mots d'Anglois vitement. Comment 

a^Dpelez-vous les ongles ? 15 

Alice. Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails. 
Kath. De nails. Ecoutez ; dites-moi, si je 

parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails. 
Alice. C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon 

Anglois. 20 

Kath. Dites-moi I'Anglois pour le bras. 
Alice. De arm, madame. 
Kath. Et le coude? 

Alice. De elbow. 24 

Kath. De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de 

tons les mots que vous m'avez appris des a 

present. 
Alice. II est trop difficile, madame, comme je 

pense. 
Kath. Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de 

fingres, de nails, de arma, de bilbow^ 31 

Alice. J)e elbow, madame. 



289 



22 



HENRY V 



[act III. SC. IV. 



Kath. O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! de 
elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col.^ 

Alice. De neck, madame. 35 

Kath. De nick. Et le menton.^ 

Alice. De chin. 

Kath. De sin. Le col, de nick ; le menton, de sin. 

Alice. Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous 
prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs 
d'Angleterre. 42 

Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la 
grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps. 

Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je 
vous ai enseigne.^ 46 

Kath. Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: de 
hand, de fingres, de mails, — 

Alice. De nails, madame. 

Kath. De nails, de arm, de ilbow. 50 

Alice. Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. 

Kath. Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick, et de sin. 
Comment appelez-vous le pied et la robe? 

Alice. De foot, madame; et de coun. 

Kath. De foot et de coun! O Seigneur Dieu! 
ce sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, 
et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur 
d'user: je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots 
devant les seigneurs de France pour tout le 
monde. Fob ! le foot et le coun ! Neanmoins, 
je reciterai une autre fois ma le9on ensemble: 
de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arm, de elbow, 
de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. 63 

Alice. Excellent, madame! 

Kath. C'est assez pour une fois : allons-nous a 
diner. Exeunt. 

[Scene V. — The same.] 

Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, [the 
Duke of Bourbon,] the Constable of France, 
and others. 

Fr. King. 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river 
Somme. 

Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, 
Let us not live in France; let us quit all 
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 

Dau. O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, 5 
The emptying of our fathers' luxury. 
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock. 
Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds. 
And overlook their grafters ? 

Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman 
bastard.s ! 10 



Mort de ma vie ! if they march along 
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, 
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. 
Con. Dieu de batailles ! where have they this 
mettle } 15 

Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull. 
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, 
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden 

water, 
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley- 
broth. 
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat ? 20 
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, 
Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, 
Let us not hang like roping icicles 
Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty 
people 24 

Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields ! 
Poor we may call them in their native lords. 
Dau. By faith and honour. 

Our madams mock at us, and plainly say 
Our mettle is bred out and they will give 
Their bodies to the lust of English youth 
To new-store France with bastard warriors. 
Bour. They bid us to the English dancing- 
schools. 
And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos 
Saying our grace is only in our heels. 
And that we are most lofty runaways. 3S| 

Fr. King. Where is Montjoy the herald? speec 
him hence: 

Let him greet England with our sharp de- 
fiance. 

Up, princes ! and, with spirit of honour edgec 
More sharper than your swords, hie to the' 

field: 
Charles Delabreth, high constable of France; 
You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, 
Alen9on, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; 421 
Jacques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, 
Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Faucon- 

berg, 
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; 45 
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and 

knights. 
For your great seats now quit you of great 

shames. 
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our 

land 

With pennons painted in the blood of Jlar- 
fleur. 



290 



ACT III. SC. v.] 



HENRY V 



23 



Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow 50 
Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat 
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon. 
Go down upon him, you have power enough, 
And in a captive chariot into Rouen 
Bring him our prisoner. 

Con. This becomes the great. 55 

Sorry am I his numbers are so few. 
His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march, 
For I am sure, when he shall see our army, 
He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear 
And for achievement offer us his ransom. 60 

Fr, King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on 
Montjoy, 
And let him say to England that we send 
To know what willing ransom he will give. 
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in 
Rouen. 

Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. 65 

Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with 
us. 
Now forth, lord constable and princes all. 
And quickly bring us word of England's fall. 

Exeunt. 

[Scene VI. — The English camp in Picardy.] 

Enter Captains, English and Welsh, Gower and 
Fluellen, meeting. 

Gow. How now. Captain FluellenJ come you 
from the bridge? 

Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent serv- 
ices committed at the bridge. 

Gow. Is the Duke of Exeter safe? 5 

Flu. The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous 
as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and 
honour with my soul, and my heart, and my 
duty, and my life, and my living, and my 
uttermost power: he is not — God be praised 
and blessed! — any hurt in the world; but 
keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excel- 
lent discipline. There is an aunchient lieu- 
tenant there at the pridge, I think in my very 
conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark 
Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in 
the world; but I did see him do as gallant 
service. 17 

Gow. What do you call him? 

Flu. He is called Aunchient PistoL 

Gow. I know him not. 

Enter Pistol, 
Flu. Here is the man. 



Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: 
The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 23 

Flu. Ay, I praise God; and I have merited 
some love at his hands. 

Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of 
heart. 
And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate. 
And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel, 
That goddess blind, 29 

That stands upon the rolling restless stone — 

Flu. By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. For- 
tune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her 
eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind; 
and she is painted also with a wheel, to sig- 
nify to you, which is the moral of it, that she 
is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, 
and variation: and her foot, look you, is fixed 
upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, 
and rolls: in good truth, the poet makes a 
most excellent description of it: Fortune is an 
excellent moral. 40 

Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on 
him; 
For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' 

be: 
A damned death ! 

Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free 
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate. 45 
But Exeter hath given the doom of death 
For pax of little price. 
Therefore, go speak; the duke will hear thy 

voice ; 
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
With edge of penny cord and vile reproach. 50 
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee 
requite. 

Flu. Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand 
your meaning. 

Pist. Why then, rejoice therefore. 

Flu. Certainly, aunchient, it is not a thing to 
rejoice at: for if, look you, he were my 
brother, I would desire the duke to use his 
good pleasure and put him to execution; for 
discipline ought to be used. 59 

Pist. Die and be damn'd! and figo for thy 
friendship ! 

Flu. It is well. 

Pist. The fig of Spain ! Exit. 

Flu, Very good. 63 

Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal; 
I remember him now; a bawd, a cutpurse. 

Flu. I'll assure you, a' uttered as prave words 



291 



24 



HENRY V 



[act III. SC. VI. 



at the pridge as you shall see in a summer's 
day. But it is very well; what he has spoke 
to me, that is well_, I warrant you, when time 
is serve. 69 

Gou\ Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now 
and then goes to the wars, to grace himself 
at his return into London under the form of 
a soldier. And such fellows are perfect in 
the great commanders' names: and they will 
learn you by rote where services were done; 
at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, at 
such a convoy ; who came off bravely, who was 
shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy 
stood on; and this they con perfectly in the 
phrase of war, which they trick up with new- 
tuned oaths: and what a beard of the gen- 
eral's cut and a horrid suit of the camp will 
do among foaming bottles and ale-washed 
wits, is wonderful to be thought on. But you 
must learn to know such slanders of the age. 
or else you may be marvellously mistook. 85 

Flu. I tell you what, Captain Gower; I do per- 
ceive he is not the man that he would gladly 
make show to the world he is: if I find a hole 
in his coat, I will tell him my mind. [Drum.'] 
Hark you, the king is coming, and I must 
speak with him from the pridge. 91 

Drum and colours. Enter King Henry, [Glou- 
cester/] and his poor soldiers. 

God pless your majesty! 

K. Hen. How now, Fluellen ! earnest thou from 
the bridge? 

Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The Duke 
of Exeter has very gallantly maintained the 
pridge: the French is gone off, look you; and 
there is gallant and most prave passages ; 
marry, th'athversary was have possession of the 
pridge; but he is enforced to retire, and the 
Duke of Exeter is master of the pridge: I 
can tell your maj esty, the duke is a prave man. 

K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen? 102 

Flu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been 
very great, reasonable great: marry, for ray 
part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, 
but one that is like to be executed for robbing 
a church, one Bardolph, if your majesty know 
the man : his face is all bubukles, and whelks, 
and knobs, and flames o' fire: and his lips 
blows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, 
sometimes plue and sometimes red; but his 
nose is executed, and his fire's out, 112 

292 



K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so 
cut off: and we give express charge, that in 
our marches through the country, there be 
nothing compelled from the villages, nothing 
taken but paid for, none of the French up- 
braided or abused in disdainful language; for 
when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, 
the gentler gamester is the soonest winner. 120 

Tuchet. Enter Montjoy. 

Mont. You know me by my habit. 

K, Hen. Well then I know thee: what shall I 
know of thee? 

Mont. My master's mind. 

K. Hen. Unfold it. 125 

Mont. Thus says my king: Say thou to Harry 
of England: Though we seemed dead, we did 
but sleep: advantage is a better soldier than 
rashness. Tell him we could have rebuked 
him at Harfleur, but that .we thought not good 
to bruise an injury till it were full ripe. Now 
we speak upon our cue, and our voice is im- 
perial: England shall repent his folly, see his 
weakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid 
him therefore consider of his ransom; which 
must proportion the losses we have borne, the 
subjects we have lost, the disgrace we have 
digested; which in weight to re-answer, his 
pettiness would bow under. For our losses, 
his exchequer is too poor; for the effusion of 
our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faint 
a number ; and for our disgrace, his own per- 
son, kneeling at our feet, but a weak and 
worthless satisfaction. To this add defiance: 
and tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed 
his followers, whose condemnation is pro- 
nounced. So far my king and master; so 
much my office. ' 146 

K. Hen. What is thy name ? I know thy quality. 

Mont. Montjoy. 

K, Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee 
back. 
And tell thy king I do not seek him now; 
But could be willing to march on to Calais 150 
Without impeachment: for, to say the sooth, 
Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much 
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage. 
My people are with sickness much enfeebled. 
My numbers lessened, and those few I have 
Almost no better than so many French; 156 
Who when they were in health, I tell thee, 
herald, 



ACT III. sSC. VI.] 



HENRY V 



25 



I thought upon one pair of English legs 

Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive 

me, God, 
That I do brag thus ! This your air of 

France i6o 

Hath blown that vice in me ; I must repent. 
Go therefore, tell thy master here I am; 
My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk, 
My army but a weak and sickly guard; 
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, 165 
Though France himself and such another 

neighbour 
Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, 

Montj oy. 
Go, bid thy master well advise himself^: 
If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder'd. 
We shall your tawny ground with your red 

blood 170 

Discolour: and so, Montj oy, fare you well. 
The sum of all our answer is but this: 
We would not seek a battle, as we are; 
Nor, as we are, we say we will not shun it: 
So tell your master. 17s 

Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your high- 
ness. . [Exit.] 
Glou. I hope they will not come upon us now. 
K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not 

in theirs. 
March to the bridge; it now draws toward 

night : 
Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves, 180 
And on to-morrow bid them march away. 

Exeunt. 



[Scene VII. — The French camp, near A gin- 
court.'] 

Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Ram- 
hures, Orleans, Dauphin, with others. 

Con. Tut ! I have the best armour of the world. 

Would it were day! 
Orl. You have an excellent armour; but let 

my horse have his due. 
Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 5 

Orl. Will it never be morning? 
Bau. My Lord of Orleans, and my lord high 

constable, you talk of horse and armour? 
Orl. You are as well provided of both as any 

prince in the world. 10 

Dau, What a long night is this ! I will not change 



my horse with any that treads but on four 
pasterns. Ca, ha ! he bounds from the earth, 
as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, 
the Pegasus, chez les narines de feu! When 
I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots 
the air; the earth sings when he touches it; 
the basest horn of his hoof is more musical 
than the pipe of Hermes. 

Orl. He's of the colour of the nutmeg. 20 

Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a 
beast for Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and 
the dull elements of earth and water never 
appear in him, but only in patient stillness 
while his rider mounts him: he is indeed a 
horse; and all other jades you may call beasts. 

Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and 
excellent horse. 

Dau. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is 
like the bidding of a monarch and his coun*- 
tenance enforces homage. 

Orl. No more, cousin. 32 

Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, 
from the rising of the lark to the lodging of 
the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey : 
it is a theme as fluent as the sea: turn the 
sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is 
argument for them all: 'tis a subject for a 
sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's 
sovereign to ride on; and for the world, fa- 
miliar to us and unknown, to lay apart their 
particular functions and wonder at him. I 
once writ a sonnet in his praise and began 
thus: 'Wonder of nature,' — 43 

Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's 
mistress. 

Dau. Then did they imitate that which I com- 
posed to my courser, for my horse is my mis- 
tress. 

Orl. Your mistress bears well. 

Dau. Me well ; which is the prescript praise and 
perfection of a good and particular mistress. 

Con. Nay, for methought yesterday your mis- 
tress shrewdly shook your back. 52 

Dau. So perhaps did yours. 

Con. Mine was not bridled. 

Dau. O then belike she was old and gentle; and 
you rode, like a kern of Ireland, your French 
hose off, and in your strait strossers. 

Con. You have good judgment in horseman- 
ship. 59 

Dau. Be warned by me, then: they that ride so 
and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs. I 



293 



26 



HENRY V 



[act hi. sc. vii. 



had rather have my horse to my mistress. 
Con, I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 
Dau. I tell thee^ constable^ my mistress wears 

his own hair. 65 

Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if 

I had a sow to my mistress. 
Daji. 'Le chien est retourne a son propre vomis- 

sement, et la truie lavee au bourbier:' thou 

makest use of any thing. 70 

Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress, 

or any such proverb so little kin to the purpose. 
Ram. My lord constable, the armour that I saw 

in your tent to-night, are those stars or suns 

upon it? 75 

Con. Stars, my lord. 

Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. 
Con. And yet my sky shall not want. 
Dau. That may be, for you bear a many super- 
fluously, and 'tv/ere more honour some were 

away. 81 

Con. Even as your horse bears your praises; 

who would trot as well, were some of your 

brags dismounted. 
Dau. Would I were able to load him with his 

desert! Will it never be day.^ I will trot 

to-morrow a mile, and my way shall be paved 

with English faces. 88 

Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be 

faced out of my way: but I would it were 

morning; for I would fain be about the ears 

of the English. 
Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for 

twenty prisoners? 94 

Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere 

you have them. 
Dau. 'Tis midnight; I'll go arm myself. 

[Exit] 
Orl. The Dauphin longs for morning. 
Ram. He longs to eat the English. 
Con. I think he will eat all he kills. 100 

Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he's a 

gallant prince. 
Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread 

out the oath. 
Orl. He is simply the most active gentleman 

of France. 106 

Con. Doing is activity; and he will still be 

doing. 
Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of. 
Con. Nor will do none to-morrow: he will keep 

that good name still. m 

Orl. I know him to be valiant. 



Con. I was told that by one that knows him 

better than you. 
Orl. What's he? 
Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he 

said he cared not who knew it. 117 

Orl. He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in 

him. 
Con. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never any body 

saw it but his lackey: 'tis a hooded valour; 

and when it appears, it will bate. 
Orl. Ill will never said well. 123 

Con. I will cap that proverb with 'There is 

flattery in friendship.' 
Orl. And I will take up that with 'Give the 

devil his due.' 
Con. Well placed: there stands your friend for 

the devil : have at the very eye of that proverb 

with 'A pox of the devil.' 130 

Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how 

much 'A fool's bolt is soon shot.' 
Con. You have shot over. 
Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie 
within fifteen hundred paces of your tents. 136 

Con. Who hath measured the ground? 

Mess. The Lord Grandpre. 

Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. 
Would it were day ! Alas, poor Harry of Eng- 
land! he longs not for the dawning as we do, 

Orl. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this 
king of England, to mope with his fat-brained 
followers so far out of his knowledge ! 

Con. If the English had any apprehension, they 
would run away. 

Orl. That they lack; for if their heads had any 
intellectual armour, they could never wear 
such heavy head-pieces. 149 

Ram. That island of England breeds very 
valiant creatures; their mastiffs are of un- 
matchable courage. 

Orl. Foolish curs, that run winking into the 
mouth of a Russian bear and have their heads 
crushed like rotten apples ! You may as well 
say, that's a valiant flea that dare eat his 
breakfast on the lip of a lion. is7 

Con. Just, just; and the men do sympathise 
with the mastiffs in robustious and rough 
coming on, leaving their wits with their 
wives: and then give them great meals of 



294 



ACT III. SC. VII. 



HENRY V 



27 



beef and iron and steel, they will eat like 

wolves and fight like devils. 
Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of 

beef. 164 

Con. Then shall we find to-morrow they have 

only stomachs to eat and none to fight. Now 

is it time to arm: come, shall we about it.'^ 
Orl. It is now two o'clock: but, let me see, by 
ten 

We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. 

Exeunt. 

ACT [FOURTH] 

Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time 
When creeping murmur and the poring dark 
Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
From camp to camp through the foul womb 

of night 
The hum of either army stilly sounds, 5 

That the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
The secret whispers of each other's watch: 
Fire answers fire, and through their paly 

flames 
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face; 
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful 

neighs 10 

Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the 

tents 
The armourers, accomplishing the knights. 
With busy hammers closing rivets up. 
Give dreadful note of preparation: 
i The country cocks do crow, the clocks do 
I toll, 15 

And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, 
The confident and over-lusty French 
Do the low-rated English play at dice; 
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night 20 
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
So tediously away. The poor condemned 

English, 
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
< Sit patiently and inly ruminate 

The morning's danger, and their gesture sad 
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn 

coats 26 

Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will be- 
hold 



The royal captain of this ruin'd band 
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to 
tent, 30 

Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!' 
For forth he goes and visits all his host. 
Bids them good morrow with a modest smile 
And calls them brothers, friends and country- 
men. 
Upon his royal face there is no note 35 

How dread an army hath enrounded him; 
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
Unto the weary and all-watched night. 
But freshly looks and over-bears attaint 
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; 
That every wretch, pining and pale before, 41 
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks : 
A largess universal like the sun 
His liberal eye doth give to every one. 
Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all 
Behold, as may unworthiness define, 46 

A little touch of Harry in the night. 
And so our scene must to the battle fly; 
Where — O for pity! — we shall much disgrace 
With four or five most vile and ragged foils, 
Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous, 51 

The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see. 
Minding true things by what their mockeries 
be. Exit. 

[Scene I. — The English camp at Agincourt.] 

Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gloucester. 

K. Hen. Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in 
great danger; 
The greater therefore should our courage be. 
Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Al- 
mighty ! 
There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
Would men observingly distil it out. 5 

For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers. 
Which is both healthful and good husbandry: 
Besides, they are our outward consciences. 
And preachers to us all, admonishing 
That we should dress us fairly for our end. 10 
Thus may we gather honey from the weed. 
And make a moral of the devil himself. 

Enter Erpingham. 

Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham: 
A good soft pillow for that good white head 
Were better than a churlish turf of France. 15 



295 



28 



HENRY V 



[act IV. sc. 



Erp. Not so_, my liege: this lodging likes me 
better, 
Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.' 

K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their pres- 
ent pains 
Upon example; so the spirit is eased: 19 

And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, 
The organs, though defunct and dead before, 
Break up their drowsy grave and newly move. 
With casted slough and fresh legerity. 
Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both. 
Commend me to the princes in our camp; 25 
Do my good morrow to them, and anon 
Desire them all to my pavilion. 

Glou. We shall, my liege. 

Erp. Shall I attend your grace? 

K. Hen. No, my good knight; 

Go with my brothers to my lords of England: 
I and my bosom must debate a while, 31 

And then I would no other company. 

Erpi The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble 
Harry ! Exeunt all hut King. 

K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st 
cheerfully. 

Enter Pistol. 

Pist. Qui va la.^ 35 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Pist. Discuss unto me; art thou officer? 

Or art thou base, common and popular ? 
K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 
Pist. Trail'st thou the puissant pike? 40 

K. Hen. Even so. What are you? 
Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 
K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. 
Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, 

A lad of life, an imp of fame; 45 

Of parents good, of fist most valiant. 

I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string 

I love the lovely bully. What is thy name ? 
K. Hen. Harry le Roy. 

Pist. Le Roy ! a Cornish name : art thou of 
Cornish crew? 50 

K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. 
Pist. Know'st thou Fluellen? 
K. Hen. Yes. 
Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate 

Upon Saint Davy's day. 55 

K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your 

cap that day, lest he knock that about yours. 
Pist. Art thou his friend? 
K. Hen. And his kinsman too. 



Pist. The figo for tiiee, then! 60 

K. Hen. I thank you: God be with you! 
Pist. My name is Pistol call'd. Exit. 

K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 

Stays [m background.^ 

Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Gow. Captain Fluellen ! 64 

Flu. So ! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak 
lower. It is the greatest admiration in the 
universal world, when the true and aunchient 
prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: 
if you would take the pains but to examine the 
wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I 
warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle 
nor pibble pabble in Pompey's camp; I war- 
rant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the 
wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, 
and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, 
•to be otherwise. 75 

Gow. Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him 
all night. 

Flu. If the enemy is an ass and a fool and a 
prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we 
should also, look you, be an ass and a fool 
and a prating coxcomb ? in your own con- 
science, now? 

Gow. I will speak lower. 82 

Flu. I pray you and I beseech you that you 
will. Exeunt Gower and Fluellen. 

K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion, 
There is much care and valour in this Welsh- 
man. 

Enter three soldiers, John Bates, Alexander 
Court, and Michael Williams. 

Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the 

morning which breaks yonder? 
Bates. I think it be: but we have no great cause 

to desire the approach of day. 90 

Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, 

but I think we shall never see the end of it. 

Who goes there? 
K. Hen. A friend. 

Will. Under what captain serve you? 
K. Hen. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham. 96 

Will. A good old commander and a most kind 

gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of 

our estate? 
K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, 

that look to be washed off the next tide. 



296 



ACT IV. SC. 



!•] 



HENRY V 



29 



Bates. He hath not told his thought to the 
king ? 103 

K. Hen. No; nor it is not meet he should. For, 
though I speak it to you, I think the king is 
but a man, as I am: the violet smells to him 
as it doth to me; the element shows to him as 
it doth to me; all his senses have but human 
conditions: his ceremonies laid by, in his 
nakedness he appears but a man; and though 
his affections are higher mounted than ours, 
yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like 
wing. Therefore when he sees reason of 
fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of 
the same relish as ours are: yet, in reason, no 
man should possess him with any appearance 
of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dis- 
hearten his army. 117 

Bates. He may show what outward courage he 
w411; but I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he 
could wish himself in Thames up to the neck; 
and so I would he were, and I by him, at all 
adventures, so we were quit here. 

K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my con- 
science of the king: I think he would not wish 
himself any where but where he is. 125 

Bates. Then I would he were here alone; so 
should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many 
poor men's lives saved. 

K. Hen. I dare say you love him not so ill, to 
wish him here alone, howsoever you speak this 
to feel other men's minds: methinks I could 
not die any where so contented as in the king's 
company; his cause being just and his quarrel 
honourable. 134 

Will. That's more than we know. 

Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after; 
for we know enough, if we know we are the 
king's subjects: if his cause be wrong, our obe- 
dience to the king wipes the crime of it out 
of us. 

Will. But if the cause be not good, the king him- 
self hath a heavy reckoning to make, when all 
those legs and arms and heads, chopped off in 
a battle, shall join together at the latter day 
and cry all 'We died at such a place;' some 
swearing, some crying for a surgeon, some 
upon their wives left poor behind them, some 
upon the debts they owe, some upon their chil- 
dren rawly left. I am afeard there are few 
die well that die in a battle; for how can they 
charitably dispose of any thing, when blood 
is their argument } Now, if these men do not 



die well, it will be a black matter for the king 
that led them to it; whom to disobey were 
against all proportion of subjection. 153 

K. Hen. So, if a son that is by his father sent 
about merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon 
the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by 
your rule, should be imposed upon his father 
that sent him: or if a servant, under his mas- 
ter's command transporting a sum of money, 
be assailed by robbers and die in many ir- 
reconciled iniquities, you may call the business 
of the master the author of the servant's dam- 
nation: but this is not so: the king is not bound 
to answer the particular endings of his sol- 
diers, the father of his son, nor the master of 
his servant; for they purpose not their death, 
when they purpose their services. Besides, 
there is no king, be his cause never so spot- 
less, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, 
can try it out with all unspotted soldiers : some 
peradventure have on them the guilt of pre- 
meditated and contrived murder; some, of be- 
guiling virgins with the broken seals of per- 
jury; some, making the wars their bulwark, 
that have before gored the gentle bosom of 
peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if 
these men have defeated the law and outrun 
native punishment, though they can outstrip 
men, they have no wings to fly from God: war 
is his beadle, war is his vengeance; so that 
here men are punished for before-breach of the 
king's laws in now the king's quarrel: where 
they feared the death, they have borne life 
away; and where they would be safe, they 
perish: then if they die unprovided, no more 
is the king guilty of their damnation than he 
was before guilty of those impieties for the 
which they are now visited. Every subject's 
duty is the king's; but every subject's soul is 
his own. Therefore should every soldier in 
the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash 
every mote out of his conscience: and dying 
so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, 
the time was blessedly lost wherein such prep- 
aration was gained: and in him that escapes, 
it were not sin to think that, making God so 
free an offer. He let him outlive that day to 
see His greatness and to teach others how 
they should prepare. 196 

Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the 
ill upon his own head, the king is not to an- 
swer it. 



297 



30 



HENRY V 



[act IV. SC. 1. 



Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; 
and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 201 

K. Hen. I myself heard the king say he would 
not be ransomed. 

Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully : 
but when our throats are cut, he may be ran- 
somed, and we ne'er the wiser. 206 

K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his 
word after. 

Will. You pay him then. That's a perilous shot 
out of an elder-gun, that a poor and a private 
displeasure can do against a monarch ! you 
may as well go about to turn the sun to ice 
with fanning in his face with a peacock's 
feather. You'll never trust his word after ! 
come, 'tis a foolish saying. . 215 

K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round: 
I should be angry with you, if the time were 
convenient. 

Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you 
live. 220 

K. Hen. I embrace it. 

Will. How shall I know thee again? 

K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will 
wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou dar- 
est acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. 

Will. Here's my glove: give me another' of 
thine. 227 

K. Hen. There. 

Will. This will I also wear in my cap: if ever 
thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, 
'This is my glove,' by this hand, I will take 
thee' a box on the ear. 232 

K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge 
it. 

Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 

K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee 
in the king's company. 237 

Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well. 

Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends: 
we have French quarrels enow, if you could 
tell how to reckon. 

K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty 
French crowns to one, they will beat us ; for 
they bear them on their shoulders : but it is no 
English treason to cut French crowns, and to- 
morrow the king himself will be a clipper. 246 

Exe^unt soldiers. 
Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls. 
Our debts, our careful wives. 
Our children and our sins lay on the king ! 
We must bear all. O hard condition, 250 

298 



Twin-born with greatness, subject to the 

breath 
Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel 
But his own wringing ! What infinite heart's- 

ease 
Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy! 
And what have kings, that privates have not 

too, 255 

Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? 
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony? 
What kind of god art thou, that sufFer'st more 
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers ? 
What are thy rents? what are they comings 
in ? 260 

ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 
What is thy soul of adoration? 

Art thou aught else but place, degree and 
form. 

Creating awe and fear in other men? 

Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd 265 

Than they in fearing. 

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage 
sweet. 

But poison'd flattery ? O, be sick, great great- 
ness. 

And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! 

Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out 270 

With titles blown from adulation? 

Will it give place to flexure and low bending? 

Canst thou, when thou command'st the beg- 
gar's knee. 

Command the health of it? No, thou proud 
dream. 

That play'st so subtly with a king's repose ; 275 

1 am a king that find thee, and I know 
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball. 
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial. 
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, 

The farced title running 'fore the king, 280 
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
That beats upon the high shore of this world. 
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony. 
Not all these, laid in bed majestical. 
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, 285 
Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind 
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful 

bread ; 
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell. 
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set 
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night 290 
Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn. 
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse. 



ACT IV. SC. 



.] 



HENRY V 



31 



And follows so the ever-running year. 
With profitable labour, to his grave : 
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, 295 

Winding up days with toil and nights with 

sleep. 
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 
The slave, a member of the country's peace, 
Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots 
What watch the king keeps to maintain the 

peace, 300 

Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 

Enter Erpingham. 

Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your ab- 
sence. 

Seek through your camp to find you. 
K. Hen. Good old knight. 

Collect them all together at my tent: 

I'll be before thee. 
Erp. I shall do't, my lord. 305 

Exit. 
K. Hen. O God of battles ! steel my soldiers' 
hearts ; 

Possess them not with fear; take from them 
now 

The sense of reckoning, if the opposed num- 
bers 

Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O 
Lord, 

O, not to-day, think not upon the fault 310 

My father made in compassing the crown ! 

I Richard's body have interred new. 

And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears 

Than from it issued forced drops of blood. 

Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, 315 

Who twice a-day their wither'd hands hold up 

Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have 
built 

Two chantries, where the sad and solemn 
priests 

Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do ; 

Though all that I can do is nothing worth, 320 

Since that my penitence comes after all. 

Imploring pardon. 

Enter Gloucester. 

Glou. My liege ! 

K. Hen. My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay; 

I know thy errand, I will go with thee: 325 

The day, my friends and all things stay for 

me. Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — The French camp.^ 

Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, and 
[others.] 

Orl. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my 

lords ! 
Dau. Montez a cheval! My horse! varlet!. la- 

quais ! ha ! 
Orl. O brave spirit! 
Dau. Via ! les eaux et la terre. 
Orl. Rien puis.^ I'air et le feu. s 

Dau. Ciel, cousin Orleans. 

Enter Constable. 

Now, my lord constable ! 
Con, Hark, how our steeds for present service 

neigh ! 
Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their 
hides. 
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes. 
And dout them with superfluous courage, ha! 
Ram. What, will you have them weep our 
horses' blood .^ 12 

How shall we, then, behold their natural 
tears } 

Enter Messenger. 

Mess. The English are embattled, you French 

peers. 
Con. To horse, you gallant princes ! straight to 

horse ! 15 

Do but behold yon poor and starved band, 
And your fair show shall suck away their 

souls. 
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. 
There is not work enougli for all our hands; 
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins 20 
To give each naked curtle-axe a stain. 
That our French gallants shall to-day draw 

out. 
And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but 

blow on them, 
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, 25 
That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants. 
Who in unnecessary action swarm 
About our squares of battle, were enow 
To purge this field of such a hilding foe. 
Though we upon this mountain's basis by 30 
Took stand for idle speculation: 
But that our honours must not. What's to 



say.? 



299 



32 



HENRY V 



[act IV. sc. 



A very little little let us do, 
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound 
The tucket sonance and the note to mount; 35 
For our approach shall so much dare the field 
That England shall couch down in fear and 
yield. 

Enter Grandpre. 

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of 

France ? 
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
Ill-favouredly become the morning field: 40 
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose. 
And our air shakes them passing scornfully: 
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd 

host 
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps: 
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, 45 
With torch-staves in their hand; and their 

poor jades 
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and 

hips. 
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead 

eyes. 
And in their pale dull mouths ttf^ gimmal bit 
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motion- 
less ; 50 
And their executors, the knavish crows. 
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour. 
Description cannot suit itself in words 
To demonstrate the life of such a battle 
In life so lifeless as it shows itself. 55 
Con. They have said their prayers, and they 

stay for death. 
Dau. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh 

suits 
And give their fasting horses provender. 
And after fight with them? 
Con. I stay but for my guidon : to the field ! 60 
I will the banner from a trumpet take. 
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away ! 
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. 

Ea!eunt. 



[Scene III. — The English camp.] 

Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, 
with all his host, Salisbury and Westmore- 
land. 



Glou. Where is the king? 



Bed. The king himself is rode to view their bat- 
tle. 
West. Of fighting men they have full three score 

thousand. 
Exe. There's five to one; besides, they all are 

fresh. 
Sal. God's arm strilie with us ! 'tis a fearful 
odds. 5 

God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my charge. 
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven. 
Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, 
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord 

Exeter, 
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu ! 10 
Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck 

go with thee ! 
Exe, Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day: 
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it. 
For thou art framed of the firm truth of 
valour. [Exit Salisbury.] 

Bed. He is as full of valour as of kindness; 
Princely in both. 15 

Enter the King. 

West, O that we now had here 

But one ten thousand of those men in England 
That do no work to-day ! 



K. Hen. 



What's he that wishes 



My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair 

cousin : 
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow 20 

To do our country loss; and if to live. 
The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man 

more. 
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold. 
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; 25 
It yearns me not if men my garments wear; 
Such outward things dwell not in my desires: 
But if it be a sin to covet honour, 
I am the most offending soul alive. 1 

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from Eng- | 

land. 30 

God's peace ! I wowld not lose so great an 

honour 
As one man more, methinks, would share from 

me 
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one 

more! 
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through 

my host. 



300 



ACT IV. SC. III.] 



HENRY V 



33 



That lie which hath no stomach to this fight, 35 
Let him depart; his passport shall be made 
And crowns for convoy put into his purse: 
We would not die in that man's company 
That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian: 40 

He that outlives this day, and comes safe 

home. 
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, 
And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
He that shall live this day, and see old age. 
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours. 
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.' 46 
Then wdll he strip his sleeve and show his 

. scars. 
And say 'These w^ounds I had on Crispin's 

day.' 
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot. 
But he'll remember with advantages so 

What feats he did that day. Then shall our 

names. 
Familiar in his mouth as household words, 
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, 
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glouces- 
ter, 
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. 55 
This story shall the good man teach his 

son; 
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by. 
From this day to the ending of the world. 
But we in it shall be remembered ; 
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. 
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me 61 
Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, 
This day shall gentle his condition: 
And gentlemen in England now a-bed 
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not 

here, 65 

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any 

speaks 
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. 

Enter Salisbury. 

Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with 
speed: 
The French are bravely in their battles set. 
And will with all expedience charge on us. 70 
K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds 

be so. 
West. Perish the man whose mind is backward 
now ! 



K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from 

England, coz .^ 
West. God's will! my liege, would you and I 
alone. 
Without more help, could fight this royal 
battle ! 75 

K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thou- 
sand men ; 
Which likes me better than to wish us one. 
You know your places : God be with you all ! 

Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 

Mont. Once more I come to know of thee. King 
Harry, 
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, 80 
Before thy^ most assured overthrow: 
For certainly thou art so near the gulf. 
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in 

mercy, 
The constable desires thee thou wilt mind 
Thy followers of repentance; that their souls 
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire 86 
From off these fields, where, wretches, their 

poor bodies 
Must lie and fester. 
K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now? 

Mont. The Constable of France. 
K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer 
back : 90 

Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones. 
Good God! why should they mock poor fel- 
lows thus ? 
The man that once did sell the lion's skin 
While the beast lived, was killed with hunting 

him. 
A many of our bodies shall no doubt 
Find native graves ; upon the which, I trust, 95 
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work: 
And those that leave their valiant bones in 

France, 
Dying like men, though buried in your dung- 
hills, 
They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall 
greet them, 100 

And draw their honours reeking up to heaven. 
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your 

clime. 
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in 

France. 
Mark then abounding valour in our English, 
Tliat being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, 
Break out into a second course of mischief, 106 



301 



HENRY V 



[act IV. sc. 



III. 



Killing in relapse of mortality. 
Let me speak proudly: tell the constable 
We are but warriors for the working-day; 
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd 
With rain}^ marching in the painful field; m 
There's not a piece of feather in our host — 
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly — 
And time hath worn us into slovenry: 
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim; 
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night ii6 
They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck 
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' 

heads 
And turn them out of service. If they do 

this, — 
As, if God please, they shall, — my ransom 

then 120 

Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy 

labour ; 
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald: 
They shall have none, I swear, but these my 

joints; 
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them. 
Shall yield them little, tell the constable. 125 
Mont, I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee 

well : 
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. 

Ej;it. 
K. Hen. I fear thou 'It once more come again 

for ransom. 

Enter York. 

York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg 

The leading of the vaward. 130 

K. Hen. Take it, brave York. • Now, soldiers, 

march away: 

And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day ! 

Exeunt. 

[Scene IV .—The field of battle.'] 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French 
Soldier, and Boy. 

Pist. Yield, cur ! 

Fr. Sol. Je pense que vous etes gentilhomme de 

bonne qualite. 
Pist. Qualtitie calmie custure me ! Art thou a 

gentleman? what is thy name? discuss. 5 

Fr. Sol. O Seigneur Dieu ! 
Pist. O, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman: 

Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and 
mark; 



O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox. 
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me 10 
Egregious ransom. 

Fr. Sol. O, prenez misericorde ! ayez pitie de 
moi ! 

Pist. Moy shall not serve; I will have forty 
moys ; 
Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat 15 
In drops of crimson blood. 

Fr. Sol. Est-il impossible d'echapper la force 
de ton bras ? 

Pist. Brass, cur ! 

Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, 20 
Offer'st me brass? 

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moi ! 

Pist. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys? 
Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French 
What is his name. 25 

Boy. Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appele? 

Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. 

Boy. He says his name is Master Fer. 

Pist. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, 
and ferret him: discuss the same in French 
unto him. 31 

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and 
ferret, and firk. 

Pist. Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat. 

Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur? 35 

Boy. II me commande de vous dire que vous 
faites vous pret; car ce soldat ici est dispose 
tout a cette heure de couper votre gorge. 

Pist. Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy. 

Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave 
crowns ; 40 

Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. 

Fr. Sol. O, je vous supplie, pour I'amour de 
Dieu, me pardonner ! Je suis gentilhomme de 
bonne maison: gardez ma vie, et je vous don- 
nerai deux cents ecus. 45 

Pist. What are his words? 

Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is a gen- 
tleman of a good house; and for his ransom 
he will give you two hundred crowns. 

Pist. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I 50 
The crowns will take. 

Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il? 

Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jijrement de 
pardonner aucun prisonnier, neanmoins, pour 
les ecus que vous I'avez promis, il est content 
de vous donner la liberte, le franchisement. 56 

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille 
remercimens; et je m'estime heureux que je 



302 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



HENRY V 



35 



suis tombe entre les mains d'un chevalier, je 
pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et tres distingue 
seigneur d'Angleterre. 6i 

Pist. Expound unto me, boy. 

Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand 
thanks; and he esteems himself happy that 
he hath fallen into the hands of one, as he 
thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice- 
worthy signieur of England. 

Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. 
Follow me ! 69 

Boy. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. [Exeunt 
Pistol, and French Soldier.] I did never know 
so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: 
but the saying is true, 'The empty vessel 
makes the greatest sound.' Bardolph and 
Nym had ten times more valour than this roar- 
ing devil i' the old play, that every one may 
pare his nails with a wooden dagger ; and they 
are both hanged; and so would this be, if he 
durst steal anything adventurously. I must 
stay with the lackeys, with the luggage of our 
camp: the French might have a good prey of 
us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard 
it but boys. 82 

Ea;it. 



[Scene V. — Another part of the field.] 

Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin, 
and Rambures. 

Con. O diable ! 

Orl. O seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est 
perdu ! 

Dau. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all ! 
Reproach and everlasting shame 
Sits mocking in our plumes. O mechante for- 
tune ! 5 
Do not run away. A short alarum. 

Con. Why, all our ranks are broke. 

Dau. O perdurable shame! let's stab ourselves. 
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice 
for.? 

Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom? 

Bour. Shame and eternal shame, nothing but 
shame ! 10 

Let us die in honour : once more back again ; 
And he that will not follow Bourbon now. 
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand. 
Like a base pandar, hold the chamber-door 
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, 15 



His fairest daughter is contaminated. 
Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us 
now ! 
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives. 
Orl. We are enow yet living in the field 

To smother up the English in our throngs, 20 
If any order might be thought upon. 
Bour. The devil take order now! I'll to the 
throng : 
Let life be short; else shame will be too long. 

Exeunt. 

[Scene VI. — Another part of the field.] 

Alarums. Enter King Henry, [Exeter], and 
his train, with prisoners. 

K, Hen. Well have we done, thrice valiant coun- 
trymen : 
But all's not done; yet keep the French the 
field. 
Exe. The Duke of York commends him to your 

maj esty. 
K. Hen, Lives he, good uncle ? thrice within this 
hour 
I saw him down; thrice up again, and fight- 
ing; 5 
From helmet to the spur all blood he was. 
Exe. In which array, 'brave soldier, doth he lie. 
Larding the plain; and by his bloody side. 
Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds. 
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. 10 
Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over, 
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd. 
And takes him by the beard ; kisses the gashes 
That bloodily did yawn upon his face; 
And cries aloud 'Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk ! 15 
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven; 
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast. 
As in this glorious and well-foughten field 
We kept together in our chivalry!' 
Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up: 
He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand. 
And, with a feeble gripe, says 'Dear my lord, 
Commend my service to my sovereign.' 23 
So did he turn and over Suffolk's neck 
He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips; 
And so espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd 
A testament of noble-ending love. 27 
The pretty and sweet manner of it forced 
Those waters from me which I would have 
stopp'd ; 



303 



36 



HENRY V 



[act IV. SC. VI. 



But I had not so much of man in me, 30 

And all my mother came into mine eyes 
And gave me up to tears. 
K. Hen. I blame you not; 

For^ hearing this, I must perforce compound 
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. 

Alarum. 
But, hark I what new alarum is this same? 35 
The French have reinforced their scatter'd 

men. 
Then every soldier kill his prisoners; 
Give the word through. 

Exeu7it. 

[Scene VII. — Another part of the field.] 
Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage ! 'tis expressly 
against the law of arms: 'tis as arrant a piece 
of knavery, mark you now, as can be offer't; 
in your conscience, now, is it not .^ 4 

Gow. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive; 
and the cowardly rascals that ran from the 
battle ha' done this slaughter: besides, they 
have burned and carried away all that was in 
the king's tent; wherefore the king, most 
worthily, hath caused every soldier to cut his 
prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant king! n 

Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain 
Gower. What call you the town's name where 
Alexander the Pig was born ! 

Gow, Alexander the Great. 15 

Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig great? the 
pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, 
or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, 
save the phrase is a little variations. 

Gow. I think Alexander the Great was born in 
Macedon: his father was called Philip of 
Macedon, as I take it. 22 

Flu. I think it is in Macedon where Alexander 
is porn. I tell you, captain, if you look in the 
maps of the 'orld, I warrant you sail find, in 
the comparisons between Macedon and Mon- 
mouth, that the situations, look you, is both 
alike. There is a river in Macedon ; and there 
is also moreover a river at Monmouth. It is 
called Wye at Monmouth; but it is out of my 
prains what is the name of the other river; but 
'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is to my 
fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you 
mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Mon- 
mouth's life is come after it indifferent well; 



for there is figures in all things. Alexander, 
God knows, and you know, in his rages, and 
his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and 
his moods, and his displeasures, and his in- 
dignations, and also being a little intoxicates 
in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, 
look you, kill his best friend, Cleitus. 41 

Gow. Our king is -not like him in that; he never 
killed any of his friends. 

Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take 
the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and 
finished. I speak but in the figures and com- 
parisons of it: as Alexander killed his friend 
Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups ; so also 
Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and 
his good judgments, turned away the fat 
knight with the great-belly doublet. He was 
full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and 
mocks; I have forgot his name. 53 

Gow, Sir John FalstafF. 

Flu. That is he: I'll tell you there is good men 
porn at Monmouth. 56 

Gow. Here comes his majesty. 

Alarum. Enter King Henry, and Bourbon with 
prisoners; Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter, and 
others. Flourish. 

K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France 
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald; 
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill: 60 
If they will fight with us, bid them come down. 
Or void the field; they do offend our sight: 
If they'll do neither, we will come to them. 
And make them skirr away, as swift as stones 
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings : 65 

Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have. 
And not a man of tliem that we shall take 
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell tliem so. 

Enter Mont joy. 

Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my 

liege. 
Glo. His eyes are humbler than they used to be. 
K. Hen. How now ! what means this, herald ? 
know'st thou not 71 

That I have fined these bones of mine for ran- 
som? 
Comest thou again for ransom? 
Mont. No, great king: 

I come to thee for charitable license. 
That we may wander o'er this bloody field 7s 



304 



ACT IV. SC. 



VII.] 



HENRY V 



37 



To look our dead, and then to bury them; 
To sort our nobles from our common men. 
For many of our princes — woe the while ! — 
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood; 
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs 80 
In blood of princes ; and their wounded steeds 
Fret fetlock deep in gore and with wild rage 
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead mas- 
ters. 
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great 

king. 
To view the field in safety and dispose 85 

Of their dead bodies ! 
K. Hen. I tell thee trul}^, herald, 

I know not if the day be ours or no; 
For yet a many of your horsemen peer 
And gallop o'er the field. 
Mont. The day is yours. 

K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, 
for it ! 90 

What is this castle call'd that stands hard by .^ 
Mont. They call it Agincourt. 
K. Hen. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, 
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. 94 
Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an 't 
please your majesty, and your great-uncle Ed- 
ward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have 
read in the chronicles, fought a most prave 
pattle here in France. 
K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 100 

Flu. Your majesty says very true: if your majes- 
ties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did 
good service in a garden where leeks did 
grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; 
which, your majesty know, to this hour is an 
honourable badge of the service; and I do be- 
lieve your majesty takes no scorn to wear the 
leek upon Saint Tavy's day. 108 

K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour; 

For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 
Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your 
majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can 
tell you that: God pless it and preserve it, as 
longasitpleaseshis grace, and his majesty too! 
K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. 115 

Flu. By Jeshu, I am your majesty's country- 
man, I care not who know it; I will confess it 
to all the 'orld: I need not to be ashamed of 
your majesty, praised be God, so long as your 
majesty is an honest man. 120 

A'. Hen. God keep me so ! 

Enter Williams. 
30 



Our heralds go with him: 

Bring me just notice of the numbers dead 

On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither. 

[^Points to Williams. Exeunt Heralds 

with Montjoy.^ 

Eoce. Soldier, you must come to the king. 124 

K. Hen. Soldier, why wearest thou that glove in 
thy cap.^ 

Will. And 't please your majesty, 'tis the gage 
of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. 

K. Hen, An Englishman? 129 

Will. And 't please your majesty, a rascal that 
swaggered with me last night; who, if alive 
and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have 
sworn to take him a box o' th' ear: or if I can 
see my glove in his cap, which he swore, as he 
was a soldier, he would wear if alive, I will 
strike it out soundly. 136 

K. Hen. What think you. Captain Fluellen.^ is 
it fit this soldier keep his oath? 

Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, and 't 
please your majesty, in my conscience. 140 

K, Hen. It may be his enemy is a gentleman 
of great sort, quite from the answer of his 
degree. 143 

Flu. Though he be as good a gentleman as the 
devil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is 
necessary, look your grace, that he keep his 
vow and his oath: if he be perjured, see you 
now, his reputation is as arrant a villain and 
a Jacksauce, as ever his black shoe trod upon 
God's ground and his earth, in my conscience, la! 

K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou 
meetest the fellow. 

Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. 

K. Hen. Who servest thou under ? 

Will. Under Captain Gower, my liege. 155 

Flu. Gower is a good captain, and is good know- 
ledge and literatured in the wars. 

K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. 

Will. I will, my liege. 

Exit. 

K. Hen. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour 
for me and stick it in thy cap: when Alen^on 
and myself were down together, I plucked this 
glove from his helm: if any man challenge 
this, he is a friend to Alen^on, and an enemy 
to our person ; if thou encounter any such, ap- 
prehend him, and thou dost me love. 166 

Flu. Your grace doo's me as great honours as 
can be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I 
would fain see the man, that has but two legs. 



38 



HENRY V 



ACT IV. SC. VII. 



that shall find hhnself aggrief ed at this glove ; 
that is all; but I would fain see it once^ and 
please God of his grace that I might see. 172 

K. Hen. Know est thou Gower? 

Flu. He is my dear friend, and please you. 

K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him 
to my tent. 176 

Flu. I will fetch him. Exit. 

K. Hen. j\Iy lord of Warwick, and my brother 
Gloucester, 
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels. 
The glove which I have given him for a favour 
May haply purchase him a box o' th' ear; 181 
It is the soldier's ; I by bargain should 
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin War- 
wick : 
If that the soldier strike him, as I judge 
By his blunt bearing he will keep his word, 185 
Some sudden mischief may arise of it; 
For I do know Fluellen valiant 
And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder. 
And quickly will return an injury. 
Follow, and see there be no harm between 
them. 190 

Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. 

Exeunt. 



[Scene VIIl.^Before King Henry's pavilion.] 

Enter Gower and Williams. 
Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain. 

Enter Fluellen. 

Flu. God's will and his pleasure, captain, I be- 
seech you now, come apace to the king: there 
is more good toward you peradventure than is 
in your knowledge to dream of. 5 

Will. Sir, know you this glove? 

Flu. Know the glove! I know the glove is a 
glove. 

Will. I know this; and thus I challenge it. 

Strikes him. 

Flu. 'Sblood ! an arrant traitor as any is in the 
universal world, or in France, or in England ! 

Gow. How now, sir ! you villain ! 12 

Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn? 

Flu. Stand away. Captain Gower; I will give 
treason his payment into plows, I warrant you. 

Will. I am no traitor. 16 

Flu. That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you 



in his majesty's name, apprehend him: he's a 
friend of the Duke Alen9on's. 

Enter Warwick and Gloucester. 

War, How now, how now! what's the matter? 20 

Flu. My Lord of Warwick, here is — praised be 

God for it ! — a most contagious treason come 

to light, look you, as you shall desire in a 

summer's day. Here is his majesty. 

Enter King Henry and Exeter. 

K. Hen. How now ! what's the matter ? 25 

Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, 
that, look your grace, has struck the glove 
which your majesty is take out of the helmet 
of Alen9on. 

Will. My liege, this was my glove; here is the 
fellow of it; and he that I gave it to in change 
promised to wear it in his cap: I promised to 
strike him, if he did: I met this man with my 
glove in his cap, and I have been as good as 
my word. 34 

Flu. Your majesty hear now, saving your 
majesty's manhood, what an arrant, rascally, 
beggarly, lousy knave it is: I hope your 
maj esty is pear me testimony and witness, and 
will avouchment, that this is the glove of 
Alen9on, that your majesty is give me; in your 
conscience, now. 40 

K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier: look, here 
is the fellow of it. 

'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike; 
And thou hast given me most bitter terms. 

Flu. And please your majesty, let his neck 
answer for it, if there is any martial law in 
the world. 47 

K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction? 

Will. All offences, my lord, come from the heart : 
never came any from mine that might offend 
your majesty. 51 J 

K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. \ 

Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: you 
appeared to me but as a common man ; witness 
the night, your garments, your lowliness; and 
what your highness suffered under that shape, 
I beseech you take it for your own fault and 
not mine: for had you been as I took you for, 
I made no offence; therefore, I beseech your 
highness, pardon me. 60 

K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with 



306 



ACT IV. SC. VIII. 



HENRY V 



39 



And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow ; 
And wear it for an honour in thy cap 
Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns: 
And, captain, you must needs be friends with 
him. 65 

Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has 
mettle enough in his belly. Hold, there is 
twelve pence for you ; and I pray you to serve 
God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, 
and quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant 
you, it is the better for you. 71 

Will. I will none of your money. 

Flu. It is with a good will ; I can tell you, it will 
serve you to mend your shoes: come, where- 
fore should 3'ou be so pashful.^ your shoes is 
not so good : 'tis a good silling, I warrant you, 
or I will change it. 77 

Enter \^an English'] Herald. 

K. Hen. Now, herald, are the dead number'd? 
Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd 

French. 

[Gives a paper.] 
K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, 

uncle ? 80 

Exe. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the 

king; 
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt: 
Of other lords and barons, knights and 

squires. 
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. 
K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand 

French 85 

That in the field lie slain: of princes, in this 

number. 
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 
One hundred twenty-six: added to these. 
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen. 
Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the 

which, 90 

Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd 

knights : 
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost. 
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; 
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, 

squires. 
And gentlemen of blood and quality. 95 

The names of those their nobles that lie dead : 
Charles Delabreth, high constable of France; 
Jacques of Chatillon, admiral of France ; 
The master of the cross-bows. Lord Rambures ; 



Great Master of France, the brave Sir 
Guichard Dolphin, 100 

John Duke of Alen9on, Anthony Duke of Bra- 
bant, 
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy, 
And Edward Duke of Bar: of lusty earls 
Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix, 
Beaumont and Marie, Vaudemont and Les- 
trale. 105 

Here was a royal fellowship of death ! 
Where is the number of our English dead? 

[Herald shows him another paper.] 
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suf- 
folk, 
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire: 
None else of name ; and of all other men no 
But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was 

here; 
And not to us, but to thy arm alone. 
Ascribe we all ! When, without stratagem. 
But in plain shock and even play of battle. 
Was ever known so great and little loss 115 
On one part and on the other ? Take it, God, 
For it is none but thine! 
Ej;e. 'Tis wonderful ! 

K. Hen, Come^ go we in procession to the vil- 
lage. 
And be it death proclaimed through our host 
To boast of this or take that praise from God 
Which is his only. 121 

Flu. Is it not lawful, and please your majesty, 

to tell how many is killed? 
K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknowledg- 
ment. 
That God fought for us. 125 

Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great good. 
K. Hen. Do we all holy rites ; 

Let there be sung 'Non nobis' and 'Te Deum'; 
The dead with charity enclosed in clay: 
And then to Calais ; and to England then ; 130 
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy 
men. Exeunt, 



ACT [FIFTH] 

Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the 
story. 
That I may prompt them : and of such as have, 
I humbly pray them to admit the excuse 
Of time, of numbers and due course of things. 



307 



40 



HENRY V 



[act v. SC. I. 



Which cannot in their huge and proper life 5 
Be here presented. Now we bear the king 
Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen, 
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts 
Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach 
Pales in the flood with men, with wives and 

boys, 10 

Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep- 

mouth'd sea. 
Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king 
Seems to prepare his way. So let him land. 
And solemnly see him set on to London. 
So swift a pace hath thought that even now 15 
You may imagine him upon Blackheath; 
Where that his lords desire him to have borne 
His bruised helmet and his bended sword 
Before him through the city: he forbids it. 
Being free from vainness and -self-glorious 

pride ; 20 

Giving full trophy, signal and ostent 
Quite from himself to God. But now behold. 
In the quick forge and working-house of 

thought. 
How London doth pour out her citizens ! 
The mayor and all his brethren in best sort, 25 
Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
With the plebeians swarming at their heels. 
Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar 

in: 
As, by a lower but loving likelihood. 
Were now the general of our gracious empress. 
As in good time he may, from Ireland coming. 
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, 32 
How many would the peaceful city quit. 
To welcome him ! much more, and much more 

cause. 
Did they this Harry. Now in London place 

him. 35 

As yet the lamentation of the French 
Invites the King of England's stay at home. 
The emperor's coming in behalf of France, 
To order peace between them; and omit 
All the occurrences, whatever chanced, 40 

Till Harry's back-return again to France: 
There must we bring him; and myself have 

play'd 
The interim, by remembering you 'tis past. 
Then brook abridgment, and your eyes ad- 
vance. 
After your thoughts, straight back again to 

France. 45 

Exit. 



[Scene I. — France. The English camp.] 
Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your 
leek to-day.^ Saint Davy's day is past. 

Flu. There is occasions and causes why and 
wherefore in all things. I will tell you, asse 
my friend. Captain Gower: the rascally, 
scauld, beggarly, lousy, pragging knave Pistol, 
which you and yourself and all the world know 
to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of 
no merits, he is come to me and prings me 
pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid 
me eat my leek. It was in a place where I 
could not breed no contention with him; but I 
will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till 
I see him once again, and then I will tell him 
a little piece of my desires. 14 

Enter Pistol. 

Gow, Why, here he comes, swelling like a tur- 
key-cock. 

Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his 
turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchient Pis- 
tol ! you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you ! 

Fist. Ha ! art thou bedlam } dost thou thirst, 
base Trojan, 20 

To have me fold up Parca's fatal web? 
Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. 

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, 
at my desires, and my requests, and my peti- 
tions, to eat, look you, this leek: because, 
look you, you do not love it, nor your affec- 
tions and your appetites and your digestions 
doo's not agree with it, I would desire you to 
eat it. 28 

Pist. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. 

Flu. There is one goat for you. (Strikes him.) 
Will you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it? 

Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. 32 

Flu. You say very true, scauld knave, when 
God's will is; I will desire you to live in the 
meantime, and eat your victuals. Come, there 
is sauce for it. [Strikes him.^ You called 
me yesterday mountain-squire ; but I will make 
you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray 
you, fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can 
eat a leek. 39 

Gow. Enough, captain: you have astonished 
him. 

Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my 



308 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



HENRY V 



il 



leek, or I will peat his pate four days. Bite, 
I pray you; it is good for your green wound 
and your ploody coxeomb. 45 

Pist. Must I bite? 

Flu. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out 
of question too, and ambiguities. 

Pist. By this leek, I wall most horribly revenge: 
I eat and eat, I swear — • 50 

Flu. Eat, I pray you: will you have some more 
sauce to your leek? there is not enough leek 
to swear by. 

Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat. 

Flu. Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily. 
Nay, pray you, throw none away; the skin is 
good for your broken coxcomb. When you 
take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray 
you, mock at 'em; that is all. 59 

Pist. Good. 

Flu. Ay, leeks is good : hold you, there is a groat 
to heal your pate. 

Pist. Me a groat! 

Flu. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; 
or I have another leek in my pocket, which 
you shall eat. 66 

Pist. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. 

Flu. If I ow^e you anything, I will pay you in 
cudgels: you shall be a woodmonger, and buy 
nothing of me but cudgels. Good b' wi' you, 
and keep you, and heal your pate. Ejcit. 

Pist. All hell shall stir for this. 72 

Goxv. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly 
knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, 
begun upon an honourable respect, and worn 
as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour 
and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your 
words ? I have seen you gleeking and galling 
at this gentleman twice or thrice. You 
thought, because he could not speak English 
in the native garb, he could not therefore 
handleanEnglishcudgel. Youfind it otherwise; 
and henceforth let a Welsh correction teach 
you a good English condition. Fare ye well. 

Exit. 

Pist. Doth Fortune play the huswife with me 
now ? 85 

News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital 
Of malady of France; 

And tliere my rendezvous is quite cut off. 
Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs 
Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd I'll turn, 90 
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. 
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal. 



And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd 

scars. 
And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. 

Exit. 

[Scene II. — France. A royal palace.^ 

Enter, at one door. King Henry, Exeter, Bed- 
ford, [Gloucester,'] Warwick, [Westmore- 
land,] and other lords; at another, the 
French King, Queen Isabel, [the Pnncess 
Katharine, Alice and other ladies]; the 
Duke of Burgundy, and other French. 

K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, v/herefore we are 
met! 
Unto our brother France, and to our sister, 
Health and fair time of day; joy and good 

wishes 
To our most fair and princely cousin Kath- 
arine ; 
And, as a branch and member of this royalty, 
By whom this great assembly is contriv'd, 6 
We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy; 
And, princes French, and peers, health to you 
all! 
Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your 
face. 
Most worthy brother England; fairly met: 10 
So are you, princes English, every one. 
Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England, 
Of this good day and of this gracious meeting. 
As we are now glad to behold your eyes; 
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them 
Against the French, that met them in their 
bent, 16 

The fatal balls of murdering basilisks. 
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope. 
Have lost their quality, and that this day 
Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. 
K. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. 21 
Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you. 
Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love. 

Great Kings of France and England ! That I 

have labour'd. 
With all my wits, my pains and strong en- 
deavours, 25 
To bring your most imperial majesties 
Unto this bar and royal interview, 
Your mightiness on both parts best can wit- 
ness. 
Since then my office hath so far prevail'd 
That, face to face and royal eye to eye, 30 



S09 



42 



HENRY V 



[act 



V. SC. II. 



You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me. 
If I demand, before this royal view, 
What rub or what impediment there is, 
Why that the naked, poor and mangled Peace, 
Dear nurse of arts, plenties and joyful births. 
Should not in this best garden of the world 36 
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? 
Alas, she hath from France too long been 

chased. 
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps. 
Corrupting in it own fertility. 40 

Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach'd. 
Like 23risoners wildly overgrown with hair. 
Put forth disordered twigs; her fallow leas 
The darnel, hemlock and rank fumitory 45 

Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts 
That should deracinate such savagery; 
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
The freckled cowslip, burnet and green clover, 
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 50 
Conceives by idleness and nothing teems 
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, 

burs. 
Losing both beauty and utility. 
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads and 

hedges. 
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness, 55 
Even so our houses and ourselves and children 
Have lost, or do not learn for want of time. 
The sciences that should become our country; 
But grow like savages, — as soldiers will 
That nothing do but meditate on blood, — 60 
To swearing and stern looks, defus'd attire 
And every thing that seems unnatural. 
Which to reduce into our former favour 
You are assembled: and my speech entreats 
That I may know the let, why gentle Peace 65 
Should not expel these inconveniences 
And bless us with her former qualities. 
K. Hen. If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the 

peace. 
Whose want gives growth to the imperfections 
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace 
With full accord to all our j ust demands, 71 
Whose tenours and particular effects 
You have ensch(^duled briefly in your hands. 
Bur. The king hatli lieard them; to the which as 

yet 
There is no answer made. 
K. Hen. Well then the peace, 75 

Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer. 



Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye 

O'erglanced the articles. Pleaseth your grace 
To appoint some of your council presently 
To sit with us once more, with better heed 80 
To re-survey them, we will suddenly 
Pass our accept and peremptory answer. 

K. Hen. Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter, 
And brother Clarence, and you, brother Glou- 
cester, 
Warwick and Huntingdon, go with the king; 
And take with you free power to ratify, 86 

Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 
Shall see advantageable for our dignity. 
Any thing in or out of our demands. 
And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sis- 
ter, 90 
Go with the princes, or stay here with us ? 

Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with 
them. 
Haply a woman's voice may do some good. 
When articles too nicely urged be stood on. 

K, Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here 
with us : 95 

She is our capital demand, compris'd 
Within the fore-rank of our articles. 

Q, Isa. She hath good leave. 

Exeunt all [except Henry, Katharine, 

and Alice^. 

K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair. 

Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms 
Such as will enter at a lady's ear 100 

And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart .^ 

Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot 
speak your England. 

K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me 
soundly with your French heart, I will be glad 
to hear you confess it brokenly with your Eng- 
lish tongue. Do you like me, Kate? 107 

Kath. Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is 'like 
me.' 

K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate, and you are 
like an angel. m 

Kath. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les 
anges ? 

Alice. Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi 
dit-il. 115 

K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine; and I must 
not blush to affirm it. 

Kath. O bon Dieu ! les langues des hommes sont 
pleines de tromperies. 

K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the 
tongues of men are full of deceits? 121 



310 



ACT V. SC. II,] 



HENRY V 



43 



Alice. Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full 
of deceits: dat is de princess. 

K. Hen. The princess is the better English- 
woman. I' faith^ Kate, my wooing is fit for 
thy understanding; I am glad thou canst speak 
no better English; for^ if thou couldst, thou 
wouldst find me such a plain king that thou 
wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my 
crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, 
but directly to say 'I love you.' Then if you 
urge me farther than to say 'do you in faith?' 
I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; 
i' faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain: 
how say you, lady? 134 

Kath. Sauf votre honneur, me understand veil. 

K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses 
or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid 
me: for the one, I have neither words nor 
measure, and for the other, I have no strength 
in measure, yet a reasonable measure in 
strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, 
or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour 
on my back, under the correction of bragging 
be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. 
Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my 
horse for her favours, I could lay on like a 
butcher and sit like a j ack-an-apes, never off. 
But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly 
nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cun- 
ning in protestation; only downright oaths, 
which I never use till urged, nor never break 
for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this 
temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun- 
burning, that never looks in his glass for love 
of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be 
thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: if 
thou canst love me for this, take me ; if not, to 
say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy 
love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too. 
And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fel- 
low of plain and uncoined constancy. For he 
perforce must do thee right, because he hath 
not the gift to woo in other places: for these 
fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme 
themselves into ladies' favours, they do always 
reason themselves out again. What ! a speaker 
is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A 
good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; 
a black beard will turn white; a curled pate 
will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full 
eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, 
is the sun and the moon ; or rather the sun and 



not the moon ; for it shines bright and never 
changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou 
would have such a one, take me; and take me, 
take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. 
And what sayest thou then to my love? speak, 
my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. 177 

Kath. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of 
France ? 

K. Hen. No; it is not possible you should love 
the enemy of France, Kate: but, in loving me, 
you should love the friend of France; for I 
love France so well that I will not part with a 
village of it. I will have it all mine: and, 
Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, 
then yours is France and you are mine. 186 

Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. 

K. Hen. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; 
which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like 
a new-married wife about her husband's neck, 
hardly to be shook off. Je quand sur le pos- 
session de France, e;t quand vous avez le pos- 
session de moi, — let me see, what then ? Saint 
Denis be my speed ! — done votre est France et 
vous etes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, 
to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much 
more French. I shall never move thee in 
French, unless it be to laugh at me. 198 

Kath. Sauf votre honneur, le Francois que vous 
parlez, il est meilleur que I'Anglois lequel je 
parle. 

K. Hen. No, faith, is't not, Kate ; but thy speak- 
ing of my tongue, and I thine, most truly- 
falsely, must needs be granted to be much at 
one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus 
much English, canst thou love me? 206 

Kath. I cannot tell. 

K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? 
I'll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me; 
and at night, when you come into your closet, 
you'll question this gentlewoman about me; 
and I know, Kate, you will to her dispraise 
those parts in me that you love with your 
heart. But, good Kate, mock me mercifully; 
the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee 
cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I 
have a saving faith within me tells me thou 
shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must 
therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder. 
Shall not thou and I, between Saint Denis and 
Saint George, compound a boy, half French, 
half English, that shall go to Constantinople 
and take the Turk by the beard? shall we 



311 



44 



HENRY V 



[act 



V. SC. II. 



not ? what sayest tlioii^ my fair flower-de-luce ? 

Katli. I do not know dat. 225 

K. Hen. No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to 
promise: do but now promise, Kate, j^^ou will 
endeavour for your French part of such a boy ; 
and for my English moiety take the word of a 
king and a bachelor. How answer you, la 
plus belle Katharine du monde, mon tres cher 
et devin deesse? 232 

Kath. Your majestee ave fausse French enough 
to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en 
France. 235 

K. Hen. Now, fie upon my false French! By 
mine honour, in true English, I love thee, 
Kate: by which honour I dare not swear thou 
lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me 
that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and 
untempering effect of my visage. Now, be- 
shrew my father's ambition! he was thinking 
of civil wars when he got me. Therefore was 
I created with a stubborn outside, with an 
aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, 
I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I 
wax, the better I shall appear. My comfort 
is, that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, 
can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou 
hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and 
thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better 
and better: and therefore tell me, most fair 
Katharine, will you have me? Put off your 
maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your 
heart with the looks of an empress; take me 
by the hand and say 'Harry of England, I am 
thine:' which word thou shalt no sooner bless 
mine ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud 
'England is thine, Ireland is thine, France 
is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine'; 
who, though I speak it before his face, 
if he be not fellow with the best king, thou 
shalt find the best king of good fellows. 
Come, your answer in broken music; for thy 
voice is music and thy English broken; there- 
fore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind 
to me in broken English ; wilt thou have me? 266 

Kath. Dat is as it sail please de roi mon pere. 

K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it 
shall please him, Kate. 

Kath. Den it sail also content me. 

K. Hen. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call 
you my queen. 272 

Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez. 
Ma foi, je ne veux point que vous abaissiez 

312 



votre grandeur en baisant la main d'une de 
votre seigneurie indigne serviteur; excusez- 
moi, je vous supplie, mon tres-puissant seig- 
neur. 

K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 

Kath. Les dames et demoiselles pour etre 
baisees devant leur noces, il n'est pas la cou- 
tume de France. 281 

K. Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says 
she ? 

Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies 
of France, — I cannot tell vat is baiser en 
Anglish. 

K. Hen. To kiss. 287 

Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que moi. 

K. Hen. It is not a fashion for the maids in 
France to kiss before they are married, would 
she say? 

Alice. Oui, vraiment. 292 

K. Hen. O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great 
kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be con- 
fined within the weak list of a country's fash- 



ion : we are the makers of manners, Kate ; and 
the liberty that follows our places stops the 
mouth of all find-faults ; as I will do yours, for 
upholding the nice fashion of your country in 
denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently and 
yielding. [Kissing he7\] You have witch- 
craft in your lips, Kate: there is more elo- 
quence in a sugar touch of them than in the 
tongues of the French council ; and they should 
sooner persuade Harry of England than a 
general petition of monarchs. Here comes 
your father. 306 

Enter the French Power and the English Lords. 

Bur. God save your majesty! my royal cousin, 
teach you our princess English ? 

K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, 
how perfectly I love her; and 'that is good 
English. 311 

Bur. Is she not apt? 

K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my con- 
dition is not smooth; so that, having neither 
the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I 
cannot so conjure up the spirit* of love in her, 
that he will appear in his true likeness. 317 

Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I 
answer you for that. If you would conjure 
in her, you must make a circle; if conjure up 
love in her in his true likeness, he must appear 



ACT V. 



SC. II.] 



HENRY V 



45 



naked and blind. Can you blame her theii;, 
being a maid yet rosed over with the virgin 
crimson of modesty, if she deny the appear- 
ance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing 
self? It were, my lord, a hard condition for 
a maid to consign to. Z2() 

K. Hen. Yet they do wink and yield, as love is 
blind and enforces. 

Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when they 
see not what they do. 330 

K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin 
to consent winking. 

Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if 
you will teach her to know my meaning: for 
maids, well summered and warm kept, are like 
flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they 
have their eyes; and then they will endure 
handling, which before would not abide look- 
ing on. 338 

K.Hen. This moral ties me over to time and a hot 
summer ; and so I shall catch the fl}^, your cousin, 
in the latter end and she must be blind 
too. 

Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. 342 

K. Hen. It is so: and you may, some of you, 
thank love for my blindness, who cannot see 
many a fair French city for one fair French 
maid that stands in my way. 346 

Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see tliem perspec- 
tively, the cities turned into a maid ; for they 
are all girdled with maiden walls that war 
hath never entered. 350 

K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife? 

Fr. King. So please you. 

K. Hen. I am content; so the maiden cities you 
talk of may wait on her. So the maid that 
stood in the way for my wish shall show me 
the way to my will. 356 

Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of 
reason. 

K. Hen. Is't so, my lords of England? 
, West. The king liath granted every article: 360 

His daughter first, and then in sequel all, 
i According to their firm proposed natures. 
! Exe. Only he hath not yet subscribed this: 
j Where your majesty demands, tliat the King 
! of France, having any occasion to write for 
matter of grant, shall name your highness in 
this form and with this addition, in French, 
Notre tres-cher fils Henri, Roi d'Angleterre, 



Heritier de France; and thus in Latin, Prae- 
clarissimus filius noster Henricus, Rex Angliae, 
et Haeres Franciae. 370 

Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so de- 
nied. 
But your request shall make me let it pass. 
K. Hen. I pray you then, in love and dear 
alliance. 
Let that one article rank with the rest; 
And thereupon give me your daughter. 375 

Fr. King. Take her, fair son, and from her 
blood raise up 
Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms 
Of France and England, whose very shores 

look pale 
With envy of each other's happiness. 
May cease their hatred, and this dear con- 
j unction 380 

Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord 
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair 
France. 
All. Amen! 

K, Hen. Now, welcome, Kate: and bear me wit- 
ness all, 385 
That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. 

Flourish. 
Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages. 
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in 

one ! 
As man and wife, being two, are one in love, 
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a 
spousal, 390 

That never may ill office, or fell jealousy. 
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed mar- 
riage. 
Thrust in between the paction of these king- 
doms. 
To make divorce of their incorporate league; 
That English may as French, French English- 
men, 395 
Receive each other. God speak this Amen ! 
All. Amen! 

K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage: on which 
day. 
My Lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath, 
And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. 
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me ; 401 
And may our oaths well kept and prosperous 
be ! Sennet. Exeunt. 



313 



46 



HENRY V 



[EPILOGUE.] 
Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Thus iar, with rough and all-unable pen, 
Our bending author hath pursued the story, 
In little room confining mighty men. 

Mangling by starts the full course of their 

glory. 

Small time, but in that small most greatly 

lived 5 

This star of England: Fortune made his 

sword ; 



By which the world's best garden he achieved. 

And of it left his son imperial lord. 
Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd King 
Of France and England, did this king suc- 
ceed; 10 
Whose state so many had the managing. 
That they lost France and made his Eng- 
land bleed: 
Which oft our stage hath shown ; and, for their 

sake. 
In your fair minds let this acceptance take. 

Ea;it. 



FINIS 



NOTES 



The scene of the action and names of the charac- 
ters, omitted in the original editions, have been sup- 
pHed by later editors, who have also divided the acts 
into scenes. Q signifies virtual agreement of the 
quartos, F the first folio. 

ACT I 

Ch. 7 famine, sword, and fire. 'Blood, fire and 
famine' are described by Holinshed as the three 
handmaidens of Bellona, the goddess of battle. 

11 cockpit. The interior of the Elizabethan thea- 
tres was not unlike that of the buildings used for 
cockfighting, A part of the modern English thea- 
tres is still known as 'the pit.' 

13 wooden 0. Probably a reference to the Globe 
Theatre, built in 1599; it was octagonal outside, 
and round inside. 

18 imaginary forces, powers of imagination. 

32 Chorus. The usual function of the classical 
Chorus was to comment on the action, and explain 
its moral significance. Shakespeare uses it here, as 
in Romeo and Juliet, for a different purpose. 

i. 1 self, same. 

4 scambling-, scrambling, disturbed. 

5 question, debate, consideration. 
15 lazars, sick beggars like Lazarus. 

29-31 The reference is to the expulsion of Adam 
and Eve from the Garden of Eden, the gates of 
which were guarded by an angel. 

34 heady currance, headlong current, like that of 
the river by which Hercules cleansed the Augean 
stables. 

35 Hydra-headed wilfulness, infinite caprice or 
waywardness. The killing of the Hydra was an- 
other of the labors of Hercules. 

46 Gordian knot, cut by Alexander of Macedon. 

48 charter'd, licensed. 

55 companies, companions. 



59 popularity, association with the populace. 

60-63 The strawberry . . . baser quality. The cur- 
rent botany of the time, as found in Montaigne and 
Bacon. 

66 crescive in his faculty, having the power of i 
growth. I 

74 exhibiters, introducers of the bill. ' 

86 severals, details, passages, lines of descent. 

ii. 15 nicely, subtly. 

16 miscreate, forged. 

19 approbation, support, proof. 

21 impawn, pledge. 

40 glose, interpret. 

49 dishonest, dishonorable, unchaste. 

72 find, provide. 

74 Convey'd, passed himself off. 

77 Lewis the tenth, really the ninth, but the mis- 
take was that of Shakespeare's authority, Holin- 
shed. 

82 lineal, descended from. 

88 satisfaction, the assurance that satisfied him. 

94 amply to imbar, to exclude altogether. J 

98 Numbers, XXVII. 8. I 

108 his most mighty father, Edward III at the bat- 
tle of Crecy (1346) 'stood aloft on a windmill hill' 
(Holinshed). 
114 cold for, cold for lack of. 
137 proportions, assignment of troops. 

144 intendment, attack. 

145 still, constantly. 

151 gleaned, stripped of defenders, 
assays, attacks. 

155 fear'd, frightened. 

161 send to France. This is not the fact, but it is 
so represented in the old play of Edward III, pr. 
1596. 

173 tear] Rowe; tame F. 

175 crush'd, strained, force^ — not a logical conclu- 
sion. 



314, 



HENRY V 



47 



179 advised, thoughtful, taking counsel. 

181 consent, harmony. 

184 state, kingdom. 

187-204 so . . . drone. This elaborate simile had al- 
ready been worked out in the Euphues (1580) of 
John Lyly, who borrowed it from Pliny. 

190 sorts, various ranks. 

202 sad-eyed, of grave aspect. 

203 executors, executioners. 

232 Turkish mute, one whose tongue was cut out to 
secure his silence. 

233 waxen, secured by wax only, as laudatory poems 
were attached to tombs. 

252 g^alliard, a lively dance. 

255 tun, a cask, or a silver-gilt goblet. The Famous 

Victories has the phrases 'a gilded tun' and 'a tun 

of tennis balls'; Holinshed says 'a barrel of Paris 

balls.' 
261-266 rackets . . . set . . . hazard . . . courts . . . 

chases, tennis terms used in double meaning. 
270 hence, away from court. 
282 g-un-stones, cannon-balls, which were at first 

made of stone. 
300 omit, let slip. 

304 proportions. See note on line 137. 
307 God before, before God, or perhaps, God going 

before us, i. e., with the help of God. 

ACT II 

Ch. 9 hilts, the projecting crosspieces below the han- 
dle. 

18 would, would have. 

23 Richard Earl of Cambridge, younger brother of 
the Duke of York killed at Agincourt, and grand- 
father of Edward IV and Richard III. He was 
descended from the fourth son, and his wife, Anne 
Mortimer, from the second son of Edward III; 
Henry V was descended from John of Gaunt, the 
third son. 

1. 3 Ancient, Ensign. 

17 rest, a card term, equivalent to 'standing pat' in 
poker. 

26 mare] Q; name F. 

31 tike, cur. 

39 drawn] Theobald; hewne F. 

44 Iceland dogs had a reputation for being vicious 
and quarrelsome. 

48 shog", jog. 

52 perdy, per dieu. 

55 take, catch fire, like cock, an allusion to Pis- 
tol's name. 

57 Barbason, a fiend. 

66 exhale, draw your sword. 

75 Couple a g-orge, Pistol's French for coupez la 
f/o)'(/e, 'cut your throat.' 

78 spital, hospital. 

79 lazar, a diseased beggar. See I. i. 15. 

80 Cressid, the type of inconstancy. 
84 pauca {verba), few words. 

91 yield the crow a pudding, come to the gallows 
(referring to the Boy). His, of course, refers to 
Falstaff. 
110-111 I . . . betting] Q; om. F. 



112 noble, six shillings and eightpence- — ^a discount 

of 17% for cash! 
124 quotidian, a fever recurring daily; tertian, every 

third day. 
132 careers, whims. 

ii. 18 head, armed force. 
22 consent, agreement, harmony. See I. ii. 181. 
31 create. Latin past participle; cf. miscreate, I. ii. 
16. 

43 more advice, thinking better of it. 

44 security, carelessness, over-confidence. 
54 distemper, intoxication. 

61 late, lately appointed. 
75 hath] Q; have F. 

79 quick, alive. 

86 accord, agree, consent. 

90 practices, plots. Cf. 99 practis'd. 

108 admiration, wonder, astonishment. 

109 proportion, reason, order of nature. 
114 All] Hanmer; And F. 

hoop, exclaim, shout. 

114 sugg-est, tempt. 

123 Tartar, Tartarus, the classical hell. 

134 complement, exterior, demeanor. 

137 bolted, sifted like the finest flour. 

139 full-fraught, endowed with all virtues, 
mark the] Malone; make thee F. 

148 Henry] Q; Thomas F. 

155-157 For . . . intended. According to Holinshed, 
the real motive of Cambridge was to transfer the 
crown to his brother-in-law, the Earl of March, 
whose next heirs were Cambridge's children. See 
note on II. Ch. 33. 

166 quit, acquit. 

175 tender, cherish tenderly. 

176 have] Q; om. F. 
188 rub, obstacle. 

iii. 1 bring", accompany, escort. 

3, 5 yearn, grieve. 

9-10 Arthur's, Abraham's. See Luke XVI. 22. 
12 Christom, the consecrated oil used at baptism. 
13-14 turning o' the tide. Cf. David Copperfield, 

Ch. XXX. 

17 a' babbled] Theobald; a Table F. 
26-27 and . . . stone] Q; om. F. 
56 crystals, eyes. 

iv. 25 morris-dance, a dance in fantastic costumes, 

used at Whitsuntide and other festivals. 
28 humorous, subject to humors or caprices. 
34 exception, objection. 
37 Brutus pretended madness to conceal his plans 

from Tai-quinius Superbus. 
54 mountain, mighty; apparently introduced for 

the sake of the pun. As to Cressy, see note on I. 

ii. 108. 
75 brother] Q^ Q^; brother of Q, F. 

80 'longs, belongs. 

85 sinister, indirect, illegitimate. 

awkward, twisted, not straightforward. 
88 line, genealogical tree. 
94 indirectly, wrongfully. 



815 



48 



HENRY V 



107 pining-] Q; privy F. 

132 Louvre, formerly a palace, now a picture gal- 
lery. 

ACT III 

Ch. 14 rivag-e, bank, shore. 
18 sternage, the stern. 

32 likes, pleases. 

33 linstock, a long stick holding a lighted match to 
fire a cannon. 

Alarum, call to arms, probably by drum-beat, 
chambers, small cannon used on the stage. 

1. 7 summon] Rowe; commune F. 

10 portage, portholes. 
13 jutty, jut over. 

18 fet, fetched. 

27 pasture, breeding, origin. 

ii. 6 plain-song, the air M^ithout variations, hence the 
simple truth. 

22 cullions, rascals, good-for-notliings. 

23 duke, leader, commander, Latin dux. 
mould, earth. 

26 bawcock (French beau coq), chuck, terms of 

endearment. 
30 swashers, swashbucklers, braggarts. 
32 antics, buffoons. 
50 carry coals, do menial service. 
54-55 pocketing up of, putting up with. 
61 Flu. Throughout this scene, the Folio has 
'Welch' for Fluellen, 'Scot' for Jamy, and 'Irish' 
for Macmorris. 
89 God-den, good evening. 
92 pioners, pioneers. 
110 quit, answer. 
124 lig, lie. 

126 breff, short. 

127 question, debate, as in I. i. 5. 

iii. 2 parle, parley. 

11 flesh'd, having tasted blood. See II. iv. 50. 

32 heady, headstrong, as in I. i. 34. 

40 wives of Jewry. See Matthew IV. 16, 18. 
50 .defensible, capable of defending ourselves. 

V. 6 luxury, vice, lasciviousness. The allusion here 
and in line 10 is to William the Conqueror, who 
was an illegitimate son. 

13 slobbery, sloppy. 

14 nook-shotten, full of inlets, or, perhaps, thrust 
into a corner. 

19 sur-rein'd, over-ridden. 
23 roping, dripping. 

33 lavoltas, corantos, lively dances. 

vi. 13 ancient, ensign, as commonly. 

41 Fortune . . . foe. There is an old ballad begin- 
ning 'Fortune my foe, why dost thou frown on me?' 

42 pax, a metal ])latc with a crucifix stamped on 
it, given by the priest to the congregation to kiss 
at mass, 

60 figo, an indecent, contemptuous gesture. 

75 sconce, fortification. 

79 con, learn by heart. 

80 new-tuned, new-fangled. 

3 



91 speak with him from, give him news from. 
108 bubukles, a word of Fluellen's coinage, appar- 
ently compounded of 'bubo' and 'carbuncle.' 
whelks, pustules, pimples. 

120 Tucket, a signal by sound of trumpet. 

121 habit, herald's coat. Montjoy is properly the ti- 
tle of the chief herald in France, but Shakespeare 
was lodging, at this time or a little later, with a 
French family named Mount joy, from whom pos- 
sibly he learnt the French used in the play. It is 
clear from 145-6 that he uses Montjoy as a proper 
name. 

146 quality, office, profession. 

151 impeachment, hindrance. French, empechement. 

161 blown, developed, made blossom. 

165 God before. See note on I. ii. 307. 
168 advise himself, reflect. 

vii. The Dauphin was not present at Agincourt; see 
III. V. 64-66. The quartos assign his speeches in 
this scene to Bourbon. 

14 hairs, with which tennis balls were stuffed. 

14-15 le cheval volant, the flying horse. Chez does 
not mean 'with,' though Shakespeare so uses it 
here. 

les narines de feu, the nostrils of fire. 

27 absolute, perfect. 

57 strait strossers, tight trousers; the Irish kern 
or footsoldier did not wear any. 

68-69 'Le chien . . . bburbier.' The dog has re- 
turned to his own vomit, and the washed sow to her 
wallowing in the mire. See 3 Peter II. Q2. 

93 go to hazard, gamble. See IV. Ch. 18-19. 

122 bate, flap the wings like a hawk unhooded; also 
abate. 

134 overshot, beateiT; also, intoxicated. 
142 peevish, foolish, silly. 
145 apprehension, intelligence. 

166 stomachs, another double meaning, physical ap- 
petite and courage. 



ACT IV 

Ch. 1 entertain conjecture, imagine. 
2 poring, causing to pore. Cf. 23, watchful fires. 

5 stilly, in a low murmur (adv.). 

6 fix'd, on fixed post. 
9 umber'd, shadowed. 

12 accomplishing, giving the finishing touch to fas- 
tening on the full armor by riveting the cuirass to 
the helmet. 

19-20 The confident — dice. 'The soldiers the night 
before had played the Englishmen at dice' (Holin- 
shed). See III. viii. 93. 

25 gesture, bearing. 

39 over-bears attaint, resists and conquers de- 
pressing influences. 

46 as may unworthiness define, so far as they are 
able to apprehend it. 

53 Minding, recalling, imagining. 

i. 10 dress, address, prepare. 
23 slough, as of a snake in the spring, 
legerity, lightness. 
16 



HENRY V 



49 



35 Qui va la] Rowe; che vous la F. But the bad 

French may be Pistol's, not the printer's. 
38 popular, of the people. 

44 bawcock, fine fellow. See note on III. ii. 26. 

45 imp, a shoot or scion. 
49 le Roy, the King. 

51 a Welshman. Henry V was born at Monmouth, 
on the Welsh border. 

55 Saint Davy's day, March 1, the day of St. David, 

the Welsh patron saint. The leek is the national 

emblem, and is worn on that day to commemorate 

a victory over the Saxons in 540. 

60 figo. See note on III. vi. 60. 

66 admiration, wonder, astonishment, as in II. ii. 

108. 
96 Thomas] Pope; John F. 
107 element, sky. 

109 ceremonies, ceremonial robes and ornaments. 
112 stoop, as a hawk on the prey. 
115 possess, invest, infect. 
147 rawly, without proper provision. 
150 argument, business. 
155 sinfully, in his sins. 
176 native, in their own country. 
183 unprovided, without spiritual preparation. 
186 visited, punished. 

209 pay, (used ironically) 'get even with.' 

210 elder-gun, pop-gun. 

216 round, direct, plain-sjioken. 

231 take, give. 

246 clipper. To cut or clip English money was a 

crime. Crowns is used in the double sense of 

'heads' and 'coins.' 
248 careful, anxious. 
253 wringing, physical pain. 
255 privates, private persons. 
262 soul, essence. 
271 blown from, puffed up by. 
277 balm, the consecrated oil with which the English 

king is anointed at his coronation. 

ball, borne by the king in his left hand as a sign 

of sovereignty. 
280 farced, stuffed, pompous. 
287 distressful, hard-earned. 
292 Hyperion, the sun-god. 
301 advantages, benefits; hours is the subject, and 

peasant the object of the verb. 
308 if] Tyrrwhit; of F. 
318 chantries, chapels endowed for the singing of 

masses for departed souls. 

ii. 4-5 eaux, terre, air, feu, water, earth, air, fire — 

the four elements. 
11 dQut] Rowe; doubt F. 'dout' is equivalent to 

'do out,' i. e., put out. 
i8 shales, shells. 
21 curtle-axe, a corruption of French coutelas, a 

short sword. 
29 hilding, worthless, insignificant. 
31 speculation (five syllables), looking-on. 

35 tucket. See note on III. vi. 120. 

36 dare, intimidate. 

44 beaver, the lower part of the front of the hel- 
met. 
47 Lob; hang. 



48 down-roping. See III. v. 23, note. 

49 gimmal'd, jointed. 
61 trumpet, trumpeter. 

iii. 10 kinsman, Westmoreland, who was connected 
with Salisbury by marriage. 
12 Farewell . . . today] Q; after line 14 F. 

19 cousin, relative. Westmoreland married a daugh- 
ter of John of Gaunt, Henry's grandfather. 

26 yearns, grieves, as in II. iii. 3, 5, 
40 Crispian, a Roman saint and martyr, whose day, 
with that of his brother Crispin, is Oct. '25. 

44 live — see] Pope; see— live F. 

45 vigil, the evening before. 

50 with advantages, adding something to his 
achievements. 

63 gentle his condition, give him the rank of a 
gentleman. Henry carried out this promise by 
legislation two years later. 
70 expedience, expedition, speed, 
77 likes, pleases as in III. Ch. 32. 
107 relapse of mortality, deadly rebound. 
130 vaward, vanguard. 

iv. Excursions, hurried movements of small bodies 
of troops and single combats to suggest a battle in 
progress. 

4 custure me. There is an old Irish song 'Calen 
o custure me,' but it is idle to force PistoFs gib- 
berish into sense. 

9 fox, a cant word for sword, a fox being the 
blade-mark of a famous sword maker. 

14 Moy, a grain measure. Latin modius, a bushel. 

15 rim, diaphragm. 

Or] Hanmer; For F. 

20 luxurious, lascivious. 

29 firk, drub, beat. 

30 ferret, worry like a ferret. 

75 devil, a favorite character in the miracle and 
moral plays, in which he supplied the element of 
boisterous humor and braggadoccio. 

80-82 luggage . . . boys. This is the last exit of 
the Boy, who presumably falls in the slaughter de- 
scribed in the opening lines of Scene vii. 

V. 11 honour] Knight; om. F. 
15 by a] Q; a base F. 

22 Bourbon appears in Scene vii. as King Henry's 
prisoner. 

vi. 7 Larding, enriching. 

9 honour-owing, honor-owning, honorable. 
11 haggled, mangled. 

21 raught, reached. 

31 mother, the gentler, emotional part of human 
nature. 

vii, 64 skirr, scurry. 

65 enforced, driven. 

81 their] Malone; with F. 

83 Yerk, jerk, kick. 
133 take, give, as in IV. i. 231. 
181 purchase, obtain, acquire. See III. ii. 45. 



317 



50 



HENRY V 



viii. 128 'non nobis' and *Te Deum.' Holinshed men- 
tions the singing of this psalm of penitence and 
hymn of praise. 

ACT V 
Ch. 10 Pales, fences. 
12 whiffier, the marshal clearing the way for a pro- 
cession. 
14 solemnly, with pomp and ceremony. 
21 trophy, signal and ostent, outward sign and 

show of triumph. 
25 in best sort, in official array. 

29 but] Cambridge; but by F. 

30 the general, Essex, who set forth on his cam- 
paign against the Irish rebels in April, 1599, and 
returned in disgrace the following September. 
This reference gives a most important indication 
of the date of the play. 

32 broached, spitted. 

38 emperor, Sigismund, who married Henry's cousin. 
He came to England in May, 1416. 

44 brook, make the best of. As a matter of fact, 
nearly five years elapsed between the battle of 
Agincourt and Henry's betrothal to Katharine. 

1. 2 Saint Davy's day. See note on IV. i. 55. 
5 scauld, scurvy. 
29 Cadwallader, the last Welsh king. 
61 groat, fourpence. 
75 respect, consideration. 

78 gleeking and galling, scoffing and sneering. 
85 huswife, jilt, jade, hussy. 

spital, hospital, as in II. i. 78. 
94 Exit. Dr. Johnson remarks that this is the dis- 
inissal of the last of the comic personages of Henry 
IV and Henry V, adding, 'I believe every reader 
regrets their departure.' 

ii. 1 wherefore refers to Peace. 

17 basilisks, fabulous serpents whose look was fa- 
tal, and, hence, large cannon. 

18 bar, place of conference. 

31 congreeted, exchanged greetings. 

33 rub, obstacle, as in II. ii. 188. 

42 even-pleach'd, regularly interwoven. 

49 burnet, a herb with brown flowers. 

55 natures, natural offices, i. e., to feed man. 

61 defus'd, disordered. 

63 reduce, bring back. 

65 let, hindrance, obstacle. 

77 cursorary, cursory, hasty. 

79 presently, at once. 

82 accept, accepted. Latin past participle. 



94 nicely, subtly, as in I. ii. 15. 
130 directly, straightforwardly, plainly. 
139-141 measure, used in three senses: (1) versifica- 
tion; (2) dancing; (3) amount. 

148 jack-an-apes, monkey. 

149 greenly, like a maid with green-sickness. 

161 uncoined, not passed from one lady to another 
like a piece of money, but of virgin gold. 

167 fall, shrink. 

191 Je quand sur. Pope corrected Henry's French 
to 'Quand j'ay.' 

193 St. Denis, the patron saint of France. 

194 speed, helper. 

218 scambling, scrambling, struggling. See I. i. 4. 

221 a boy. Dramatic irony, for the son of Henry V 
lost his father's French possessions and brought 
his own realm to ruin. See Epilogue. The Turks 
had not taken Constantinople in 14,20. 

263 broken music, a technical term for an effect 
produced by substituting one instrument for aur 
other in orchestral pieces. 

273-277 Laissez . . seigneur. 'Let be, my lord, let 
be, let be: my faith, I cannot allow you to abase 
your greatness by kissing the hand of your lord- 
ship's most humble servant; excuse me, I beg you, 
my most mighty lord.' The passage, like the rest 
of the French text, is very incorrectly printed in 
first folio. 

293-299 nice, subtle, delicate, prudish. 

295 list, barrier. 

313 condition, disposition, character. 

332 winking, with eyes shut. 

336 Bartholomew-tide, St. Bartholomew's Day, Aug. 
24. The betrothal took place in May. 

347 perspectively, as through a perspective, a glass 
cut so as to produce an optical delusion. 

350 never] Rowe; om. F. 

367-369 tres-cher, very dear; Praeclarissimus, most 
distinguished. So in Holinshed. See Introduction. 

378 look pale. There are white chalk cliffs on both 
sides of the Channel. 

393 paction, pact, agreement. 

402 Sennet, a processional trumpet call. 

Ep. 2 bending, suppliant. 

4 by starts, by taking selected incidents only. 
11 Wbose state, of whose kingdom. 

13 which oft our stage hath shown. The three 
parts of Henry VI had been favorably received by 
thousands of spectators. 

14 This is the concluding line of a regular Shake- 
spearean sonnet. 



818 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



SOURCES — The central theme of 3Iiich Ado about 
:^othing is the deceit practised upon a lover, who 
is led to repudiate his betrothed by seeing a man at 
her chamber window. The incidents composing the 
fabric of this plot are generally believed to have been 
taken from the twentieth Novella of Matteo Ban- 
dello, the most celebrated of Italian novelists of the 
Renaissance, who died about Ihe time of Shakespeare's 
birth. The story, one of tlie longest in Bandello's 
collection, appealed chiefly to the sentimental and the 
pathetic; and the sorrowful speeches of the broken- 
hearted heroine and the repentant villain furnish most 
of the discourse. The dramatist, employing this 
theme for the ends of high comedy — brilliancy of 
wit, bold contrast of characterization, and eifective 
symmetry in the parts of the action — was forced to 
make alterations and additions, a summary of which 
affords an instructive illustration of his methods. 

Bandello, following history, had taken pains to give 
the revolting details of the Sicilian Vespers (1283), 
which preceded the violent seizure of Messina by 
King Pedro of Arragon. Girondo's plot against the 
innocent girl, Fenicia, is ascribed by Bandello to an- 
ger at the rejection of his suit and jealousy of his 
successful rival and brother-in-arms, Timbreo of 
Cardona. Shakespeare banished the Vespers, mak- 
ing Pedro's return to Messina incident upon a blood- 
less victory over a baseborn brother, Don John, whose 
loss of fortune and favor, added to his natural mal- 
ice, gave sufficient motive to revenge upon the king's 
favorite. Bandello's Girondo, described as "exceed- 
ing doughty of his person in the late wars," and 
"one of the most magnificent and liberal gentlemen of 
the court," could then be transformed into Benedick, 
in order to heighten the comedy, and aflPord a pleas- 
ing contrast to the darker nature of the main situa- 
tion. In the same way, Bandello thought the remorse 
of conscience all that was needed to bring about not 
only Timbreo's regret for his repudiation of Fenicia, 
but the repentant Girondo's disclosure of his villainy. 
Shakespeare, in one of his happiest devices, made this 
discovery the argument of his sub-plot; and was truer 
to nature in leaving the regret of the too-credulous 

319 



Claudio to wait upon the facts. Finally, the crisis 
of Bandello's story, the repudiation by Timbreo of his 
lady, was conveyed in the cold terms of a letter. 
Shakespeare chose the wedding in the church for this 
dramatic moment. Timbreo's message may well serve 
as an illustration of the style of Bandello. 

"Don Timbreo di Cardona sendeth unto you, Messer 
Lionato, and unto your lady, bidding you provide 
yourselves with another son-in-law, inasmuch as he 
purposeth not to have you to' parents-in-law, not in- 
deed for any default of yourselves, whom he believ- 
eth and holdeth to be loyal and worthy, but for that 
he hath with his own eyes seen a thing in Fenicia 
which he never could have believed, and therefore he 
leaveth it unto you to provide for your occasions. To 
thee, Fenicia, he saith that the love he bore thee 
merited not the requital which thou hast made him 
therefor, and biddeth thee provide thyself with an- 
other husband, even as thou hast provided thyself with 
another lover. . . ." 

The compression into Don Pedro's brief but telling 
narrative of the scene at the chamber-window of 
Fenicia, an episode fully treated in Bandello, was an- 
other masterstroke of dramatic effect on Shakespeare's 
part. In two small details of this device he sought 
aid from other versions of the same story. The fifth 
book of the Orlando Furioso of Ariosto (1516; 
translated by Harington in 1591) tells the tale of 
Ariodante and Ginevra. Here the deception of the 
hero was better devised than in Bandello. Instead of 
the mere entrance of the villain at a window of 
Lionato's houSe, Ginevra's maid is bribed by her lover 
to dress in her mistress's clothes and be seen in her 
chamber with him. Shakespeare availed himself of 
this intrigue; but to lighten the texture of the plot 
left the maid innocent of her part in the deceit. To 
do this it was necessary to remove Margaret from ac- 
tual contact with Don John; and therefore he adopted 
Spenser's version of Ariosto's story, in the Faerie 
Queene (II. iv.), which gave the part of the supposed 
lover to a base groom. Two lines of this version — 



'He either envying my toward good. 

Or of himself to treason ill disposed" — 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



have been thought to suggest Shakespeare's motiva- 
tion of Don John; but this seems hardly necessary. 

Of all the otlier features in the plot Shakespeare 
is generally credited with being the sole inventor. 
The characters of Benedick and Beatrice exhibit the 
growth of his dramatic power in the years following 
the creation of their prototypes, Rosaline and Biron, 
in Love's Labour's Lost. The parts of Dogberry and 
Verges, similarly, bear equal witness to his ability 
to make real and human the stock figures of the comic 
stage. Above all, tlie neatness and symmetry of the 
general dramatic design disclose the hand of the art- 
ist ^\•ho had constructed The Merchant of Venice. 

Some minor questions, however, offer problems yet 
to be solved. Shakespeare's common practice of se- 
lecting themes already popular on the stage has jus- 
tified the suggestion of an earlier play as the chief 
source. "A matter of panicia" (Phenicia) appears in 
the Revels Accounts of 1374, "showed by my lord of 
Leicester's men." In 1583 a play about Ariodante 
and Ginevra was performed before Queen Elizabeth. 
Die schone Phoenicia, a German play by Jacob Ayrer, 
based on Belleforest's version of Bandello, is held to 
have had an English original. Finally, the internal 
evidence from Much Ado itself, in its printed form, 
has been offered as favoring the theory of an earlier 
play by Shakespeare, of which the present text is a 
revision. 

This last claim has some foundation. The lack of 
care shown in a number of details, where the main 
plot is so highly wrought out, would be more charac- 
teristic of a dramatic palimpsest written over early 
work than of a new play made out of whole cloth. 
Thus the stage-direction of the quarto of 1600 intro- 
duces Innogen, wife of Leonato (I. i. and again II. i.). 
Don John appears wrongly in the stage-direction of 
I. i. 183. Antonio's servant overhears Don Pedro's 
device (of winning Hero's love for Claudio) from the 
orchard-alley; Borachio overhears it from behind the 
arras of a musty room. Antonio's son, mentioned in 
I. ii., should naturally be the one to challenge Claudio; 
this task falls to Benedick, and the son is no more 
heard o^. Leonato says (V. ii. 298) : 

"My brother hath a daughter, 
• And she alone is heir to both of us." 

This reference to "my brother," if to Antonio, 
passes over the son already mentioned; if not to An- 
tonio, then Beatrice's claims at least are slighted. 
Claudio's uncle, referrred to in I. i. 18ff., is not else- 
where mentioned, though his presence at the wedding 
would be more than natural. The clerkly watchman. 



George Seacole (IIL iii. 11) becomes Francis Seacole 
a little later (III. v. 62). Finally, there appears a 
repetition of device in the overhearing which has been 
accounted for as intentional in the artist's plan, but 
which may also be interpreted as haste or the shreds 
of early work. "The body of [his] discourse is some- 
time guarded with fragments, and the guards are but 
slightly basted on." 

This evidence, however, though important in its 
cumulative effect, is at best negative; and either the 
needs of immediate presentation, the taking up of 
new work, or perhaps the dramatist's greater interest 
in the dialogue and important characters could well 
account for such lack of finish in minor details. 

At the Princess Elizabeth's wedding in 1613, war- 
rants were made out in the Lord Treasurer's ac- 
counts for Much Ado, one of seven Shakespearean 
plays performed at these festivities. In the second 
part of this warrant appears "one other called Bene- 
dicte and Betteris." Some have thought this a refer- 
ence to the earlier play; but the unlikelihood of in- 
serting one play under two names in accounts is more 
th*an balanced by the unlikelihood of presenting two 
plays on the same plot and with the same characters 
upon one occasion. Charles I added the name Bene- 
dick and Beatrice to the title of his copy of this play, 
in the Second Folio of 1632. 

CRITICAL COMMENT— The criticism of the 
playhouse has always been favorable to Much Ado 
about Nothing. Leonard Digges, in verses written 
perhaps in 1623, but published in 1640, says: 

"Let but Beatrice 
And Benedick be seen, lo, in a trice 
The cockpit, galleries, boxes all are full." 

Since the Restoration mingled praise and censure 
have been bestowed upon the play, varying princi- 
pally with the sentiments most in fashion in the crit- 
ic's time. Thus in 1709, Charles Gildon thought "the 
accusation of Hero is too shocking for either tragedy 
or comedy," but admired Benedick and Beatrice as 
"two sprightly, witty, talkative characters; ... all 
that passes betwixt Benedick and Beatrice is admir- 
able." In the days of Blue-Stockings, Mrs. Inchbald 
censured these same characters for allowing themselves 
to become eavesdroppers. In the romantic age Wil- 
liam Hazlitt declared that "perhaps that middle point 
of comedy was never more nicely hit in which the lu- 
dicrous blends with the tender"; but Campbell ob- 
jected \o Beatrice as "a tartar," and "an odious 
woman," quite untrue to the soft ideal of the time. 
Later critics, particularly those of the moral school, 



{ 



320 



INTRODUCTION 



3 



have passed hurriedly over the distressing figure of 
Claudio, or have lingered only to denounce him 
roundly. iVndrew Lang took comfort in the thought 

r that "though Hero forgave Claudio, we may be hap- 
pily certain that Beatrice never will." A German 
critic, representative of his school, says that "the 
moral impossibility (of Claudio's character) is pat- 
ent." On the other hand, from one of the acutest 
of German critics, F. Kreyssig, has come the schol- 
arly vindication of this character as a true and faith- 
ful study of the aberrations of youth. "It is youth, 
endowed with unusual vitality, but totally inexperi- 
enced, and spoiled by fortune, that pleads for for- 
bearance." 

Critics have been more at one over the merits of 
the play from the constructive side. The skill with 
which the catastrophe is prepared for, and especially 
the manner in which the solution is provided by the 
dull wits of the constables, have been frequently 
praised. Miss Helen Faucit (Lady Martin), in her 
time the most distinguished of Beatrices, has written 
much excellent comment on the play. She ranked it, 
from the theatrical standpoint, among the best of 
Shakespeare's works, and delighted in the witty rail- 
lery of her part. Some modern critics, however, have 
felt obliged to apologize for the wit of the piece. 
Lang says: "The wit-combats must be judged his- 
torically. . . . Even court-wit was clumsy in Shake- 
speare's time." 

A most amusing, and at the same time instructive 
contrast in criticism comes from the pens of the most 
famous poet, and the most successful playwright, of 
our day. George Bernard Shaw has called the play 
"irresistible as poetry, but hopeless as epigrammatic 
comedy," and he compares the wit of Benedick and 
his lady most unfavorably with that of a coster and 

: a flower-girl. Dogberry, on the other hand, he liked, 

I as "a capital study of parochial character. Sincerely 
played, he always comes out as a very real and highly 
entertaining person." While the playwright thus 
praises the poetry, the poet has lauded the playcraft 
of Much Ado. Swinburne says: "For absolute power 
of composition, for faultless balance and blameless 
rectitude of design, there is unquestionably no crea- 

I tion of his hand that will bear comparison with Much 
Ado about Nothing." 

STAGE HISTORY— In the MS. of the play, which 
was carelessly prepared for the printers, the names 
of two of the actors are preserved. William Kemp, 
the most famous low comedian of his day, was Dog- 
berry, and Richard Cowley played Verges. Quota- 

' tions from Dogberry's malapropisms are common in 



the language of the time. The popularity of the wit- 
less constable is indicated also by Robert Armin, the 
comedian who succeeded Kemp with the Lord Cham- 
berlain's players. In the dedicatory epistle to The 
Italian Tailor and his Boy (1609) he says: "Pardon, 
I pray you, the boldness of a beggar, who hath been 
writ down an ass in his time, and pleads under forma 
pauperis in it still, notwithstanding his constableship 
and office." 

The inclusion of this play in the score chosen for 
court performance in 1613 is further evidence of its 
rank among Elizabethan comedies. Playwrights have 
more than once paid Shakespeare the compliment of 
echoing the characters and dialogue of Much Ado. 
Thomas Hey wood's Fair Maid of the Exchange (1607) 
imitated the dialogue; D'Avenant's Law against Lov- 
ers (1661-2) added Benedick and Beatrice to the plot 
of Measure for Measure; and James Miller's Univer- 
sal Passion (1736) combined Shakespeare with Mo- 
liere, in his Princesse d'Elide. 

The modern revival of the play dates from 1721, 
when Ryan produced it at Lincoln's Inn Fields, 
with the advertisement "not acted thirty years." 
From this time performances were of fair fre- 
quency; appearances are recorded at Covent Garden 
in 1737, 1739 (when Mrs. Vincent played Beatrice), 
and in 1746, when Mrs. Pritchard chose to play 
Beatrice for her "benefit." This role she made fa- 
mous two years later, when Garrick acted Benedick 
for the first time, at Drury Lane, Nov. 14, 1748. 
Davies says: "The excellent acting of Mrs. Pritchard 
in Beatrice was not inferior to that of Garrick in 
Benedick. Every scene between them was a struggle 
for superiority; nor could the spectators determine 
to which of them the preference was due." Murphy 
adds that when later Mrs. Pritchard turned the part 
over to her daughter "the play lost half its value." 
Other admired impersonators of the part in Garrick's 
time were Peg Woffington, Mrs. Barry, and Mrs. 
Abington. Perhaps the most distinguished perform- 
ance of the eighteenth century was that of John 
Kemble, who appeared for the first time as Benedick 
at Drury Lane on April 30, 1788, with Miss Farren 
as Beatrice and Mrs. Kemble as Hero. Charles Kem- 
ble, according to Lady Martin, was the most famous 
Benedick of the next generation. Miss Brunton 
played Beatrice in his company in 1817. In Kemble's 
farewell performances at Covent Garden, he intro- 
duced "the first of modern Beatrices," Helen Faucit, 
who for over thirty years was supreme in the part. 
Next to the same actress's Rosalind, it was perhaps 
the most popular role of the time. 



321 



4 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



Since 1880 the play has been ahnost continuously 
on the stage. Henry Irving and Ellen Terry opened 
this era with the notable performance at the Lyceum 
in 1882, which set the fashion for elaborate stage set- 
tings. Fitzgerald speaks of the "magnificent and am- 
bitious scene" which was the glory of this revival, the 
grand cathedral interior of Act IV, scene 1. "It has 
never been surpassed on any stage, has given unal- 
loyed pleasure, and excited boundless admiration." 
Unfortunately, Irving also set the fashion of reduc- 
ing the part of Dogberry to a nonentity, and playing 
the piece entirely as romantic comedy. This has been 
followed by such actors as Sir George Alexander 
(1899); and in the Daly revival of 1896, with Ada 
Rehan. Sir Herbert Tree's performance in 1905 at 
His Majesty's rivalled Irving's in scenic splendor. 
The performances at Stratford-on-Avon from 1879 — 
Lady Martin's last appearance — to the present time, 
have set a good example in the opposite direction. 
F. R. Benson since 1908 has played Benedick at these 
revivals. Ben Greet's company has popularized the 
simpler stage tradition in both England and America. 

Since September, 1904, Julia Marlowe's Beatrice 
and E. H. Sothern's Benedick have been their most 
popular parts; so that throughout this country 
scarcely any Shakespearean comedy is better known to 
the theatre. 

DATE— On August 4, 1600, Much Ado was entered 
in the Stationers' Register to be stayed — that is, as 



we would say, copyrighted, to prevent unauthorized 
publication. On August 23 it was again entered, this 
time for publication, by Andrew Wise and William 
Aspley; shortly afterward the first quarto appeared. ■^J 
How long before this date the play was written is 
doubtful; the title page refers to the usual "sun- 
drie times" of acting. The entry of August 4 groups 
the play with Henry V (written in the summer of 
1599) and As You Like It, which were entered at the 
same time. As Henry V probably followed 2 Henry 
IV immediately, the two comedies may be assigned to 
the season of 1599-1600. Internal evidence, while of 
doubtful value, links Much Ado to The Merchant of 
Venice, in the relation of the parts of high comedy 
to the main action, and especially in the placing of a 
large and eifective group-scene in Act IV. For these 
reasons and others. As You Like It is generally placed 
after Much Ado. 

TEXT — The present text is based on the First 
Folio (1623), which reproduces, with a few obvious 
corrections, the excellent quarto of 1600; the title 
page of this reads: "Much Adoe about Nothing. As 
it hath been sundrie times publikely acted by the 
right honourable, the Lord Chamberlaine his servants. 
Written by William Shakespeare. London. Printed 
by V. S. (Valentine Simmes) for Andrew Wise, and 
William Aspley. 1600." A few important variations 
and emendations are indicated in the Notes. 

M. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[Scene: Messina. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 



Don Pedro, prince of Arragon. 
Do>r JoHX, his bastard brother, 
Claudio, a young lord of Florence. 
Benedick, a young lord of Padua. 
Leonato, governor of Messina. 
Antonio, his brother. 
Balthasar, attendant on Don Pedro. 

CONRADE, 
BORACHIO, j 

Friar Francis. 



followers of Don John. 



Dogberry, a constable. 
Verges, a headborough. 
A Sexton. 
A Boy. 



Hero, daughter to Leonato. 
Beatrice, niece to Leonato. 
Margaret, 
Ursula, 
Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.] 



RET, 1 



gentlewomen attending on Hero. 



ACT FIRST 

[Scene I. — Before Antonio's orchard.^ 

Enter Leonato, Hero, and Beatrice, with a Mes- 
senger. 

Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of 
Arragon comes this night to Messina, 

Mess. He is very near by this; he was not three 
leagues off when I left him, 

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in 
this action.^ 6 

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 

Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever 
brings home full numbers. I find here that 
Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a 
young Florentine called Claudio. n 

Mess. Much deserved on his part and equally 
remembered by Don Pedro. He hath borne 
himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, 



in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion; he 
hath indeed better bettered expectation than 
you must expect of me to tell you how. 17 

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will 
be very much glad of it. 

Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and 
there appears much joy in him; even so much 
that joy could not show itself modest enough 
without a badge of bitterness. 23 

Leon. Did he break out into tears? 

Mess. In great measure. 

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness; there are 
no faces truer than those that are so washed. 
How much better is it to weep at joy than to 
j oy at weeping ! 

Beat. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto re- 
turned from the wars or no? 31 

Mess. I know none of that name, lady; there 
was none such in the army of any sort. 

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece? 

Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of 
Padua, 36 



323 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act I. SC. I, 



Mess. O, he's returned; and as pleasant as ever 
he was. 

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina and 
challenged Cupid at the flight; and my uncle's 
fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for 
Cupid, and challenged him at the bir'-bolt. I 
pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten 
in these wars ? But how many hath he killed ? 
for indeed I promised to eat all of his killing. 

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick 
too much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt 
it not. 48 

Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these 
wars. 

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp 
to eat it; he is a very valiant trencher-man; 
he hath an excellent stomach. 

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady; but what 
is he to a lord.^ 55 

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed 
with all honourable virtues. 

Beat. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a 
stuffed man; but for the stuffing, — well, we 
are all mortal. 60 

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. 
There is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior 
Benedick and her ; they never meet but there's 
a skirmish of wit between them. 64 

Beat. Alas ! he gets nothing by that. In our 
last conflict four of his five wits went halting 
off, and now is the whole man governed with 
one; so that if he have wit enough to keep 
himself warm, let him bear it for a difference 
between himself and his horse; for it is all 
the wealth that he hath left, to be known a 
reasonable creature. Who is his companion 
now? He hath every month a new sworn 
brother. yj, 

Mess. Is't possible? 

Beat. Yery easily possible: he wears his faith 
but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes 
with the next block. 

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your 
books.. 79 

Beat. No; and he were, I would burn my study. 
But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is 
there no young squarer now that will make a 
voyage with him to the devil? 

Mess. He is most in the company of the right 
noble Claudio. 85 

Beat. O Lord, he will hang upon him like a 



90 



95 



disease: he is sooner caught than the pesti- 
lence, and the taker runs presently mad. God 
help the noble Claudio! if he have caught the 
Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound 
ere he be cured. 

Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. 

Beat. Do, good friend. 

Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 

Beat. No, not till a hot January. 

Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 

Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, Bene- 
dick, and Balthasar. 

D. Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, are you come 
to meet your trouble? The fashion of the 
world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. 

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the 
likeness of your grace; for trouble being gone, 
comfort should remain; but when you depart 
from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes 
his leave. 

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too will- 
ingly. I think this is your daughter. 104 

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. 

Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked 
her? 

Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you 
a child. 109 

D. Pedro. You have it full. Benedick; we may 
guess by this what you are, being a man. 
Truly, the lady fathers herself. Be happy, 
lady; for you are like an honourable father. 

Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she 
would not have his head on her shoulders for 
all Messina, as like him as she is. 116 

Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, 
Signior Benedick ! Nobody marks you. 

Bene. What, my dear Lady Disdain ! are you 
yet living? 120 

Beat. Is it possible disdain should die while she 
hath such meet food to feed it as Signior 
Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to 
disdain, if you come in her presence. 124 

Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is 
certain I am loved of all ladies, only j^ou ex- 
cepted; and I would I could find in my heart 
that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I 
love none. 128 

Beat. A dear happiness to women; they would 
else have been troubled with a pernicious 
suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I 
am of your humour for that; I had rather 



324 



ACT I. SC. I.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



Iiear ray dog bark at a crow than a man swear 
lie loves me. 133 

Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind ! 
so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a pre- 
destinate scratched face. 

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse^ and 
'twere such a face as yours were. 

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast 
of yours. 141 

Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your 
tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep 
your way, i' God's name ! I have done. 

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick; I 
know you of old. 146 

D. Pedro. That is the sum of all, Leonato. 
Signior Claudio and Signior Benedick, my 
dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I 
tell him we shall stay here at the least a 
month; and he heartily prays some occasion 
may detain us longer. I dare swear he is no 
hypocrite, but prays from his heart. 153 

Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be 
forsworn. \_To Don John.] Let me bid you 
welcome, my lord; being reconciled to the 
prince your brother, I owe you all duty. 

D. John. I thank you. I am not of many 
words, but I thank you. 

Leon. Please it your grace lead on? 160 

D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato; we will go to- 
gether. 

Exeunt all except Benedick and Claudio. 

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter 
of Signior Leonato.^ 164 

Bene. I noted her not, but I looked on her. 

Claud. Is she not a modest young lady? 

Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man 
should do, for my simple true judgment; or 
would you have me speak after my custom, 
as being a professed tyrant to their sex? 170 

Claud. No; I pray thee speak in sober judg- 
ment. 

Bene. Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for 
a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and 
too little for a great praise; only this com- 
mendation I can afford her, that were she 
other than she is, she were unhandsome; and 
being no other but as she is, I do not like her. 

Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport; I pray 
thee tell me truly how thou likest her. 180 

Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire 
after her? 



Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel? 183 

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But 
speak you this with a sad brow? or do you 
play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a 
good hare-finder and Vulcan a rare carpen- 
ter? Come, in what key shall a man take 
you, to go in the song? 

Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady 
that ever I looked on. 190 

Bene. I can see yet without spectacles and I 
see no such matter; there's her cousin, and 
she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds 
her as much in beauty as the first of May 
doth the last of December. But I hope you 
have no intent to turn husband, have you ? 196 

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I 
had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my 
wife. 

Bene. Is't come to this ? In faith, hath not the 
world one man but he will wear his cap with 
suspicion? Shall I never see a bachelor of 
threescore again? Go to, i' faith; and thou 
wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear 
the print of it and sigh away Sundays. Look, 
Don Pedro is returned to seek you. 



205 



Enter Don Pedro. 



D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that 
you followed not to Leonato's? 

Bene. I would your grace would constrain me 
to tell. 

D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 210 

Bene. You hear, Count Claudio: I can be se- 
cret as a dumb man ; I would have you think 
so; but, on my allegiance, mark you this, on 
my allegiance. He is in love. With who? 
now that is your grace's part. Mark how 
short his answer is; — With Hero, Leonato's 
short daughter. 216 

Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 

Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: * it is not so, 
nor 'twas not so, but, indeed, God forbid it 
should be so.' 220 

Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God 
forbid it should be otherwise. 

D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady 
is very well worthy. 224 

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. 

Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 

Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my 
lord, I spoke mine. 



325 



8 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act I. 



Claud. That I love lier^ I feel. 230 

J). Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be 
loved nor know how she should be worthy, is 
the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me ; 
I will die in it at the stake. 235 

Z). Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic 
in the despite of beauty. 

Claud. And never could maintain his part but 
in the force of his will. 239 

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank 
her; that she brought me up, I likewise give 
her most humble thanks; but that I will have 
a recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my 
bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall 
pardon me. Because I will not do them the 
wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the 
right to trust none; and the fine is, for the 
which I may go the finer, I will live a bache- 
lor. 

J). Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale 
with love. 250 

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hun- 
ger, my lord, not with love; prove that ever 
I lose more blood with love than I will get 
again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with 
a ballad-maker's pen and hang me up at the 
door of a brothel-house for the sign of blind 
Cupid. 256 

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this 
faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. 

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat 
and shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him 
be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam. 

T>. Pedro. Well, as time shall try; 262 

'In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.' 

Bene. The savage bull may; but if ever the 
sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's 
horns and set them in my forehead; and let 
me be vilely painted, and in such great letters 
as they write 'Here is good horse to hire,' let 
them signify under my sign 'Here you may 
see Benedick the married man.' 270 

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst 
be horn-mad. 

Z). Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his 
quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this 
shortly. 

Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then. 275 

D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the 
hours. In the meantime, good Signior Bene- 
dick, repair to Leonato's; commend me to him 



and tell him I will not fail him at supper; ' 
for indeed he hath made great preparation. 280 

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for 
such an embassage; and so I commit you — ■ 

Claud. To the tuition of God: From my house^ ^ 
if I had it, — 

D. Pedro. The sixth of July; Your loving friend, 
Benedick. 286 

Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of 
your discourse is sometime guarded with frag- 
ments, and the guards are but slightly basted 
on neither; ere you flout old ends any fur- 
ther, examine your conscience: and so I leave 
you. Exit. 291 

Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me 
good. 

D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach; teach it 
but how. 
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 295 

Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord.^ 

D. Pedro. No child but Hero; she's his only 
heir. 
Dost thou affect her, Claudio? 

Claud. O, my lord. 

When you went onward on this ended action, 
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 300 

That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
Than to drive liking to the name of love; 
But now 1 am return'd and that war-thoughts 
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 305 
All prompting me how fair young Hero is. 
Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars. 

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently 
And tire the hearer with a book of words. 
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it, 310 

And I will break with her and with her fa- 
ther 
And thou shalt have her. Was't not to this 

end 
That thou began'st to twist so fine a story? 

Claud. How sweetly you do minister to love. 



That know love's grief by his complexion! 



315 



But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 
Z). Pedro. What need the bridge much broader 

than the flood? 
The fairest grant is the necessity. 
Look, what will serve is fit;' 'tis once, thou 

lovest, 320 

And I will fit thee with the remedy. 



S2Q 



ACT I. SC. I.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



9 



I know we shall have revelling to-night; 
I will assume thy part in some disguise 
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio, 
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart 325 
And take her hearing jjrisoner with the force 
And strong encounter of my amorous tale; 
Then after to her father will I break; 
And the conclusion is, she shall be thine. 
In practice let us put it presently. 330 

Exeunt. 

[Scene II. — A room in Leonato's house.] 
Enter Leonato and Antonio, [meeting]. 

Leon. How now, brother ! Where is my cousin, 
your son.^ hath he provided this music? 

Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, 
I can tell you strange news that you yet 
dreamt not of. 5 

Leon. Are they good? 

Ant. As the event stamps them: but they have 
a good cover; they show well outward. The 
prince and Count Claudio^, walking in a thick- 
pleached alley in mine orchard, were thus 
much overheard by a man of mine; the prince 
discovered to Claudio that he loved my niece 
your daughter and meant to acknowledge it 
this night in a dance; and if he found her ac- 
cordant, he meant to take the present time 
by the top and instantly break with you of 
it. 16 

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told you 
this? 

Ant. A good sharp fellow; I will send for him; 
and question him yourself. 20 

Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream till it 
appear itself: but I will acquaint my daugh- 
ter withal, that she may be the better pre- 
pared for an answer, if peradventure this be 
true. Go you and tell her of it. [Enter at- 
tendants.] Cousins, you know what you have 
to do. O, I cry you mercy, friend; go you 
with me, and I will use your skill. Good 
cousin, have a care this busy time. 29 

Exeunt. 

[Scene III. — The same.] 

Enter Don John and Conrade. 



Con. What the good-year, my lord ! why are you 
thus out of measure sad? 



D. John. There is no measure in the occasion 
that breeds; therefore the sadness is without 
limit. 5 

Con. You should hear reason. 

D. John. And when I have heard it, what bless- 
ing brings it? 

Con. If not a present remed}^, at least a patient 
sufferance. 10 

D. John. I wonder that thou, being, as thou 
sayest thou art, born under Saturn, goest 
about to apply a moral medicine to a mortify- 
ing mischief. I cannot hide what I am; I 
must be sad when I have cause and smile at 
no man's jests, eat when I have stomach and 
wait for no man's leisure, sleep when I am 
drowsy and tend on no man's business, laugh 
when I am merry and claw no man in his 
humour. 19 

Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show 
of this till you may do it without control- 
ment. You have of late stood out against 
your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly 
into his grace; where it is impossible you 
should take true root but by the fair weather 
that you make yourself. It is needful that you 
frame the season for your own harvest. 27 

D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge 
than a rose in his grace, and it better fits my 
blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a 
carriage to rob love from any; in this, though 
I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, 
it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing 
villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and en- 
franchised with a clog; therefore I have de- 
creed not to sing in my cage. If I had my 
mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I 
would do my liking: in the meantime let me 
be that I am and seek not to alter me. 39 

Con. Can you make no use of your discontent? 

D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. 
Who comes here? 

Enter Borachio. 

What news, Borachio? 44 

Bora. I came yonder from a great supper: the 
prince your brother is royally entertained by 
Leonato; and I can give you intelligence of 
an intended marriage. 
D. John. Will it serve for any model to build 
mischief on? What is he for a fool that be- 
troths himself to unquietness ? 50 



327 



10 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act I. SC. III. 



Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. 

D. John. Who? the most exquisite Claudio? 

Bora. Even he. 

D.John. A proper squire ! And who, and who? 
which way looks he? 55 

Bora. ]\Iarry, on Hero, the daughter and heir 
of Leonato. 

Z). John. A very forward March-chick! How 
came you to this ? 59 

Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I 
was smoking a musty room^ comes me the 
prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad con- 
ference; I whipt me behind the arras; and 
there heard it agreed upon that the prince 
should woo Hero for himself, and having ob- 
tained her, give her to Count Claudio. 66 

Z). John. Come, come, let us thither; this may 
prove food to my displeasure. That young 
start-up hath all the glory of my overthrow; 
if I can cross him any way, I bless myself 
every way. You are both sure, and will as- 
sist me ? 71 

Con. To the death, my lord. 

D. John. Let us to the great supper; their 
cheer is the greater that I am subdued. 
Would the cook were of my mind! Shall we 
go prove what's to be done? 76 

Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. 

Exeunt. 

ACT SECOND 

[Scene I. — A hall in Leonato's house.^ 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, [Mar- 
garet, Ursula,^ and others. 

Leon. Was not Count John here at supper ? 

Ant. I saw him not. 

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I 
never can see him but I am heart-burned an 
hour after. 5 

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 

Beat. He were an excellent man that were made 
just in the midway between him and Bene- 
dick: the one is too like an image and says 
nothing, and the other too like my lady's eld- 
est son, evermore tattling. n 

Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue in 
Count John's mouth, and lialf Count John's 
melancholy in Signior Benedick's face, — 14 

Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle. 



and money enough in his purse, such a man 
would win any woman in the world, if he 
could get her good-will. 18 

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get 
thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy 
tongue. 21 

Ant. In faith, she's too curst. 

Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall 
lessen God's sending that way; for it is said, 
'God sends a curst cow short horns;' but to a 
cow too curst he sends none. 26 

Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you 
no horns. 

Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the 
which blessing I am at him upon my knees 
every morning and evening. Lord, I could 
not endure a husband with a beard on his 
face; I had rather lie in the woollen. 33 

Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no 
beard. 

Beat. What should I do with him? dress him 
in my apparel and make him my waiting- 
gentlewoman? He that hath a beard is more 
than a youth, and he that hath no beard is 
less than a man: and he that is more than a 
youth is not for me, and he that is less than 
a man, I am not for him; therefore I will 
even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-'ard, 
and lead his apes into hell. 

Leon. Well, then, go you into hell. 44 

Beat. No, but to the gate; and there will the 
devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns 
on his head, and say 'Get you to heaven, 
Beatrice, get you to heaven; here's no place 
for you maids;' so deliver I up ray apes, and 
away to Saint Peter for the heavens ; he shows 
me where the bachelors sit, and there live 
we as merry as the day is long. 

Ant. [To Hero.] Well, niece, I trust you will be 
ruled by your father. 54 

Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make 
curtsy and say 'Father, as it please you.' 
But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a hand- 
some fellow, or else make another curtsy and 
say 'Father, as it please me.' 

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day 
fitted with a husband. 61 

Beat. Not till God make men of some other 
metal than earth. Would it not grieve a 
woman to be overmastered with a piece of 
valiant dust? to make an account of her life 
to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I'll 



328 



ACT II. SC. 



!•] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



11 



none; Adam's sons are my brethren; and, 
truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 68 

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you; if 
the prince do solicit you in that kind, you 
know your answer. 71 

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if 
you be not wooed in good time; if the prince 
be too important, tell him there is measure in 
every thing and so dance oui the answer. 
For, hear me, Hero; w^ooing, wedding, and 
repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and 
a cinque pace; the first suit is hot and hasty, 
like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the 
wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, full 
of state and ancientry; and then comes re- 
pentance and, with his bad legs, falls into 
the cinque pace faster and faster, till he sink 
into his grave. 83 

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 

Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a 
church by daylight. 

Leon. The revellers are entering, brother: make 
good room. \^All put on their masks.] 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, 
Don John, [^Borachio,'] Maskers with a 
drum. 

D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your 
friend ? 90 

Hero. So you walk softly and look sweetly and 
say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and 
especially when I walk away. 

D. Pedro. With me in your company? 

Hero. I may say so, when I please. 95 

D. Pedro* And when please you to say so.^ 

Hero. When I like your favour ; for God de- 
fend the lute should be like the case ! 

D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within 
the house is Jove. 100 

Hero. Why, then, your visor should be 
thatched. 

D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. 

[Drawing her aside.] 

Balth. Well, I would you did like me. 

Marg. So would not I, for your own sake; for 
I have many ill qualities. 106 

Balth. Which is one? 

Marg. I say my prayers aloud. 

Balth. I love you the better; the hearers may 
cry, Amen. no 

Marg. God match me with a good dancer ! 



Balth. Amen. 

Marg. And God keep him out of my sight when 
the dance is done ! Answer, clerk. 114 

Balth. No more words; the clerk is answered, 

Urs. I know you well enough; you are Signior 
Antonio. 

Ant. At a word, I am not. 

Urs. I know you by the waggling of your 
head. 120 

Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. 

Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless 
you were the very man. Here's his dry hand 
up and down; you are he, you are he. 

Ant. At a word, I am not. 125 

Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not know 
you by your excellent wit? can virtue hide 
itself? Go to, mum, you are he; graces will 
appear, and there's an end. 

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? 130 

Bene. No, you shall pardon me. 

Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are ? 

Bene. Not now. 

Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my 
good wit out of the 'Hundred Merry Tales:' 
- — well, this was Signior Benedick that said so. 

Bene, What's he? 

Beat. I am sure you know him well enough. 

Bene. Not I, believe me. 

Beat. Did he never make you laugh? 140 

Bene. I pray you, what is he? 

Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester; a very 
dull fool; only his gift is in devising impos- 
sible slanders ; none but libertines delight in 
him; and the commendation is not in his wit, 
but in his villany; for he both pleases men 
and angers them, and then they laugh at him 
and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet; 
I would he had boarded me. 

Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him 
what you say. 151 

Beat. Do, do ! he'll but break a comparison or 
two on me; which, peradventure not marked 
or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy ; 
and then there's a partridge wing saved, for 
the fool will eat no supper that night. 
[Music.] We must follow the leaders. 157 

Bene. In every good thing. 

Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave 

them at the next turning. 160 

Dance. [Then] exeunt [all except Don 

John, Borachio, and Claudio]. 

D. John. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero 



329 



12 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act II. SC. I. 



and liatli withdrawn her father to break with 
him about it. The ladies follow her and but 
one visor remains. 

Bora. And that is Claudio; I know him by his 
bearing. 166 

D. John. Are not you Signior Benedick? 

Claud. You know me well; I am he, 

D. John. Signior^ you are very near my brother 
in his love: he is enamoured on Hero; I pray 
you, dissuade him from her: she is no equal 
for his birth; you may do the part of an hon- 
est man in it. 

Claud. How know you he loves her? 

Z). John. I heard him swear his affection. 175 

Bora. So did I too; and he swore he would 
marry her to-night. 

D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. 178 

Exeunt [Don John and Borachio~\. 

Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, 
But hear these ill news with the ears of 
Claudio. 180 

'Tis certain so; the prince wooes for himself. 
Friendship is constant in all other things. 
Save in the office and affairs of love; 
Therefore all hearts in love use their own 

tongues ; 
Let every eye negotiate for itself 185 

And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch 
Against whose charms faith melteth into 

blood. 
This is an accident of hourly proof. 
Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, there- 
fore. Hero! 

Enter Benedick. 

Bene. Count Claudio ? 190 

Claud. Yea, the same. 

Bene. Come, will you go with me? 

Claud. Whither? 

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own 
business, county. What fashion will you 
wear the garland of? about your neck, like an 
usurer's chain ? or under your arm, like a 
lieutenant's scarf? You must wear it one 
way, for the prince hath got your Hero. 

Claud. I wish him joy of her. 200 

Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest 
drovicr: so they sell bullocks. But did you 
think the prince would have served you thus? 

Claud. I pray you, leave me. 204 

Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man: 



'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll 
beat the post. 207 

Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. Exit. 

Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep 
into sedges. But that my Lady Beatrice 
should know me, and not know me ! The 
prince's fool! Ha? It may be I go under 
that title because I am merry. Yea, but so 
I am apt to do myself wrong; I am not so 
reputed; it is the base, though bitter, dispo- 
sition of Beatrice that puts the world into 
her person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll 
be revenged as I may. 217 

Enter Don Pedro. 

D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count? did 
you see him? 

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part 
of Lady Fame. I found him here as mel- 
ancholy as a lodge in a warren; I told him, 
and I think I told him true, that your grace 
had got the good will of this young lady; 
and I offered him my company to a willow- 
tree, either to make him a garland, as being 
forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being 
worthy to be whipped. 227, 

D. Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault?] 

Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boyj 
who, being overjoyed with finding a birds* 
nest, shows it his companion, and he steah 
it. 231 

D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgres- 
sion? The transgression is in the stealer. 

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod hat 
been made, and the garland too; for the gar^ 
land he might have worn himself, and the 
rod he might have bestowed on you, whoJ 
as I take it, have stolen his birds' nest. 

D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, an( 
restore them to the owner. 24c] 

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, b^ 
my faith, you say honestly. 

D. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel 
to you; the gentleman that danced with hei 
told her she is much wronged by you. 

Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance 
of a block ! an oak but with one green leaj 
on it would have answered her; my ver;j 
visor began to assume life and scold witl 
her. She told me, not thinking I had beei 
myself, that I was the prince's jester, that 



330 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



13 



was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest 
upon jest with such impossible conveyance 
upon me that I stood like a man at a mark, 
with a whole army shooting at me. She 
speaks poniards, and every word stabs; if her 
breath were as terrible as her terminations, 
there were no living near her; she would in- 
fect to the north star. I would not marry 
her, though she were endowed with all that 
Adam had left him before he transgressed; 
she would have made Hercules have turned 
spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make the 
fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall 
find her the infernal Ate in good apparel. 
I would to God some scholar would conjure 
her; for certainly, while she is here, a man 
may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; 
and people sin upon purpose, because they 
would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, 
horror and perturbation follows her. 
J). Pedro. Look, here she comes. 270 

Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero, and Leonato. 

Bene. Will your grace command me any serv- 
ice to the world's end? I will go on the 
slightest errand now to the Antipodes that 
jou can devise to send me on; I will fetch 
you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch 
of Asia, bring you the length of Prester 
John's foot, fetch you a hair off the great 
Cham's beard, do you any embassage to the 
Pigmies, rather than hold three words' con- 
ference with this harpy. You have no em- 
ployment for me? 280 

D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good com- 
pany. 

Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not: I 
cannot endure my Lady Tongue. Exit. 

D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the 
heart of Signior Benedick. 286 

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile ; 
and I gave him use for it, a double heart for 
his single one ; marry, once before he won 
it of me with false dice, therefore your grace 
may well say I have lost it. 291 

X). Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you 
have put him down. 

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, 
lest I should prove the mother of fools. I 
have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent 
me to seek. 297 



D. Pedro. Why, how now, count ! wherefore are 
you sad? 

Claud. Not sad, my lord. 300 

D. Pedro. How then? sick? 

Claud. Neither, my lord. 

Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor 
merry, nor well; but civil count, civil as an 
orange, and something of that jealous com- 
plexion. 306 

D. Pedro. T faith, lady, I think your blazon 
to be true; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, 
his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have 
wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; 
I have broke with her father, and his good 
will obtained; name the day of marriage, and 
God give thee j oy ! 312 

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with 
her my fortunes; his grace hath made the 
match, and all grace say Amen to it. 315 

Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. 

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy; 
I were but little happy, if I could say how 
much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours ; 
I give away myself for you and dote upon 
the exchange. 320 

Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his 
mouth with a kiss, and let not him speak 
neither. 

D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry 
heart. 325 

Beat. Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it 
keeps on the windy side of care. My cousin 
tells him in his ear that he is in her heart. 

Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 329 

Beat. Good Lord, for alliance ! Thus goes 
every one to the world but I, and I am sun- 
burnt; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh- 
ho for a husband ! 

D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 

Beat. I would rather have one of your father's 
getting. Hath your grace ne'er a brother 
like you? Your father got excellent hus- 
bands, if a maid could come by them. 338 

D. Pedro, Will you have me, lady? 

Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have an- 
other for working-days; your grace is too 
costly to wear every day. But, I beseech 
your grace, pardon me; I was born to speak 
all mirth and no matter. 344 

D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to 
be merry best becomes you; for, out o' ques- 
tion, you were born in a merry hour. 



331 



14 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act II. SC. I. 



Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but 
then there was a star danced, and under that 
was I born. Cousins, God give you joy! 350 

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told 
you of.'' 

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. By your grace's 
pardon. Exit. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited 
lady. 356 

Leon. There's little of the melancholy element 
in her, my lord; she is never sad but when 
she slee23s, and not ever sad then; for I have 
heard my daughter say, she hath often 
dreamed of unhappiness and waked herself 
with laughing. 361 

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a 
husband. 

Leon. O, by no means ; she mocks all her wooers 
out of suit. 365 

D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Bene- 
dick. 

Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week 
married, they would talk themselves mad. 

D. Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to 
go to church? 371 

Claud. To-morrow, my lord; time goes on 
crutches till love have all his rites. 

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is 
hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief, 
too, to have all things answer my mind. 376 

D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long 
a breathing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, 
the time shall not go dully by us. I will in 
the interim undertake one of Hercules' la- 
bours; which is, to bring Signior Benedick 
and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of 
affection th' one with th' other. I would 
fain have it a match, and I doubt not but to 
fashion it, if you three will but minister such 
assistance as I shall give you direction. 386 

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me 
ten nights' watchings. 

Claud. And I, my lord. 

D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? 

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to 
help my cousin to a good husband. 391 

D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefull- 
est husband that I know. Thus far can I 
praise him; he is of a noble strain, of ap- 
proved valour, and confirmed honesty. I will 
teach you how to humour your cousin, that she 
shall fall in love with Benedick; and I, with 



your two helps, will so practise on Benedick 
that, in despite of his quick wit and his 
queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with 
Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no 
longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for 
we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, 
and I will tell you my drift. Exeunt. 403 



[Scene II. — The same.] 
Enter Don John and Borachio. 

D. John. It is so; the Count Claudio shall 
marry the daughter of Leonato. 

Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it. 

D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment 
will be medicinable to me. I am sick in 
displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes 
athwart his affection ranges evenly with mine. 
How canst thou cross this marriage? 7 

Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly 
that no dishonesty shall appear in me. 10 

D. John. Show me briefly how. 

Bora. I think I told your lordship a year since, 
how much I am in the favour of Margaret, 
the waiting gentlewoman to Hero. 

D. John. I remember. 15 

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the 
night, appoint her to look out at her lady's 
chamber window. 

D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of 
this marriage? 20 

Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. 
Go you to the prince your brother; spare not 
to tell him that he hath wronged his honour 
in marrying the renowned Claudio — whose es- 
timation do you mightily hold up — to a con- 
taminated stale, such a one as Hero. 26 

D. John. What proof shall I make of that? 

Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex 
Claudio, to undo Hero and kill Leonato. 
Look you for any other issue? 30 

D. John. Only to despite them, I will en- 
deavour any thing. 

Bora. Go, then; find me a meet hour to draw 
Don Pedro and the Count Claudio alone; tell 
them that you know that Hero loves me; in- 
tend a kind of zeal both to the prince and 
Claudio, as, — in love of your brother's hon- 
our, who hath made this match, and his 
friend's reputation, who is thus like to be 



332 



ACT II. SC. II.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



15 



cozened with the semblance of a maid, — that 
you have discovered thus. They will scarcely 
believe this without trial; offer them in- 
stances; which shall bear no less likelihood 
than to see me at her chamber-window, hear 
me call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term 
me Claudio; and bring them to see this 
the very night before the intended wedding, 
— for in the meantime I will so fashion the 
matter that Hero shall be absent, — and there 
shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's 
disloyalty that jealousy shall be called assur- 
ance and all the preparation overthrown. 51 

D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it 
can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in 
the working this, and thy fee is a thousand 
ducats. 

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and 
my cunning shall not shame me. 56 

D. John. I will presently go learn their day of 



marriagCo 



Exeunt. 



[Scene III. — Leonato's orchard.'] 
Enter Benedick alone. 



Bene. Boy ! 



[Enter Boy.] 



Boy. Signior? 

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book; bring 
it hither to me in the orchard. 

Boy. I am here already, sir. 4 

Bene. I know that ; but I would have thee hence, 
and here again. [Exit Boy.] I do much 
wonder that one man, seeing how much an- 
other man is a fool when he dedicates his be- 
haviours to love, will, after he hath laughed 
at such shallow follies in others, become the 
argument of his own scorn by falling in love ; 
and such a man is Claudio. I have known 
when there was no music with him but the 
drum and the fife; and now had he rather 
hear the tabor and the pipe; I have known 
when he would have walked ten mile a-foot 
to see a good armour; and now will he lie 
ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a 
new doublet. He was wont to speak plain 
and to the purpose, like an honest man and 
a soldier; and now is he turned orthography; 



his words are a very fantastical banquet, just 
so many strange dishes. May I be so con- 
verted and see with these eyes? I cannot 
tell; I think not; I will not be sworn but 
love may transform me to an oyster; but I'll 
take my oath on it, till he have made an 
oyster of me, he shall never make me such a 
fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well; 
another is wise, yet I am well; another vir- 
tuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in 
one woman, one woman shall not come in my 
grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain ; wise, 
or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen 
her; fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or 
come not near me ; noble, or not I for an angel ; 
of good discourse, an excellent musician, and 
her hair shall be of what colour it please God. 
Ha ! the prince and Monsieur Love ! I will 
hide me in the arbour. 

[Withdraws.] 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Leonato, and 
[Balthasar with] Music. 

D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music .f^ 
Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the even- 
ing is, 40 

As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! 
D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid 

himself ? 
Claud. O, very well, my lord; the music ended. 

We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth. 
D. Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that 
song again. 45 

Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 

To slander music any more than once. 
D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency 

To put a strange face on his own perfection. 

I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 50 
Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; 

Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 

To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes. 

Yet will he swear he loves. 
D. Pedro. Now, pray thee, come; 

Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 55 

Do it in notes. 
Balth. Note this before my notes; 

There's not a note of mine that's worth the 
noting. [y4zV.] 

D. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he 
speaks ; 

Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing. 59 



SSS 



16 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act II. sc. 



III. 



Bene. Now, divine air! Now is his soul rav- 
ished ! Is it not strange that sheeps' guts 
should hale souls out of men's bodies? Well, 
a horn for my money, when all's done. 

The Song. 

[Balth.] 'Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. 

Men were deceivers ever, 6s 

One foot in sea and one on shore. 

To one thing constant never: 
Then sigh not so, but let them go. 

And be you blithe and bonny. 
Converting all your sounds of woe 70 

Into Hey nonny, nonny. 

Sing no more ditties, sing no moe. 
Of dumps so dull and heavy; 

The fraud of men was ever so. 

Since summer first was leavy: 75 

Then sigh not so, &c.' 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 

Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest -well 
enough for a shift. 80 

Bene. An he had been a dog that should have 
howled thus, they would have hanged him; 
and I pray God his bad voice bode no mis- 
chief. I had as lief have heard the night- 
raven, come what plague could have come 
after it. 85 

D. Pedro. Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Bal- 
thasar.^ I pray thee, get us some excellent 
music; for to-morrow night we would have 
it at the Lady Hero's chamber-window. 

Balth. The best I can, my lord. 90 

D. Pedro. Do so; farewell. Exit Balthasar. 

Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told 
me of to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in 
love with Signior Benedick? 94 

Claud. O, ay ; stalk on, stalk on ! the fowl sits. 
I did never think that lady would have loved 
any man. 

Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful 
that she should so dote on Signior Benedick, 
whom she hath in all outward behaviours 
seemed ever to abhor. 101 

Bene. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that cor- 
ner? 

Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what 
to think of it but that she loves him with an 
enraged affection; it is past the infinite of 
thought. 



D. Pedro. ]May be she doth but counterfeit. 107 

Claud. Faith, like enough, 

Leon. O God, counterfeit! There was never 
counterfeit of passion came so near the life 
of passion as she discovers it. m 

D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows 
she ? 

Claud. Bait the hook well; this fish will bite. 

Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you, 
you heard my daughter tell you how. 116 

Claud. She did, indeed. 

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze 
me; I would have thought her spirit had been 
invincible against all assaults of affection. 120 

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; es- 
pecially against Benedick. 

Bene. [Aside. ^ I should think this a gull, but 
that the white-bearded fellow speaks it; knav- 
ery cannot, sure, hide himself in such rever- 
ence. 125 

Claude. He hath ta'en the infection; hold it up. 

D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known 
to Benedick? 

Leon. No ; and swears she never will ; that's her 
torment. 130 

Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says : 
'Shall I,' says she, 'that have so oft encoun- 
tered him with scorn, write to him that I love 
him?' . 134 

Leon. This says she now when she is beginning 
to write to him; for she'll be up twenty times 
a night, and there will she sit in her smock 
till she have writ a sheet of paper; my daugh- 
ter tells us all. 139 

Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I re- 
member a pretty jest your daughter told us 
of. 

Leon. O, when she had writ it and was read- 
ing it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice 
between the sheet? 144 

Claud. That. 

Leon. O, she tore the letter into a thousand 
halfpence ; railed at herself, that she should 
be so immodest to write to one that she knew 
would flout her; 'I measure him,' says she, 
'by ray own spirit; for I should flout him, if 
he writ to me; yea, though I love him, I 
should.' 151 

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, 
weeps, sobs, beats her lieart, tears her hair, 
prays, curses; 'O sweet Benedick! God give 
me patience !' 155 



334 



ACT il. SC. 



in.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



i7 



Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so: 
and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her 
that my daughter is sometime afeard she will 
do a desperate outrage to herself: it is very 
true. 159 

D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of 
it by some other, if she will not discover it. 

Claud. To what end? He would make but a 
sport of it and torment the poor lady worse. 

D, Pedro. And he should, it were an alms to 
hang him. She's an excellent sweet lady; and, 
out of all suspicion, she is virtuous. 166 

Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 

D. Pedro. In every thing but in loving Bene- 
dick. 169 

Leon. O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating 
in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one 
that blood hath the victory. I am sorry for 
her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and 
her guardian. 174 

D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage 
on me ; I would have daff ed all other respects 
and made her half myself. I pray you, tell 
Benedick of it, and hear what a' will say. 

Leon. Were it good, think you? 179 

Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die; for she 
says she will die, if he love her not, and she 
will die, ere she make her love known, and 
she will die, if he woo her, rather than she will 
bate one breath of her accustomed crossness. 184 

D. Pedro. She doth well; if she should make 
tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll 
scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a 
contemptible spirit. 188 

Claud. He is a very proper man. 

D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward hap- 
piness. 191 

Claud. Before God ! and, in my mind, very wise. 

D. Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks 
that are like wit. 

Claud. And I take him to be valiant. 195 

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you; and in the 
managing of quarrels you may say he is wise; 
for either he avoids them with great discre- 
tion, or undertakes them with a most Chris- 
tian-like fear. 200 

Leon. If he do fear God, a' must necessarily 
keep peace; if he break the peace, he ought to 
enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. 

D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth 
fear God, howsoever it seems not in him by 
some large jests he will make. Well, I am 



sorry for your niece. Shall we go seek Bene- 
dick, and tell him of her love? 208 

Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it 
out with good counsel. 

Leon. Nay, that's impossible; she may wear her 
heart out first. 212 

D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by 
your daughter ; let it cool the while. I love 
Benedick well; and I could wish he would 
modestly examine himself, to see how much 
he is unworthy so good a lady. 217 

Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. 

Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will 
never trust my expectation. 220 

D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for 
her; and that must your daughter and her 
gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when 
they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, 
and no such matter: that's the scene that I 
would see, which will be merely a dumb-show. 
Let us send her to call him in to dinner. 227 
Exeunt [JDon Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato'\. 

Bene. [^Coming forward.^ This can be no trick; 
the conference was sadly borne. They have 
the truth of this from Hero. They seem to 
pity the lady; it seems her affections have 
their full bent. Love me! why, it must be 
requited. I hear how I am censured ; they say 
I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the 
love come from her ; they say too that she will 
rather die than give any sign of affection. I 
did never think to marry ! I must not seem 
proud ; happy are they that hear their detrac- 
tions and can put them to mending. They 
say the lady is fair; 'tis a trutK, I can bear 
them witness ; and virtuous ; 'tis so, I cannot 
reprove it; and wise, but for loving me; by 
my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no 
great argument of her folly, for I will be 
horribly in love with her. I may chance have 
some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken 
on me, because I have railed so long against 
marriage; but doth not the appetite alter? a 
man loves the meat in his youth that he can- 
not endure in his age. Shall quips and sen- 
tences and these paper bullets of the brain 
awe a man from the career of his humour? 
No, the world must be peopled. When I said 
I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should 
live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. 
By this day, she's a fair lady ! I do spy some 
marks of love in her. 255 



3S5 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act II. SC. III. 



Enter Beatrice. 

Beat. Against my Mill I am sent to bid you come 
in to dinner. 

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 

Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks 
than you take pains to thank me : if it had been 
painful, I would not have come. 261 

Bene. You take pleasure then in the message? 

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon 
a knife's point and choke a daw withal. You 
have no stomach, signior; fare you well. 265 

Ej:it. 

Bene. Ha ! 'Against my will I am sent to bid 
you come in to dinner;' there's a double mean- 
ing in that. 'I took no more pains for those 
thanks than you took pains to thank me;' that's 
as much as to say, 'Any pains that I take for 
you is as easy as thanks.' If I do not take 
pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love 
her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture. 27:, 

Exit. 



ACT THIRD 

[Scene I. — Leonato's garden.^ 

Enter Hero and two Gentle [wo^men, Margaret, 
and Ursula. 

Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour; 
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice 
Proposing with the prince and Claudio: 
Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursula 
Walk in the orchard and our whole discourse 5 
Is all of her ; say that thou overheard'st us ; 
And bid her steal into the pleached bower. 
Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun, 
Forbid the sun to enter, like favourites 
Made proud by princes, that advance their 
pride 10 

Against that power that bred it; there will 

she hide her, 
To listen our propose. This is thy office; 
Bear thee well in it and leave us alone. 

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, pres- 
ently. [Exit.'] 

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, 15 
As we do trace this alley up and down, 
Our talk must only be of Benedick. 
When I do name him, let it be thy part 



To praise him more than ever man did merit: 
]\Iy talk to thee must be how Benedick 20 

Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter 
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made. 
That only w^ounds by hearsay. 

Enter Beatrice, [behind]. 

Now begin; 
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 25 

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see* the fish 
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream. 
And greedily devour the treacherous bait: 
So angle we for Beatrice; who even now 
Is couched in the woodbine coverture. 30 

Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose J 
nothing \ 

Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. 

[Approaching the bower.] 
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful; 
I know her spirits are as coy and wild 35 

As haggerds of the rock. 

Urs. But are you sure 

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? 

Hero. So says the prince and my new-trothed 
lord. 

Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? 

Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of 
it ; 40 

But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick^, 
To wish him wrestle with affection. 
And never to let Beatrice know of it. 

Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman 
Deserve as full as fortunate a bed 
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ? 

Hero. O god of love ! I know he doth deserve 
As much as may be jdelded to a man : 
But Nature never fram'd a woman's heart 
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice; 50 

Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
Misprising what they look on, and her wit 
Values itself so highly that to her 
All matter else seems weak; she cannot love, 
Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 55 
She is so self-endeared. 

Urs. Sure, I think so; 

And therefore certainly it were not good 
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 

Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw 
man, 



336 



ACT III. SC. I.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



19 



How wise^ how noble, yoimg, how rarety fea- 

tiir'd, 60 

But she would spell hmi backward; if fair- 

fac'd. 
She would swear the gentleman should be her 

sister; 
If black, why. Nature, drawing of an antic. 
Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed; 
If low, an agate very vilely cut; 65 

If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds; 
If silent, M'hy, a block moved with none. 
So turns she every man the wrong side out 
And never gives to truth and virtue that 
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 70 

ZJrs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commend- 
able. 

Hero. No, not to be so odd and from all fash- 
ions 
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable: 
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, 
She would mock me into air; O, she would 
laugh me 75 

Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire. 
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly; 
It were a better death than die with mocks. 
Which is as bad as die with tickling. 80 

Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say. 

Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick 

And counsel him to fight against his passion. 
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders 
To stain my cousin with ; one doth not know 85 
How much an ill word may empoison liking. 

Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. 
She cannot be so much without true judg- 
ment — 
Having so swift and excellent a wit 
As she is priz'd to have — as to refuse 90 

So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick. 

Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
Always excepted my dear Claudio. 

Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam. 
Speaking my fancy; Signior Benedick, 95 

For shape, for bearing, argument and valour. 
Goes foremost in report through Italy. 

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. 

Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. 
When are you married, madam? 100 

Hero. Why, every day, to-morrow. Come, go 

I'll show thee some attires, and have thy coun- 
sel 



Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 
Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you ; we have caught 
her, madam. 104 

Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps; 
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 
[Exeunt Hero and Ursula.^ 
Beat. [Coming forzvard.'] What fire is in mine 
ears? Can this be true? 
Stand I eondemn'd for pride and scorn so 
much ? 
Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! 
No glory lives behind the back of such. no 
And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee. 

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand. 
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 

To bind our loves up in a holy band; 
For others say thou dost deserve, and I 115 
Believe it better than reportingly. Exit. 



[Scene II. — A room in Leonato's house.'] 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and 
Leonato. 

D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be 
consummate, and then go I toward Arragon. 

Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll 
vouchsafe me. 4 

D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in 
the new gloss of your marriage as to show a 
child his new coat and forbid him to wear it. 
I will only be bold with Benedick for his com- 
pany; for, from the crown of his head to the 
sole of his foot, he is all mirth; he hath twice 
or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string and the little 
hangman dare not shoot at him; he hath a 
heart as sound as a bell and his tongue is the 
clapper, for what his heart thinks his tongue 
speaks. 

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 15 

Leon. So say I ; methinks you are sadder. 

Claud. I hope he be in love. 

D. Pedro. Hang him, truant! there's no true 
drop of blood in him, to be truly touched with 
love; if he be sad, he wants money. ^o 

Bene. I have the toothache. 

D. Pedro. Draw it. 

Bene. Hang it! 

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after- 
wards. 25 



337 



20 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act 



ill. sc. II. 



D. Pedro. What ! sigh for the toothache — 

Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm? 

Bene. Well^ every one can master a grief but he 
that has it. 

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. 30 

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in 
him^ unless it be a fancy that he hath to 
strange disguises; as, to be a Dutchman to- 
day, a Frenchman to-morrow, or in the shape 
of two countries at once, as, a German from 
the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard 
from the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he 
have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he 
hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would 
have it appear he is. 39 

Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, 
there is no believing old signs; a' brushes his 
hat 6' mornings; what should that bode? 42 

J). Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the bar- 
ber's? 

Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen 
with him, and the old ornament of his cheek 
hath already stuffed tennis-balls. 47 

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by 
the loss of a beard. 

D. Pedro. Nay, a' rubs himself with civet; can 
you smell him out by that? 51 

Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet 
youth's in love. 

Z). Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melan- 
choly. 55 

Claud. And when was he wont to wash his 
face? 

D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the 
which, I hear what they say of him. 

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now 
crept into a lute-string and now governed by 
stops. 62 

T>. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him; 
conclude, conclude he is in love. 

Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. 

D. Pedro. That would I know too; I warrant, 
one that knows him not. 67 

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in de- 
spite of al], dies for him. 

D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up- 
wards. 71 

Bene. Yet is this no charm for the toothache. 
Old signior, walk aside with me; I have stud- 
ied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, 
which these hobby-horses must not hear. 75 
[Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.^ 



D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about 
Beatrice. 

Claud. 'Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have 
by this played their parts with Beatrice; and 
then the two bears will not bite one another 
when they meet. 81 

Enter Don John. 

D. John. My lord and brother, God save you ! 

D. Pedro. Good den, brother. 

D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak 
with you. 85 

D. Pedro. In private? 

JD. John. If it please you; yet Count Claudio 
may hear; for what I would speak of concerns 
him. 

D. Pedro. What's the matter? 90 

D. John. [To Claudio.'] Means your lordship to 
be married to-morrow? 

D. Pedro. You know he does. 

D. John. I know not that, when he knows wliat 
I . know. 95 

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you 
discover it. 

D. John. You may think I love you not; let that 
appear hereafter, and aim better at me by 
that I now will manifest. For my brother, I 
think he holds you well, and in dearness of 
heart hath holp to effect your ensuing mar- 
riage; — surely suit ill spent and labour ill be- 
stowed. 103 

D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter? 

D. John. I came hither to tell you; and, circum- 
stances shortened, for she has been too long 
a talking of, the lady is disloyal. 

Claud. Who, Hero? 

D. John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, 
every man's Hero. no 

Claud. Disloyal ? 

D. John. The word is too good to paint out her 
wickedness ; I could say she were worse ; think 
you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. 
Wonder not till further warrant; go but with 
me to-night, you shall see her chamber-win- 
dow entered, even the night before her wed- 
ding-day ; if you love her then, to-morrow wed 
her; but it would better fit your honour to 
change your mind. 
Claud. May this be so? 120 

D. Pedro. I will not think it. 

D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, con- 



338 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



21 



fess not that you know ; if you will follow me, 
I will show you enough; and when you haye 
seen more and heard more, proceed accord- 
ingly. 1-25 

Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should 
not marry her to-morrow, in the congregation, 
where I should wed, there will I shame her. 

D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain 
her, I will join wath thee to disgrace her. 130 

D. John. I will disparage her no farther till yon 
are my witnesses; bear it coldly but till mid- 
night, and let the issue show itself. 

D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned ! 

Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting! 135 

1). John. O plague right well preyented ! so will 
you say when you haye seen the sequel. 

Exeuiit. 



[Scene III. — A street.'] 

Enter Dogberry and Ins compartner [Verges] 
icith the Watch. 

Dog. Are you good men and true ? 

J'erg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should 
suffer salyation, body and soul. 

Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too good for 
them, if they should haye any allegiance in 
them, being chosen for the prince's watch. 6 

Verg. Well, giye them their charge, neighbour 
Dogberry. 

Dog. P'irst, who think you the most desartless 
man to be constable? 10 

First Watch. Hugh Otecake, sir, or George Sea- 
cole; for they can write and read. 

Dog. Come hither, neighbour Seacole. God 
hath blessed you with a good name; to be a 
well-fayoured man is the gift of fortune; but 
to write and read comes by nature. 16 

Sec. Watch. Both which, master constable, — 

Dog. You haye: I knew it would be your an- 
swer. Well, for your fayour, sir, why, giye 
God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for 
your writing and reading, let that appear 
when there is no need of such vanity. You 
are thought here to be the most senseless and 
fit man for the constable of the watch; there- 
fore bear you the lantern. This is your 
charge; you shall comprehend all vagrom 
men; you are to bid any man stand, in the 
prince's name. 27 



Sec. Watch. How if a' will not stand? 

Dog. Why, then, take no note of him, but let 
him go; and presently call tlie rest of the 
watch together and thank God you are rid 
of a knaye. 31 

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, 
he is none of the prince's subjects. 

Dog. True, and they are to meddle with none 
but the prince's subjects. You shall also 
make no noise in the streets ; for for the watch 
to babble and to talk is most tolerable and 
not to be endured. 

Watch. We will rather sleep than talk; we 
know what belongs to a watch. 40 

Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and most 
quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleep- 
ing should ofl'end ; only, haye a care that your 
bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call at 
all the ale-houses, and bid those that are 



drunk 2:et them to bed. 



46 



Watch. How if they will not? 

Dog. Why, then, let them alone till they are 
sober; if they make you not then the better 
answer, you may say they are not the men 
you took them for. 51 

Watch. Well, sir. 

Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, 
by yirtue of your office, to be no true man; 
and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle 
or make with them, why, the more is for your 
honesty. 

Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we 
not lay hands on him ? 58 

Dog. Truly, by your office, you may; but I 
think they that touch pitch will be defiled; 
the most peaceable way for you, if you do 
take a thief, is to let him show himself what 
he is and steal out of your company. 63 

Verg. You haye been always called a merciful 
man, partner. 

Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog hj my will, 
much more a man who hath any honesty in 
him. 68 

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you 
must call to the nurse and bid her still it. 70 

Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and will not 
hear us? 

Dog. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the 
child wake her witli crying; for the ewe th"t 
will not hear her lamb when it baes will 
neyer answer a calf when he bleats. 76 

Verg. 'Tis yery true. 



339 



22 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act III. SC. III. 



Dog. This is the end of the charge; — you, con- 
stable, are to present the prince's own jDcr- 
son: if you meet the prince in the night, you 
may stay him. 8i 

Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that I think a' can- 
not. 

Dog. Five shillings to one on't, with any man 
that knows the statues, he may stay him: 
marry, not without the prince be willing; for, 
indeed, the watch ought to offend no man; 
and it is an offence to stay a man against his 
M'ill. 88 

Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so. 

Dog. Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night: 
and there be any matter of weight chances, call 
up me; keep your fellows' counsels and your 
own; and good night. Come, neighbour. 93 

Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge: let 
us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, 
and then all to bed. 96 

Dog. One word more, honest neighbours. I 
jDray you, watch about Signior Leonato's door ; 
for the wedding being there to-morrow, there 
is a great coil to-night. Adieu: be vigitant, 
I beseech you. loi 

Exeunt [^Dogberry and Verges^. 

Enter Borachio and Conrade. 



Bora. What, Conrade ! 

Watch. [Aside.'] Peace! stir not. 

Bora. Conrade, I say ! 

Con. Here, man; I am at thy elbow. 105 

Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought 
there would a scab follow. 

Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and 
now forward with thy tale. 

Bora. Stand thee close, then, under this pent- 
house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a 
true drunkard, utter all to thee. 112 

Watch. [Aside.'] Some treason, masters; yet 
stand close. 

Bora. Therefore know I have earned of Don 
John a thousand ducats. 

Con. Is it possible that any villany should be 
so dear? 118 

Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask if it were pos- 
sible any villany should be so rich; for when 
rich villains have need of "jooor ones, poor ones 
may make what price they will. 

Con. I wonder at it. 123 



Bora, That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou 
knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a 
hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man. 

Con. Yes, it is apparel. 

Bora. I mean, the fashion. 

Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 129 

Bora. Tush! I may as well say the fool's the 
fool. But seest thou not what a deformed 
thief this fashion is.^ 

Watch. [Aside.] I know that Deformed; a' has 
been a vile thief this seven years ; a' goes up 
and down like a gentleman ; I remember his 
name. 136 

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody.^ 

Con. No; 'twas the vane on the house. 

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed 
thief this fashion is ? how giddily a' turns 
about all the hot bloods between fourteen and 
five-and-thirty .^ sometimes fashioning them 
like Pharaoh's soldiers in the reechy paint- 
ing, sometime like god Bel's priests in the 
old church-window, sometime like the shaven 
Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, 
where his codpiece seems as massy as his 
club } \\j 

Con. All this I see; and I see that the fashion 
wears out more apparel than the man. But 
art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion 
too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale 
into telling me of the fashion.^ 152 

Bora. Not so, neither; but know that I have to- 
night wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero's gen- 
tlewoman, by the name of Hero: she leans me 
out at her mistress' chamber-window, bids me 
a thousand times good night, — I tell this tale 
vilely : — I should first tell thee how the prince, 
Claudio and my master, planted and placed 
and possessed by my master Don John, saw 
afar off in the orchard this amiable encoun- 
ter. 161 

Con. And thought they Margaret was 
Hero? 

Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio ; 
but the devil my master knew she was Mar- 
garet; and partly by his oaths, which first 
possessed them, partly by the dark night, 
which did deceive them, but chiefly by my 
villany, which did confirm any slander that 
Don John had made, away went Claudio en- 
raged; swore he would meet her, as he was 
appointed, next morning at the temple, and 
there before the whole congregation shame 



340 



ACT III. SC, 



III.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



23 



her with what he saw o'er nighty and send 

her home again without a husband. 175 

First Watch. We charge yon, in the prince's 



name, stand ! 



Sec. Watch. Call up the right master constable. 
We have here recovered the most dangerous 
piece of lechery that ever was known in the 
commonwealth. 181 

Fi?'st Watch. And one Deformed is one of them: 
I know him; a' wears a lock. 

Con. Masters, masters, — 

Sec. Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed 
forth, I warrant you. 186 

Con. Masters, — 

First Watch. Never speak; we charge you let 
us obey you to go with us. 

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commod- 
ity, being taken up of these men's bills. 191 

Con. A commodity in question_, I warrant you. 
Come, we'll obey you. Fxeunt. 



[Scene IV. — Hero's apartment.^ 
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 

Hero. Good Ursula, wake m}^ cousin Beatrice, 
and desire her to rise. 

Urs. I will, lady. 

Hero. And bid her come hither. 

Urs. Well. [Ea:it.] 5 

Marg. Troth, I think your other rabato were 
better. 

Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. 

Marg. By my troth, 's not so good; and I war- 
rant your cousin will say so. 10 

Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another; 
I'll wear none but this. 

Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if 
the hair were a thought browner; and your 
gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw 
the Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise 
so. 16 

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. 

Marg. By my troth, 's but a night-gown in re- 
spect of yours; cloth o' gold, and cuts, and 
laced with silver, set with pearls, down 
sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts, round under- 
borne with a bluish tinsel; but for a fine, 
quaint, graceful and excellent fashion, yours 
is worth ten on't. zz 

Hero. God give me joy to wear it! for my heart 
is exceeding heavy. 



Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of 

a man. 
Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed? 28 

Marg. Of what, lady.? of speaking honourably.? 
Is not marriage honourable in a beggar.? Is 
not your lord honourable without marriage.? 
I think you would have me say, 'saving your 
jeverence, a husband;' and bad thinking do 
not wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody: 
is there any harm in 'the heavier for a hus- 
band'.? None, I think, and it be the right 
husband and the right wife; otherwise 'tis 
light, and not heavy; ask my .Lady Beatrice 
else; here she comes. 38 

Enter Beatrice. 

Hero. Good morrow, coz. 

Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 

Hero. Why, how now.? do you speak in the sick 

tune .? 42 

Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. 
Marg. Clap's into 'Light o' love;' that goes 

without a burden; do you sing it, and I'll 

dance it. 46 

Beat. Ye light o' love, with your heels ! then, 

if your husband have stables enough, you'll 

see he shall lack no barns. 
Marg. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn 

that with my heels. 51 

Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time 

you were ready. By my troth, I am exceed- 
ing ill ; heigh-ho ! 
Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? 55 
Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. 
Marg. Well, and you be not turned Turk, there's 

no more sailing by the star. 
Beat. What means the fool, trow? 
Marg. Nothing I ; but God send every one their 

heart's desire ! 61 

Hero. These gloves the count sent me; they arc 

an excellent perfume. 
Beat. I am stuffed, cousin ; I cannot smell. 
Marg. A maid, and stuffed ! there's goodly 

catching of cold. 66 

Beat. O, God help me ! God help me ! how 

long have you professed apprehension ? 
Marg. Ever since you left it. Doth not 



wit become me rarely 



my 

70 



Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear 

it in your cap. By my troth, I am sick. 
Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus 



341 



24 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act III. SC. IV. 



Benedictus^ and lay it to your heart; it is the 
only thing for a qualm. 75 

Hero. There thou prickest her with a thistle. 

Beat. Benedictus ! why Benedictus? you have 
some moral in this Benedictus. 

Marg. IMoral ! no, by my troth, I have no moral 
meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You 
may think perchance that I think you are in 
love; na}', by'r lad}', I am not such a fool to 
think what I list, nor I list not to think what 
I can, nor indeed I cannot think, if I would 
think my heart out of thinking, that you are 
in love or "that you will be in love or that you 
can be in love. Yet Benedick was such an- 
other, and now is he become a man; he swore 
he would never marry, and yet now, in de- 
spite of his heart, he eats his meat without 
grudging: and how you may be converted I 
know not, but methinks you look with your 
eyes as other women do. 

Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? 

Marg. Not a false gallop. 94 

Enter Ursula. 

Urs. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, 
Signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gal- 
lants of the town, are come to fetch you to 
church. 

Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, 
good Ursula. [Ej:eunt.] 99 



[Scene V. — Another room hi Leonato's house.'\ 

Enter Leonato, with the Constable [^Dogberry'] 
and the Headborough [Verges]. 

Leon. What would you with me, honest neigh- 
bour? 

Dog. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence 
with you that decerns you nearly. 4 

Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a 
busy time with me. 

Dog. Marry, this it is, sir. 

Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. 

Leon. What is it, my good friends? 9 

Dog. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off 
the matter; an old man, sir, and his wits are 
not so blunt as, God help, I would desire they 
were ; but, in faith, honest as the skin between 
his brows. 14 



Verg. Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any 
man living that is an old man and no honester 
than I. 

Dog. Comparisons are odorous ; palabras, neigh- 
bour Verges. 

Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. 20 

Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but we 
are the poor duke's officers; but truly, for 
mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, 
I could find it in my heart to bestow it all of 
your worship. 25 

Leon. All thy tediousness on me, ah? 

Dog. Yea, and 'twere a thousand pound more 
than 'tis ; for I hear as good exclamation on 
your worship as of any man in the city; and 
though I be but a poor man, I am glad to 
hear it. 30 

Verg. And so am I. 

Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. 

Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting 
your worship's presence, ha' ta'en a couple 
of as arrant knaves as any in Messina. 35 

Dog. A good old man, sir; he will be talking; 
as they say. When the age is in, the wit is 
out ; God help us ! it is a world to see. Well 
said, i' faith, neighbour Verges: well, God's 
a good man, and two men ride of a horse, 
one must ride behind. An honest soul, i' 
faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever broke 
bread ; but God is to be worshipped ; all men 
are not alike ; alas, good neighbour ! 44 

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of 
you. 

Dog. Gifts that God gives. 

Leon. I must leave you. 48 

Dog. One word, sir; our watch, sir, have in- 
deed comprehended two aspicious persons, and 
we would have them this morning examined 
before your worship. 52 

Leon. Take their examination yourself and brinj 
it me; I am now in great haste, as it ma] 
appear unto you. 

Dog. It shall be suffigance. 

Leon. Drink some wine ere you go; fare yoi 
well. [Going.'] s« 

[Enter a Messenger.] 

Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give yoi 

daughter to her husband. 
Leon, I'll wait upon them; I am ready. 

[Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. 



.342 



ACT III. SC. v.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



25 



Dog. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis 
Seacole; bid him bring his pen and inkhorn 
to the gaol; we are now to examination these 
men. 
J^erg. And we must do it wisely. 65 

Dog. We VfiW spare for no wit, I warrant you; 
here's that shall drive some of them to a non- 
come; only get the learned writer to set down 
our excommunication and meet me at the gaol. 

Exeunt. 69 

ACT FOURTH 



[Scene I. — A church.'] 

Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar 
Francis, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, Beatrice 
[and Attendants]. 

Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief; only to 
the plain form of marriage, and you shall re- 
count their particular duties afterwards. 

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this 
lady. 5 

Claud. No. 

Leon. To be married to her; friar, you come 
marry her. 

Friar. Lad}", you come hither to be married 
this count. 10 

Hero. I do. 

Friar. If either of you know any inward im- 
pediment why you should not be conjoined, I 
charge you, on your souls, to utter it. 



to 



to 



Claud. Know you any, Hero.^ 15 

Hero. None, my lord. 

Friar. Know you any, count? 

Leon. I dare make his answer, none. 

Claud. O, what men dare do ! what men may 
do ! what men daily do, not knowing what 
they do ! 21 

Bene. How now! interjections? Why, then, 
some be of laughing, as, ah, ha, he ! 

Claud. Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your 
leave : 
Will you with free and unconstrained soul 25 
Give me this maid, your daughter? 

Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. 

Claud. And wliat have I to give you back, whose 
worth 
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? 

D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her 
again. 



35 



not 



Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank 
fulness. 

There, Leonato, take her back again; 

Give not this rotten orange to your friend; 

She's but the sign and semblance of her hon 
our. 

Behold how like a maid she blushes here! 

O, what authority and show of truth 

Can cunning sin cover itself withal! 

Comes not that blood as modest evidence 

To witness simple virtue? Would you 
swear. 

All you that see her, that she were a maid, 40 

By these exterior shows? But she is none; 

She knows the heat of a luxurious bed; 

Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. 
Leon. What do you mean, my lord? 
Claud. Not to be married. 

Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. 45 
Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof. 

Have vanquish 'd the resistance of her youth. 

And made defeat of her virginity, — 
Claud. I know what you would say; if I have 
known her, 

did embrace me as a hus- 



say 



sh( 



You will 

band, 50 

And so extenuate the 'forehand sin; 
No, Leonato, 

I never tempted her with word too large; 
But, as a brother to his sister, show'd 
Bashful sincerity and comely love. 55 

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? 
Claud. Out on thee! Seeming! I will write 
against it; 
You seem to me as Dian in her orb, 
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown; 
But you are more intemperate in your blood 60 
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals 
That rage in savage sensuality. 
Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so 

wide? 
Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not y-ou? 
D. Pedro. What should I speak? 

I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about 65 
To link my dear friend to a common stale. 
Leon. Are these things spoken, or do I but 

dream ? 
D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things 

are true. 
Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. 
Hero. True ! O God ! 

30 Claud. Leonato, stand I here? 70 

343 



26 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act IV. SC. I. 



Is this the prince? is this the prince's brother? 
Is this face Hero's? are our eyes our own? 

Leon. All this is so; but what of this^ my lord? 

Claud. Let me but move one question to your 
daughter ; 
And^ by that fatherly and kindly power 75 
That you have in her^ bid her answer truly. 

Leon. I charge thee do so^, as thou art my child. 

Hero. O, God defend me ! how am I beset ! 
What kind of catechising call you this ? 

Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. 

Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot that name 
With any just reproach? 82 

Claud. Marry, that can Hero; 

Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
Out at your window betwixt twelve and one ? 85 
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my 
lord. 

D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. 
Leonato, 
I am sorry you must hear ; upon mine honour, 
Myself, my brother and this grieved count 90 
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night 
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window; 
Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain, 
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had 
A thousand times in secret. 95 

D. John. Fie, fie ! they are not to be nam'd, my 
lord. 
Not to be spoke of; 

There is not chastity enough in language 
Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty 

lady, 
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 100 

Claud. O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been. 
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd 
About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart ! 
But fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! fare- 
well. 
Thou pure impiety and impious purity ! 105 
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, 
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang. 
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm. 
And never shall it more be gracious. 

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for 
me? [Hero swoons.'] no 

Beat. Why, how now, cousin ! wherefore sink 
you down? 

D. John. Come, let us go. These things, come 
thus to light. 



Smother her spirits up. 114 

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudia,'] 

Bene, How doth the lady? 

Beat, Dead, I think. Help, uncle ! 

Hero ! why. Hero ! Uncle ! Signior Bene- 
dick ! Friar ! 

Leon. O Fate ! take not away thy heavy hand. 
Death is the fairest cover for her shame 
That may be wish'd for. 

Beat. How now, cousin Hero ! 

Friar. Have comfort, lady. 

Leon. Dost thou look up? 120 

Friar. Yea, wherefore should she not? 

Leon. Wherefore ! Why, doth not every earthly 
thing 
Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny 
The story that is printed in her blood? 
Do not live. Hero ; do not ope thine eyes ; 125 
For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly dfe. 
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy 

shames. 
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches. 
Strike at thy life. Griey'd I, I had but one? 
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame? 130 
O, one too much by thee! Why had I one? 
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ? 
Why had I not with charitable hand 
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates. 
Who smirched thus and mir'd with infamy, 135 
I might have said 'No part of it is mine; 
This shame derives itself from unknown loins' ? 
But mine and mine I lov'd and mine I prais'd 
And mine that I was proud on, mine so much 
That I myself was to myself not mine, 140 
Valuing of her, — why, she, O, she is fallen 
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea 
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again 
And salt too little which may season give 
To her foul-tainted flesh ! 

Bene. Sir, sir, be patient. 145 

For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder, 
I know not what to say. 

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied ! 

Bene, Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? 

Beat. No, truly not ; although, until last night, 150 
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. 

Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! O, that is stronger 
made 
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! 
Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie. 
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foul- 
ness. 



iSS 



344 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



.27 



Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let 
her die. 
Friar. Hear me a little; 

For I have only been silent so long 

And given way unto this course of fortune 

By noting of the lady; I have mark'd i6o 

A thousand blushing apparitions 

To start into her face^, a thousand innocent 

shames 
In angel whiteness beat away those blushes ; 
And in her eye there hath appeared, a fire^ 
To burn the erroi-s that these princes hold 165 
Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool; 
Trust not my reading nor my observations^, 
Which with experimental seal doth warrant 
The tenour of my book; trust not my age^ 
My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 170 

If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
Under some biting error. 
Leon. Friar, it cannot be. 

Thou seest that all the grace that she hath 

left 
Is that she will not add to her damnation 
A sin of perjury; she not denies it; 175 

Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse 
That which appears in proper nakedness? 
Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of ? 
Hero. They know that do accuse me ; I know 
none: 
If I know more of any man alive 180 

Than that which maiden modesty doth war- 
rant, 
Let all my sins lack mercy ! O my father, 
Prove you that any man with me convers'd 
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
Maintain'd the change of words with any crea- 
ture, 185 
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death ! 
Friar. There is some strange misprision in the 

princes. 
Bene. Two of them have the very bent of hon- 
our; 
And if their wisdoms be misled in this. 
The practice of it lives in John the bastard, 190 
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. 
Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth of 
her. 
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her 

honour. 
The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of 
mine, 195 



Nor age so eat up my invention, 
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, 
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, 
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind. 
Both strength of limb and policy of mind, 200 
Ability in means and choice of friends. 
To quit me of them throughly. 
Friar. Pause awhile, 

And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
Your daughter here the princes left for dead; 
Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 205 

And publish it that she is dead indeed; 
Maintain a mourning ostentation 
And on your family's old monument 
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
That appertain unto a burial. 210 

Leon. What shall become of this ? what will this 

do? 
Friar. Marry, this well carried shall on her be- 
half 
Change slander to remorse ; that is some good ; 
But not for that dream I on this strange 

course. 
But on this travail look for greater birth. 215 
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd. 
Upon the instant that she was accus'd. 
Shall be lamented, pitied and excus'd 
Of every hearer ; for it so falls out 
That what we have we prize not to the worth 
Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost. 
Why, then we rack the value, then we find 222 
The virtue that possession would not show us 
Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with 

Claudio ; 
When he shall hear she died upon his words, 225 
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
Into his study of imagination. 
And every lovely organ of her life 
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, 
More moving-delicate and full of life, 230 

Into the eye and prospect of his soul. 
Than when she liv'd indeed; then shall he 

mourn, 
If ever love had interest in his liver, 
And wish he had not so accused her. 
No, though he thought his accusation true. 235 
Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
Will fashion the event in better shape 
Than I can lay it down in likelihood. 
But if all aim but this be levell'd false. 
The supposition of the lady's death 240 

Will quench the wonder of her infamy; 



345 



28 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act IV. SC, I. 



And if it sort not well, you may conceal her, 

As best befits her wounded reputation, 

In some reclusive and religious life. 

Out of all eyes, tongues, minds and injuries, 245 

Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you; 
And though 3'ou know my inwardness and love 
Is very mucli unto the prince and Claudio, 
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this 
As secretly and justly as your soul 250 

Should with your body. 

Leon. Being that I flow in grief, 

The smallest twine may lead me. 

Friar. 'Tis well consented; presently away; 

For to strange sores strangely they strain 

the cure. 255 

Come, lady, die to live; this wedding-day 

Perhaps is but prolong'd ; have patience and 

endure. 

Exeunt [aZZ hut Benedick and Beatrice']. 

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this 
while .^ 

Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 

Bene. I will not desire that. 

Beat. You have no reason; I do it freely. 260 

Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is 
wronged. 

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of 
me that would right her ! 

Bene. Is there any way to show such friend- 
ship ? 265 

Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. 

Bene. May a man do it? 

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. 

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as 
you: is not that strange? 270 

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not. It 
were as possible for me to say I loved nothing 
so well as you: but believe me not; and yet I 
lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. 
I am sorry for my cousin. 275 

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 

Beat. Do not swear, and cat it. 

Bene. I will swear by it that yow love me; and 
I will make him eat it that says I love not you. 

Beat. Will you not eat your word? 2-^0 

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. 
I protest I love thee. 

Beat. Why, then, God forgive me! 

Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice? 

Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour ; I 
was about to protest I loved you. 2R6 

Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 



Beat. I love you with so much of my heart that 
none is left to protest. 

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. 290 

Beat. Kill Claudio. 

Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. 

Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell. 

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 

Beat. I am gone, though I am here; there is no 
love in you; nay, I pray you, let me go. 296 

Bene. Beatrice, — 

Beat. In faith, I will go. 

Bene. We'll be friends first. * 

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me than 
fight with mine enemy. 301 

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ? 

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, 
that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my 
kinswoman ? O that I were a man ! What, 
bear her in hand until they come to take 
hands ; and then, with public accusation, un- 
covered slander, unmitigated rancour, — O God, 
that I were a man ! I would eat his heart in 
the market-place. 

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice, — 310 

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ! A 
proper saying ! 

Bene. Nay, but, Beatrice, — 

Beat. Sweet Hero ! She is wronged, she is slan- 
dered, she is undone. 315 

Bene. Beat — 

Beat. Princes and counties ! Surely, a princely 
testimony, a goodly count. Count Comfect; a 
sweet gallant, surely ! O that I were a man 
for his sake ! or that I had any friend would 
be a man for my sake ! But manhood is 
melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, 
and men are only turned into tongue, and trim 
ones too; he is now as valiant as Hercules 
that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot 
be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a 
woman with grieving. 326 

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I 
love thee. 

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than 
swearing by it. 330 

Bene. Think you in your soul the Count Claudio 
hath wronged Hero? 

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a 
soul. 334 

Bene. Enough, I am engaged; I will challenge 
him. I will kiss your hand, and so I leave 
you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me 



346 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



29 



a dear account. As you hear of me, so think 
or me. Go, comfort your cousin; I must say 
she is dead; and so, farewell. [Ea.'eunt.] 340 



[Scene II. — A prison.] 

Enter the Constables [Dogberry, Verges, and 
Sed'ton], in goicns; [and the Watch, zi^ith 
Conrade and] Borachio. 

Dog. Is our whole dissembly appeared? 

Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton. 

Sex. Which be the malefactors? 

Dog. Marry, that am I and my partner. 

Verg. Nay, that's certain; we have the exhibi- 
tion to examine. 6 

Sex. But which are the offenders that are to 
be examined? let them come before master 
constable. 

Dog. Yea, marry, let them come before me. 
What is your name, friend? n 

Bora. Borachio. 

Dog. Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, sir- 
rah? 

Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is 
'Conrade. 16 

Dog. Write down, master gentleman Conrade. 
Masters, do you serve God? 

Con. ) vr • T, 

„ > lea, sir, we hope. 19 

Bora. ) ' ' ^ 

Dog. Write down^ that they hope they serve 
God: and write God first; for God defend but 
God should go before such villains ! Masters, 
it is proved already that you are little better 
than false knaves ; and it will go near to be 
thought so shortly. How answer you for 
yourselves ? 25 

Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 

Dog. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; 
but I will go about with him. Come you 
hither, sirrah; a word in your ear; sir, I say 
to you, it is thought you are false knaves. 30 

Bora. Sir, I say to you we are none. 

Dog. Well, stand aside. 'Fore God, they are 
both in a tale. Have you writ down, that they 
are none? 34 

Sex. Master constable, you go not the way to 
examine; you must call forth the watch that 
are their accusers. 

T>og. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way. Let 
the watch come forth. Masters, I charge you. 



in the prince's name, accuse these men. 40 

First Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, 
the prince's brother, was a villain. 

Dog. Write down Prince John a villain. Wh}^, 
this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother 
villain. 

Bora. ]\Iaster constable, — 45 

Dog. Pray thee, fellow^, peace; I do not like thy 
look, I promise thee. 

Sex. What heard you him say else ? 

Sec. Watch. Marry, that he had received a thou- 
sand ducats of Don John for accusing the 
Lady Hero wrongfully. 51 

Dog. Flat burglary as ever was committed. 

Verg. Yea, by mass, that it is. 

Sex. What else, fellow? 

First Watch. And that Count Claudio did mean, 
upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the 
whole assembly, and not marry her. 57 

Dog. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into 
everlasting redemption for this. 

Sex. What else? 60 

Watch. This is all. 

Sex. And this is more, masters, than you can 
deny. Prince John is this morning secretly 
stolen away ; Hero was in this manner accused, 
in this very manner refused, and upon the 
grief of this suddenly diedw Master con- 
stable, let these men be bound, and brought 
to Leonato's; I will go before and show him 
their examination. [Exit.] 

Dog. Come, let them be opinioned. 

Verg. Let them be in the hands — 70 

[Con.] Off, coxcomb! 

Dog. God's my life, where's the sexton? let him 
write down the prince's officer coxcomb- 
Come, bind them. Thou naughty varlet ! 74 

Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 

Dog. Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou 
not suspect my years? O that he were here 
to write me down an ass ! But, masters, re- 
member tliat I am an ass ; though it be not 
written down, yet forget not that I am an ass. 
No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall 
be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a 
wise fellow, and, which is more, an officer, and, 
which is more, a householder, and, which is 
more, as pretty a piece of flesli as any is in 
Messina, and one that knows the law, go to; 
and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow 
that hath had losses, and one that hath two 
gowns and every thing handsome about him. 



347 



80 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act IV. SC. II. 



Bring him away. O that I had been writ 
down an ass ! Exeunt. 90 



ACT FIFTH 

[Scene I. — Before Leonato's Jiouse.] 

Enter Leonato and Antonio. 

Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; 
And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief 
Against yourself. 
Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, 

Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
As water in a sieve. Give not me counsel; 5 
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear 
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with 

mine. 
Bring me a father that so lov'd his child. 
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine. 
And bid him speak of patience; 10 

Measure his woe the length and breadth of 

mine 
And let it answer every strain for strain, 
As thus for thus and such a grief for such, 
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form; 
If such a one will smile and stroke his beard, 15 
Bid sorrow wag, cry 'hem!' when he should 

groan. 
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune 

drunk 
With candle-wasters ; bring him yet to me. 
And I of him will gather patience. 
But there is no such man; for, brother, men 20 
Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief 
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting 

it. 
Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
Would give preceptial medicine to rage. 
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, 25 
Charm ache with air and agony with words. 
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience 
To those that wring under the load of sorrow. 
But no man's virtue nor sufficiency 
To be so moral when he shall endure 30 

The like himself. Therefore give me no coun- 
sel; 
My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 
Ant. Therein do men from children nothing 

differ. 
Leon. I pray thee, peace. T will be flesh and 

blood ; 



For there was never yet philosopher 35 

That could endure the toothache patiently. 
However they have writ the style of gods 
And made a push at chance and sufferance. 
Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; 
Make those that do offend you suffer too. 40 
Leon. There thou speak'st reason; nay, I will 

do so. 
. My soul doth tell me Hero is belied ; 
And that shall Claudio know; so shall the 

prince 
And all of them that thus dishonour her. 

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. 

Ant. Here comes the prince and Claudio hastily. 
D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 
Claud. Good day to both of you. 46 

Leon. Hear you, my lords, — 
D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 

Leon. Some haste, my lord ! well, fare you well, 
my lord; 
Are you so hasty now? well, all is one. 
D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old 
man. 50 

Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling. 

Some of us would lie low. 
Claud. Who wrongs him ? 

Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me ; thou dissem- 
bler, thou ! — 
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword; 
I fear thee not. 
Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand, 55 

If it should give your age such cause of fear; 
In faith,, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 
Leon. Tush, tush, man; never fleer and jest at 
me; 
I speak not like a dotard nor a fool. 
As under privilege of age to brag 60 

What I have done being young, or what would 

do 
Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy bead, 
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and 

me 
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by 
And, with grey hairs and bruise of many 
days, 65 

Do challenge thee to trial of a man. 
I say thou hast belied mine innocent child; 
Thy slander hath gone through and through 

her heart. 
And she lies buried with her ancestors; 



348 



ACT V. 



SC. I.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



31 



O, in a tomb where never scandal slept, 70 

Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villany ! 

Claud. My villany? 

Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. 

D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 

Leon. My lord, my lord, 

I'll prove it on his body, if he dare. 
Despite his nice fence and his active practice. 
His May of youth and bloom of lustihood. 7^ 

Claud. Away ! I will not have to do with you. 

Leon. Canst thou so dafF me ? Thou hast kill'd 
my child; 
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed; 
But that's no matter; let him kill one first; 81 
Vvln me and wear me; let him answer me. 
Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, come, 

follow me: 
Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence; 
Nay, as I r.m a gentleman, I will. 85 

Leon. Brother, — 

Ant. Content yourself. God knows I lov'd my 
niece ; 
And she is dead, slander'd to death by vil- 
lains. 
That dare as well answer a man indeed I 

As I dare take a serpent by the tongue; 90 
Boys, apes, braggarts. Jacks, milksops ! 

Leon. Brother Antony, — 

Ant. Hold you content. What, man! I know 
them, yea. 
And what they wxigh, even to the utmost 

scruple, — 
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys. 
That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slan- 
der, 95 
Go anticly, show outward hideousness. 
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words. 
How they might hurt their enemies, if they 

durst; 
And this is all. 

Leon. But, brother Antony, — 

Ant. Come, 'tis no matter; 100 

Do not you meddle; let me deal in this, 

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake 
your patience 
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death; 
But, on my honour, she was charged with 

nothing 
But what was true and very full of proof. 105 

Leon. My lord, my lord, — • 

D. Pedro. I will not hear you. 



Leon. No ? Come, brother ; away ! I will be 

heard. 
Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart for it. 
Exeunt Leonato and Antonio. 
D. Pedro. See, see; here comes the man we 

went to seek. no 

Enter BenedicJc. 

Claud. Now, signior, what news? 

Bene. Good day, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Welcome, signior; you are almost 
come to part almost a fray. 114 

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses 
snapped off with two old men without teeth. 

D, Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What 
thinkest thou? Had we fought, I doubt we 
should have been too young for them. 

Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. 
I came to seek you both. 121 

Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee, 
for we are high-proof melancholy and would 
fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy 
wit? 

Bene. It is in my scabbard: shall I draw it? 125 

D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? 

Claud. Never any did so, though very many 
have been beside their wit. I will bid thee 
draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleas- 
ure us. 

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale. 
Art thou sick, or angry? 131 

Claud. What, courage, man ! What though care 
killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee 
to kill care. 134 

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, 
and you charge it against me. I pray you 
choose another subject. 

Claud. Nay, then, give him another stafF; this 
last was broke cross. 

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and 
more: I think he be angry indeed. 141 

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his gir- 
dle. 

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? 

Claud. God bless me from a challenge ! 145 

Bene. [Aside to Claudio.] You are a villain; I 
jest not; I will make it good how you dare, 
with what you dare, and when you dare. Do 
me right, or I will protest your cowardice. 
You have killed a sweet lady, and her death 
shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear from 
you. 151 



349 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act v. SC. I. 



Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have 
good cheer. 

D. Pedro. What, a feast, a feast? 

Claud. V faith, I thank him; he hath bid me 
to a calf's head and a capon; the which if I 
do not carve most curiously, say my knife's 
naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too } 158 

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easih^ 

D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised 
thy wit the other day. I said, thou hadst a 
fine wit; 'True,' said she, 'a fine little one.' 
'No,' said I, 'a great wit;' 'Right,' says she, 
'a great gross one.' 'Nay,' said I, 'a good 
wit;' 'Just,' said she, 'it hurts nobody.' 'Nay,' 
said I, 'the gentleman is wise;' 'Certain,' said 
she, 'a wise gentleman.' 'Nay,' said I, 'he 
hath the tongues;' 'That I believe,' said she, 
'for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, 
which he forswore on Tuesday morning; 
there's a double tongue; there's two tongues.' 
Thus did she, an hour together, trans-shape 
thy particular virtues; yet at last she con- 
cluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest 
man in Italy. 

Claud. For the which she wept heartily and said 
she cared not. 176 

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, 
and if she did not hate him deadly, she would 
love him dearly; the old man's daughter told 
us all. 180 

Claud. All, all; and, moreover, God saw him 
when he was hid in the garden. 

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage 
bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head? 

Claud. Yea, and text underneath, 'Here dwells 
Benedick the married man'? 186 

Bene. Fare you well, boy; you know my mind. 
I will leave you now to your gossip-like hu- 
mour; you break jests as braggarts do their 
blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not. My 
lord, for your many courtesies I thank you: 
I must discontinue your company ; your brother 
the bastard is fled from Messina; you have 
among you killed a sweet and innocent lady. 
For my Lord Lackbeard there, he and I shall 
meet; and, till then, peace be with him. 196 

[Exit.'] 

D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 

Claud. In most profound earnest; and^ I'll war- 
rant you, for the love of Beatrice. 

D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee. 200 

Claud. Most sincerely. 



D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is when he 
goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off 
his wit! 

Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with 
Conrade and Borachio. 

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape; but then 
is an ape a doctor to such a man. 206 

D. Pedro. But, soft you, let me be; pluck up, 
my heart, and be sad. Did he not say, my 
brother was fled? 

Dog. Come you, sir: if justice cannot tame you, 
she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her 
balance; nay, and you be a cursing hyjjocrite 
once, you must be looked to. 213 

D. Pedro. How now? two of my brother's men 
bound ! Borachio one ! 

Claud. 'Hearken after their offence, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men 
done ? 218 

Dog. Marry, sir, they have committed false re- 
port; moreover, they have spoken untruths; 
secondarily, they are slanders ; sixth and 
lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they 
have verified unjust things; and, to conclude, 
they are lying knaves. 224 

D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done; 
thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence; sixth 
and lastly, why they are committed; and, to 
conclude, what you lay to their charge. 228 

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own divi- 
sion; and, by my troth, there's one meaning 
well suited. 231 

D. Pedro. Who have you offended, masters, that 
you are thus bound to your answer? this 
learned constable is too cunning to be under- 
stood; what's your offence? 235 

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no farther to 
mine answer; do you hear me, and let this 
count kill me. I have deceived even your 
very eyes; what your wisdoms could not dis- 
cover, these shallow fools have brought to 
light; who in the night overheard me con- 
fessing to this man how Don John your 
brother incensed me to slander the Lady Hero, 
how you were brought into the orchard and 
saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments, 
how you disgraced her, when you should 
marry her. My villany they have upon record; 
which I had rather seal with my death than 
repeat over to my shame. The lady is dead 



350 



ACT V. SC. 



I.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



33 



upon mine and my master's false accusation; 
and, briefly, I desire nothing but the reward 
of a villain. 251 

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through 
your blood? 

Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it. 

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to 
this ? 

Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice 
of it. 256 

D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of treach- 
ery ; 
And fled he is upon this villany. 

Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth ap- 
pear 
In tl:e rare semblance that I lov'd it first. 260 

Dog. Come, bring away the plaintiffs; by this 
time our sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato 
of the matter; and, masters, do not forget to 
specify, when time and place shall serve, that 
I am an ass. 265 

J^erg. Here, here comes master Signior Leonato, 
and the sexton too. 

Filter Leonato [and Antonio, with the Sea;ton'\. 

Leon. Which is the villain? let me see his eyes. 
That, when I note another man like him, 270 
I may avoid him; which of these is he? 

Bora. If you would know your wronger, look 
on me. 

Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy breath 
hast kill'd 
Mine innocent child? 

Bora. Yea, even I alone. 

Leon. No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself: 
Here stand a pair of honourable men ; 276 

A third is fled, that had a hand in it. 
I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death ; 
Record it with your high and worthy deeds; 
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 

Claud. I know not how to pray your patience; 
Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge your- 
self; 282 
Impose me to what penance your invention 
Can lay upon my sin ; yet sinn'd I not 
But in mistaking. 

D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I ; 285 

And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
I would bend under any heavy weight 
That he'll enjoin me to. 

Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live; 



That were impossible; but, I pray you both. 
Possess the people in Messina here 291 

How innocent she died; and if your love 
Can labour aught in sad invention. 
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb 
And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night. 295 
To-morrow morning come you to my house. 
And since you could not be my son-in-law. 
Be yet my nephew; my brother hath a daugh- 
ter. 
Almost the copy of my child that's dead. 
And she alone is heir to both of us ; 300 

Give her the right you should have given her 

cousin, 
And so dies my revenge. 

Claud. O noble sir. 

Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me ! 

I do embrace your offer; and dispose 

For henceforth of poor Claudio. 305 

Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your com- 
ing; 
To-night I take my leave. This naughty man 
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, 
Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong. 
Hired to it by your brother. 

Bora. No, by my soul, she was not. 

Nor knew not what she did when she spoke 

to me. 
But always hath been just and virtuous 312 

In any thing that I do know by her. 

Dog. Moreover', sir, which indeed is not under 
white and black, this plaintiff here, thp of- 
fender, did call me ass; I beseech you, let it 
be remembered in his punishment. And also, 
the watch heard them talk of one Deformed; 
they say he wears a key in his ear and a lock 
hanging by it, and borrows money in God's 
name; the which he hath used so long and 
never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted 
and will lend nothing for God's sake: pray 
you, examine him upon that point. 323 

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest 
pains. 

Dog. Your worship speaks like a most thankful 
and reverend youth; and I praise God for 
you. 

Leon. There's for thy pains. 

Dog. God save the foundation ! 

Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and 
I thank thee. 330 

Dog. I leave an arrant knave with your wor- 
ship; which I beseech your worship to correct 



351 



34 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act v. SC. I. 



yourself, for the example of others. God 
keep your worship ! I wish your worship 
well; God restore you to health! I humbly 
give you leave to depart ; and if a merry meet- 
ing may be wished, God prohibit it! Come, 
neighbour. 337 

Exeunt [^Dogberry and Verges^. 
Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, fare- 
well. 
Ant. Farewell, my lords: we look for you to- 
morrow. 
D. Pedro. We will not fail. 

Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. 

Leon. [To the Watch.] Bring you these fellows 

on. We'll talk with Margaret, 341 

How her acquaintance grew with this lewd 

fellow. 

Exeunt [seve7'ally'\. 

[Scene II. — Leonato's garden.] 
Enter Benedick and Margaret, [meeting]. 

Bene. Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, de- 
serve well at my hands by helping me to the 
speech of Beatrice. 

Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise 
of my beauty? 5 

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man 
living shall come over it; for, in most comely 
truth, thou deservest it. 

Marg. To have no man come over me ! why, 
shall I always keep below stairs.^ 10 

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's 
mouth; it catches. 

Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, 
which hit, but hurt not. 

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not 
hurt a woman: and so, I pray thee, call Bea- 
trice; I give thee the bucklers. 17 

Marg. Give us the swords; we have bucklers of 
our own. 

Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put 
in the pikes with a vice; and they are dan- 
gerous weapons for maids. 22 

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I 
think hath legs. Exit Margaret. 

Bene. And therefore will come. 

[Sings] The god of love, 

That sits above, 
And knows me, and knows me, 
How pitiful I deserve, — 



I mean in singing; but in loving, Leander the 
good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of 
pandars, and a whole bookful of these quon- 
dam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run 
smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, 
why, they were never so truly turned over and 
over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot 
show it in rhyme; I have tried; I can find out 
no rhyme to 'lady' but 'baby,' an innocent 
rhyme; for 'scorn,' 'horn,' a hard rhj^me; for 
'school,' 'fool,' a babbling rhyme ; very ominous 
endings; no, I was not born under a rhyming 
planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms. 41 

Enter Beatrice. 

Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I 
called thee.^ 

Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. 

Be7ie. O, stay but till then! 45 

Beat. 'Then' is spoken; fare you well now; and 
3^et, ere I go, let me go with that I came for; 
which is, with knowing what hath passed be- 
tween you and Claudio. 

Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will 
kiss thee. 51 

Beat, Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind 
is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; 
therefore I will depart unkissed. 

Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his 
right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must 
tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my chal- 
lenge; and either I must shortly hear from 
him, or I will subscribe him a coward. And, I 
pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad 
parts didst thou first fall in love with me } 61 

Beat. For them all together; which maintained 
so politic a state of evil that they will not ad- 
mit any good part to intermingle with them. 
But for which of my good parts did you first 
suffer love for me? 66 

Bene. Suffer love ! a good epithet ! I do suffer 
love indeed, for I love thee against my will. 

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor 
heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will 
spite it for yours; for I will never love that 
which my friend hates. 72 

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peace- 
ably. 

Beat. It appears not in this confession; there's 
not one wise man among twenty that will 
praise himself. 77 



352 



ACT V. SC. 



II.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



35 



Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that 
lived in the time of good neighbours. If a 
man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere 
he dies, he shall live no longer in monument 
than the bell rings and the widow weeps. 82 

Beat. And how long is that, think you.^* 

Bene. Question: why, an hour in clamour and a 
quarter in rheum; therefore is it most expedi- 
ent for the wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, 
find no impediment to the contrary, to be the 
trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself. 
So much for praising myself, who, I myself 
will bear witness, is praiseworthy; and now 
tell me, how doth your cousin .^^ 91 

Beat. Very ill. 

Bene. And how do you? 

Beat. Very ill too. 

Bene. Serve God, love me and mend. There 
will I leave you too, for here comes one in 
haste. 96 

Enter Ursula. 

Urs. Madam, jou must come to your uncle. 
Yonder's old coil at home: it is proved my 
Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the 
prince and Claudio mightily abused; and Don 
John is the author of all, who is fled and gone. 
Will you come presently? 102 

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior ? 

Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap and 
be buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go 
with thee to thy uncle's. Exeunt. 106 



[Scene III. — A church.'] 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and three or 
with tapers. 

Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? 

A Lord. It is, my lord. 

Claud. [Reading out of a scroll^ 

Epitaph. 

'Done to death by slanderous tongues 
Was the Hero that here lies ; 

Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, 
Gives her fame which never dies. 

So the life that died with shame 

Lives in death with glorious fame. 



four 



Hang thou there upon the tomb. 

Praising her when I am dumb.' 10 

Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn 
hymn. 

Song. 

'Pardon, goddess of the night. 
Those that slew thy virgin knight; 
For the which, with songs of woe. 
Round about her tomb they go. 15 

Midnight, assist our moan; 
Help us to sigh and groan. 

Heavily, heavily; 
Graves, yawn and yield your dead. 
Till death be uttered, 20 

Heavily, heavily.' 

Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night ! 

Yearly will I do this rite. 
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put your 
torches out; 
The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gen- 
tle day, 25 
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about 

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey. 

Thanks to you 'all, and leave us ; fare you well. 

Claud. Good morrow, masters ; each his several 

way. 
D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other 
weeds ; 30 

And then to Leonato's we will go. 
Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue 
speed's 
Than this for whom we render'd up this 
woe. Exeunt. 



[Scene IV. — A room in Leonato's house.] 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, 
Margaret, Ursula, Friar Francis, and Hero. 



Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent? 

Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who ac- 
cus'd her 
Upon the error that you heard debated; 
But Margaret was in some fault for this. 
Although against her will, as it appears 
In the true course of all the question. 3 

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. 

Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforced 
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 
S5S 



36 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



[act v. SC. IV. 



Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, 
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves, n 
And when I send for you, come hither mask'd. 

Exeunt Ladies. 
The prince and Claudio promised by this 

hour 
To visit me. You know your office, brother; 
You must be father to your brother's daugh- 
ter, 15 
And give her to young Claudio. 
Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd counte- 
nance. 
Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. 
Friar. To do what, signior? 
Bene. To bind me, or undo me; one of them. 
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, 21 
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. 
Leon. That eye my daughter lent her; 'tis most 

true. 
Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 
Leon. The sight whereof I think you had from 
me, 25 

From Claudio and the prince ; but what's your 
will.? 
Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical: 

But, for my will, my will is your good will 
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
In the state of honourable marriage; 30 

In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 
Leon. My heart is with your liking. 
Friar. And my help. 

Here comes the prince and Claudio. 

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants. 

'D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly, 
Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow, 
Claudio ; 35 

We here attend you. Are you yet determin'd 
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter ? 
Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. 
Leon. Call her forth, brother; here's the friar 
ready. \^Exit Antonio.'\ 

D. Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick. Why, 
what's the matter, 43 

That you have such a February face. 
So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness? 
Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage bull. 
Tush, fear not, man ; we'll tip thy horns with 

gold 
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee, 4S 

As once Europa did at lusty Jove, 
When he would play the noble beast in love. 



Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low; 
And some such strange bull leap'd your fath- 
er's cow. 
And got a calf in that same noble feat 50 

Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. 
Claud. For this I owe you; here comes other 
reckonings. 

Enter Antonio, with the Ladies \_masJced^. 

Which is the lady I must seize upon? 
Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. 
Claud. Why, then she's mine. Sweet, let me 
see your face. 55 

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her 
hand 
Before this friar and swear to marry her. 
Claud. Give me your hand; before this holy 
friar, 
I am your husband, if you like of me. 
Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife: 

\^Unmasking.'\ 
And when you lov'd, you were my other hus- 
band. 61 
Claud. Another Hero ! 

Hero. Nothing certainer; 

One Hero died defil'd, but I do live. 
And surely as I live, I am a maid. 
D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! 
Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander 
liv'd. 66 

Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; 
When after that the holy rites are ended, 
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death; 
Meantime let wonder seem familiar, 70 

And to the chapel let us presently. 
Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice? 
Beat. [Unmasking'] I answer to that name. 

What is your will ? 
Bene. Do not you love me? 

Beat. Why, no; no more than reason. 

Bene. Why, then your uncle and the prince and 
Claudio 75 

Have been deceiv'd; they swore you did. 
Beat. Do not you love me? 

Bene. Troth, no ; no more than reason. 

Beat. Why, then my cousin Margaret and 

Ursula 

Are much deceiv'd ; for they did swear you did. 

Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for 

me. 80 

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead 

for me. 



354 



ACT V. SC. 



IV.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



37 



Bene. 'Tis no such matter. Then jou do not 
love me.^ 

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 

Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gen- 
tleman. 

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't that he loves 
her ; 8s 

For here's a paper written in his hand, 
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
Fashion'd to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here's another 

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her 

pocket. 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 90 

Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against 
our hearts. Come, I will have thee; but, by 
this light, I take thee for pity. 

Beat. I would not deny you; but, by this good 
day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and partly 
to save your life, for I was told you were in a 
consumption. 97 

Bene. Peace ! I will stop your mouth. 

[^Kissing her.'] 

D. Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick, the mar- 
ried man? 100 

Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of 
wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. 
Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epi- 
gram.^ No: if a man will be beaten with 
brains, a' shall wear nothing handsome about 
him. In brief, since I do purpose to marry. 



I will think nothing to any purpose that 
the world can say against it; and there- 
fore never flout at me for what I have said 
against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this 
is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did 
think to have beaten thee ; but in that thou art 
like to be my kinsman, live unbruised and love 
my cousin. 113 

Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have de- 
nied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee 
out of thy single life, to make thee a double- 
dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if 
my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to 
thee. 118 

Bene. Come, come, we are friends; let's have a 
dance ere we are married, that we may lighten 
our own hearts and our wives' heels. 121 

Leon. We'll have dancing afterward. 

Bene. First, of my word; therefore play, music. 
Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee 
a wife: there is no staff more reverend than 
one tipped with horn. 126 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in 
flight, 
And brought with armed men back to Messina. 

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I'll de- 
vise thee brave punishments for him. Strike 
up, pipers. Dance. 131 



FINIS. 



NOTES 



The division into acts v/as first made in the text 
of the Folio of 1623. The scenes, names of the char- 
acters, and stage directions enclosed in square brack- 
ets have been added by later editors. 

ACT I 

1. S. D. Enter Leonato Governor of Messina, Innogen 

his wife, . . . Q F. 

1 Pedro] Rowe; Peter Q F (and elsewhere). 

7 sort, rank. 

16 better bettered, more surpassed. 
23 badge, mark (of service). 
26 kind, natural. 

30 Mountanto, lit. 'upper-cut,' a thrust in fencing. 
37 pleasant, amusing. 
39 set Tip his bills, issued a public defiance, as in 

modern pugilism. 



40 flight, flight-arrow, used in long-distance matches. 

41 subscribed for, 'signed up with.' 

42 bir'-bolt, bird-bolt, a flat-headed arrow, used to 
kill birds. 

47 meet, quits. 

51 trencher, platter. 

52 stomach, appetite; with play on another mean- 
ing, hardihood. 

66 live wits, not the five senses, but the five other 
wits: the memory, fantasy, estimation, imagination, 
and common wit. Benedick is left the last only. 
69 difference, a heraldic term; an extra mark to dis- 
tinguish coats otherwise alike. 
77 block, hat-mold. 
82 squarer, quarreler. 
117 still, always. 
129 dear, rare. 
143 continuer, one who spurs on, keeps lively. 



355 



38 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



185 sad, serious. 

186 flouting- Jack, mockint 



cloi 



Cupid, god of 



love, was blind; Vulcan was god of smiths 
188 go in, keep harmony. 
200 wear his cap with suspicion, deceived husbands, 

according to the ancient jest, wore invisible horns. 

Every husband, therefore, would suspect his cap of 

concealing horns. 
205 S. D. Don Pedro] don Pedro, John the bastard 

Q F. Don John is of course out of place here. 
218 the old tale, a variant of Bluebeard, in which the 

phrase occurs as his denial of villainy. 
225 fetch me in, catch me. 
237 in the despite of, to the slander of. 

243 reclieat, the blast recalling the hounds. Cf. note 
on line 200.' 

244 baldrick, belt from which the bugle hung. 

247 fine, conclusion. 

248 go the finer, be the better dressed. 

258 argument, theme for illustration. 

259 cat, a common mark in less kindly times. 

261 Adam, Adam Bell, a famous archer, probably is 
meant. 

263 This line is taken from Thos. Kyd's Spanish 
Tragedie (1587). 

272 horn-mad, mad as a bull. 

276 temporize, 'come to time.' 

283 tuition, protection. 

287-290 elaborate puns from the tailor's trade. 
Body, the outer cloth. Guarded, faced. Guards, 
lace trimmings. Fragments, patches. Old ends, 
old odds and ends; also old verse-tags (cf. 2'63) and 
letter-ends. 

317 salv'd, made it stronger, more plausible. 

319 necessity, thing needed. 

320 'tis once, only once in a lifetime. 
328 break, disclose. 

ii. 7 event] events Q F ; result. 

9 pleached, folded, shaded by crossed branches. 
15 top, forelock. 
26 Cousins, friends (who now arrive). See the 

words of Old Capulet on a similar occasion, in 

Romeo and Juliet I. v. 

iii. 1 good-year, plague, pox. 

12 Saturn. This planet made men saturnine, or 
surly. 

13 mortifying mischief, mortal sickness. 
18 claw, cajole. 

28 canker, dog-rose. 

31 carriage, behavior. 

48 model, ground-plan. 

58 March-chick, forward child. 

60 entertained, taken into service. 

61 smoking, fufaigating. 
70 sure, trustworthy. 

ACT II 

i. S. D. Leonato] Leonato . . . his wife Q F. 
20 shrewd, shrewish. 
28 just, exactly. 

33 in the woollen, between the blankets, without 
sheets. 



42 bear-'ard, bear-warden, keeper. Apes rode on 
the bear. Women, dying maids, were popularly said 
to lead apes in hell. 

66 marl, clay. 

74 important, importunate, measure, a stately 
dance. 

78 cinque pace, 'five step,' a lively dance. 

81 ancientry, old-fashioned style. 

97 favour, face. 

99 Philemon's roof, the peasant's hut that sheltered 
Mercury and Jupiter, when upon earth, in the guise 
of men (Ovid, Metamorphoses, translated by Gold- 
ing in Shakespeare's time). Lines 99-102, if writ- 
ten as a couplet, would go in Golding's meter. 
104,107,115 Balth.] Theobald; Bene. Q F. 
123 dry hand, a sign of age. 

135 Hundred Merry Tales, a famous jest-book, 
printed in 1516. 

148 fleet, company. 

149 boarded, accosted. 

178 banquet, sweetmeats and wine, dessert. 

188 accident, occurrence. 

195 County, Ital. conte, count. 

215 disposition, temperament. 

222 warren, game-preserve, in which look-out stations 

were posted. 
229 flat, absolute. 
253 conveyance, jugglery. 
257 terminations, expressions. 
263 Ate, goddess of discord. 

276 Prester John, a fabled Christian king of the 
East, heir of the Three Wise Men; in Shakespeare's 
time, identified with the king of Ethiopia. 

277 Cham, Khan. 

288 use, interest, usury. 

304 civil, a civile (Seville) orange was neither sweet 
nor sour. 

307 blazon, exposition (a term of heraldry). 

309 conceit, imagination. 

330 alliance, marriage. 

355 pleasant-spirited lady, according to Professor 
Mary Scott, Beatrice's 'humor' is based on that of 
Lady Emilia Pia, a witty character in The Courtyer 
of Count Baldessar Castilio (tr. 1561), the most 
popular of Italian books in English. 

359 not ever, not always. 

394 strain, stock. 

403 drift, plan. 

ii. 6 ranges evenly with, is parallel to, agreeable to. 
21 temper, fashion. 
26 stale, worthless woman. 
28 misuse, deceive. 
44 term me Claudio, that is, as a protection against 

chance listeners. 
50-51 jealousy shall be assurance, suspicion shall be 

verified. 

iii. 21 orthography, euphuist, one who plays with 

words. 
31 cheapen, ask the price of. 
38 S. D. F here inserts the name of Jack Wilson, 

apparently the actor who took the part of Bal- 

thasar. 
58 crotchets, musical notes, and punningly, whims, 

conceits. 



356 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



72 moe, old form of more. 

73 dumps, doleful tunes. 

84 night-raven, a bird whose cry was believed un- 
lucky. 

123 gull, trick. 

157 ecstasy, madness of love. 

176 daffed, put clside. 

186 tender, offer. 

188 contemptible, contemptuous. 

190 outward happiness, prepossessing appearance. 

206 large, loose. 

209 wear it out, rub it out. 

229 sadly borne, seriously conducted. 

233 censured, thought of. 

245 quirks, witty conceits. 

249 sentences, sayings. 

ACT III 

i. S. D. Gentlewomen] Gentlemen F. 
i. 3 proposing, conversing. 

10 advance, raise. 

12 propose] Q; purpose F; conversation. 

36 haggerds, wild female hawks. 

52 misprising, mistaking. 

63 black, dark-featured, antic, buffoon. 

65 agate, small figure (cut in agate to set in a ring). 

72 from, averse to. 

80 tickling, trisyllabic. 
101 every day, to-morrow, to-morrow, and every day 
after. 

104 lim'd, caught, as with bird-lime. 

107-116* These ten lines are set in sonnet-like form, to 
suit their lyrical expression. 

I ii. 11 hangman, rascal. 

23 hang it, criminals were hanged, drawn, and quar- 
tered. 
28 can] Pope; cannot Q. F. 
36 slops, loose breeches. 
68 conditions, qualities of mind. 
70 face upwards, to receive Benedick. 
83 good den, good afternoon. 
99 aim at, think of. 

105 circumstances, details. 

iii. 7 charge, instructions. Statutes of the Streets, 
published 1595, contain instructions scarcely less lu- 
dicrous than these. 
44 bills, pikes. 
79 present, represent. 

85 statues] F; statutes Q. 
100 coil, turmoil. 

: 107 scab, rogue. 

i 110 pent-house, shed with eaves projecting over the 

I street. 

124 unconfirmed, inexperienced. 

143 reechy, filthy. 

144 Bel's priests. In the Apocryphal Daniel, Bel is 
said to have seventy priests. 

146 codpiece, part of the breeches. 
155 me, with meaningless expletive force. 
166 possessed, took as by enchantment. 
183 lock, love-lock. Dogberry learns this wrong, as 
usual (V. i. 319). 



191 bills, used here in two senses, pikes and accounts. 

192 in question, in demand. 

iv. 6 rabato, elaborate collar. 
13 tire, headdress. 
18 night-gown, tea-gown. 
21 underborne, lined underneath. 

44 clap's, clap us. Light o' love, a popular tune. 

45 burden, bass accompaniment. 
47 heels, dances (used scornfully). 

49 barns, bairns, cliildren. 

50 scorn . . . heels, 'show it the sole of my foot,' 
disdain it. 

56 H, pronounced as now aitch. Ache was also pro- 
nounced thus. 

57 turned Turk, become false to faith. 

68 professed apprehension, taken up wit as a trade. 
74 Carduus Benedictus, the holy-thistle, a sovereign 
remedy. 

V. S. D. with Dogberry and Verges] and the Consta- 
ble, and the Headborough F. 
3 confidence, for conference. 

10 off] of Q F. 

18 palabras, Dogberry's mistake for the Spanish 
saying pocas pal'abras, few words. 

37 age. The proverb really is, 'When the ale is in, 
the wit is out.' 

62 Francis] George in III. iii. 11. 

67 noncome, a confusion of nonplus with non com- 
pos mentis, 

ACT IV 

i. 23 Why, then, some be of laughing. Benedick 
here quotes the old grammars upon interjections, 
and implies, that his examples are better suited to 
the occasion. 

31 learn, teach. 

42 luxurious, lustful. 

45 approved, proved. 

51 forehand sin, sin of haste. 

57 write, proclaim. Q F read: Out on thee seeming. 

93 liberal, licentious. 

107 conjecture, suspicion. 

130 frame, system. 

161 apparitions, appearances. 

168 experimental seal, confirmation of experience. 

169 tenour] Theobald; tenure, Q F. 

187 misprision, mistake. 

188 bent, inclination. 

190 practice, trick, deceit. 

191 frame, plan. 

204 the princes left for dead] Theobald; the prin- 

cesse (left for dead) Q F. 
207 ostentation, conventional display. 
222 rack, strain. 
233 liver, seat of sad passions. 
236 success, the succeeding events. 
247 inwardness, intimacy. 
257 prolong'd, put off. 
266 even, plain. 
277 and eat it] F; by it Q. 
306 bear her in hand, deceive her. 
318 Count Comfect, Sir Sugarplum. 



357 



40 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



ii. S. D. Enter the Constables, Borachio and the Town 
Clerk in gowns Q F. 

1 Dog.] Capell; Keeper Q F. 

2 Verg.] Capell; Cowley Q F (and elsewhere). 

4 Dog.] Capell; Andrew Q F. 

5 exhibition to examine, the examination to ex- 
hibit (conduct). 

10 etc.. Dog.] Capell; Ke. Kem. Kemp Q F. 
21 defend, forbid. 

28 go about with, get around, circumvent. 
38 eftest, quickest (eft, again). 
53 Verg.] Const. Q F. 
69 Dog.] Rowe; Constable Q F. 

70-71 Verg. . . . coxcomb] Malone; Cowley. Let 
them be in the hands of Coxcomb Q. F. 



ACT V 

i. 16 Bid] Capell; And Q F. Bid sorrow wag, Bid 
sorrow 'On your way!' 
18 candle-wasters, studious persons. 
24 perceptial medicine, salutary precepts. 
28 wring, writhe. 
30 moral, full of moral advice. 
32 advertisement, advice. 
38 push, interjection of contempt, pish. 
58 fleer, mock. 
62 to thy head, in thy face. 
65 bruise, wrinkles. 
84 foining, thrusting. 

94 scambling, brazen-fac'd, foppish boys. 

95 cog, cheat, deprave, vilify. 

96 anticly, like clowns, show] and show Q F. 

123 high-proof melancholy, melancholy to the high- 
est limit. 

129 minstrels, who are bid to draw their bows. 

135 meet in the career, meet full tilt, a phrase of 
the tourney. 

138 staff, lance. 

139 broke cross, broken against the opponent's body, 
like a cudgel; a mark of poor tilting. 



142 turn his girdle, prepare for fight (by turning 
the belt around). 

149 protest, make public. 

158 woodcock, fool. 

166 wise, cautious. 

204 wit, wliich should be worn like a cloak. 

233 bound to your answer, given in charge. 

243 incensed, prompted. 

291 Possess, inform. 

309 pack'd in, confederate in. 

313 by, concerning. 

328 God save the foundation, a phrase used in re- 
ceiving alms, of the almshouse. As acted on the 
stage Verges receives a purse in his hat, which has 
a hole in it, and so he loses the money; whereupon 
Dogberry picks it up with the words given above, 
with a punning sense. 

ii. 7 come over it, that is, the style (stile). 
17 give thee the bucklers, yield. 
33 carpet-mongers, carpet-knights. 
47 came for] Rowe; came Q F. 

78 old instance, argument taken from ancient times, 
not fit for the present 
81 monument, memory. 

85 rheum, tears. 

86 Don Worm, conscience was often, from the time 
of miracle plays, called the worm of conscience. 

98 old coil, regular row. 
100 abused, deceived. 

iii. 10 dumb] F; dead Q. 

21 heavily] Q; heavenly F. 

22 Claud.] Rowe; Lo Q F. 
32 speed's, speed us. 

iv. 17 confirm'd, resolute. 
43 savage bull, cf. I. i. 262. 
67 qualify, mitigate. 

87 pure brain, purely of his own. [Bene] ; Leon F. 
116 double-dealer, inconstant lover. 



S58 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



SOURCE OF THE PLOT— The essential charac- 
teristic of pastoral is the contrast between the 
charming simplicity of country life and the treach- 
erous, unsatisfying sophistication of court and city; 
but in its centuries of development in poetry, ro- 
mance, and drama, pastoral acquired a set of con- 
ventions as elaborate and artificial as Touchstone's 
code of duelling and good manners. This conventional 
element is predominant in Lodge's Rosalind (pr. 
1590, 1592, 1598), the pastoral romance from w^hich 
Shakespeare drew the main outlines of his plot, and 
the task of the dramatist was to enhance the natural 
charm of the woodland setting and create the ro- 
mantic atmosphere in which the characters have life 
and being, without sacrificing the familiar features 
of a popular story In the novel, as in the play, the 
hero (Rosader — Orlando) is a third son, oppressed 
and deprived of the advantages due to his position 
by the envy of his eldest brother (Saladyne — Oliver), 
who plots his destruction at the hands of the cham- 
pion wrestler at the court of France. The usurper 
(King Torismond — Duke Frederick) has driven his 
elder brother (Gerismond — Duke Senior) into banish- 
ment, and their respective daughters (Alinda — Celia 
and Rosalind) are present at the wrestling, at which 
Rosader, encouraged by the approving glances of 
Rosalind, throws and maims his opponent. Rosalind 
"took from her neck a jewel, and sent it by a page 
to the young gentleman." Rosader stepped into a 
tent and wrote her a love poem. Rosalind enter- 
tained her new passion by warbling to her lute one 
of the sweetest of Elizabethan lyrics: — 

"Love in my bosom like a bee 

Doth suck his sweet, 
Now with his wings he plays with me, 

Now with his feet. 
Within my eyes he makes his nest, 
His bed amidst my tender breast. 
My kisses are his daily feast; 
And yet he robs me of my rest. 

Ah, wanton,. will ye?" 

Scarcely had Rosalind ended her madrigal, when 



Torismond, fearing her influence, pronounced sen- 
tence of banishment against her. When Alinda pro- 
tested, he banished them both. Rosalind, being of 
tall stature, put on the apparel of a page, and as- 
suming the names of Ganymede and Aliena, they fled 
to the forest of Arden, to seek Rosalind's father. 
After two or three days' travel, they fell in with 
Montanus (Silvius) and Cory don (Corin), and from 
the latter bought a sheep farm which happened to 
be for sale. Meanwhile Rosader had returned home 
victorious, but his brother's treachery and cruelty led 
him to flee with his faithful servant, Adam Spencer, 
to the forest of Arden, where they wandered five or 
six days without food. Adam Spencer fainted, and 
Rosader, drawing his rapier, sallied forth to kill 
some wild beast to relieve his comrade's hunger. 

"It chanced that day, that Gerismond, the lawful 
king of France banished by Torismond, who with a 
lusty crew of outlaws lived in that forest, that day 
in honor of his birth made a feast to all his bold 
yeomen, and frolicked it with store of wine and veni- 
son, sitting all at a long table under the shadow of 
lemon trees. To that place by chance fortune con- 
ducted Rosader, who, seeing such a crew of brave 
men, having store of that for want of which he 
and Adam perished, stepped boldly to the board's 
end, and saluted the company thus: 

" 'Whatsoever thou be that art master of these lusty 
squires, I salute thee as graciously as a man in ex- 
treme distress may: know that I and a fellow-friend 
of mine are here famished in the forest for want of 
food: perish we must, unless relieved by thy favors. 
Therefore, if thou be a gentleman, give meat to men, 
and to such men as are every way worthy of life. 
Let the proudest squire that sits at thy table rise 
and encounter with me in any honorable point of 
activity whatsoever, and if he and thou prove me not 
a man, send me away comfortless. If thou refuse 
this, as a niggard of thy cates, I will have amongst 
you with my sword; for rather will I die valiantly, 
than perish with so cowardly an extreme.' 



359 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



"Gerismond, looking him earnestly in the face, and 
seeing so proper a gentleman in so bitter a passion, 
was moved with so great pity, that rising from the 
table, he took him by the hand and bade him welcome, 
willing him to sit down in his place, and in his room 
not onh^ to eat his fill, but be lord of the feast. 

" 'Gramercy, sir,' quoth Rosader, 'but I have a feeble 
friend that lies hereby famished almost for food, 
aged and therefore less able to abide the extremity 
of hunger than myself, and dishonor it were for me 
to taste one crumb, before I made him partner of 
my fortunes: therefore I will run and fetch him, and 
then I will gratefully accept of your proifer.' 

"Away hies Rosader to Adam Spencer, and tells him 
the news, who was glad of so happy fortune, but so 
feeble he was that he could not go; whereupon 
Rosader got him up on his back, and brought him to 
the place." 

Rosader became one of Gerismond's foresters; and 
every day eternized the name of his Rosalind by 
carving sonnets in her honor upon, trees. He was 
thus engaged when Ganymede and Aliena came upon 
him uttering the name of Rosalind with passionate 
sighs. "Aliena looked on Ganymede and laughed; 
and Ganymede, looking back on the forester, and 
seeing it was Rosader, blushed; yet thinking to 
shroud all under her page's apparel, she boldly" in- 
quired of him about his Rosalind. Next day, after 
more poems and conversation, Ganymede, wishing to 
keep Rosader longer, said, "Nay, forester, if thy 
business be not the greater, seeing thou sayest thou 
art so deeply in love, let me see how thou canst woo. 
I will represent Rosalind, and thou shalt be, as thou 
art, Rosader." After a "wooing eclogue," Gany- 
mede exclaimed: "How now, forester, have I not 
fitted your turn? Have I not played the woman 
handsomely, and shown myself as coy in grants as 
courteous in desires, and been as full of suspicion as 
men of flattery? And yet to salve all, jumped I 
not all up with the sweet union of love? Did not 
Rosalind content her Rosader?" The forester made 
a merry reply, concluding: "Yet do I take these fol- 
lies for high fortunes, and hope these feigned affec- 
tions do divine some unfeigned end- of ensuing 
fancies." "And thereupon," quoth Aliena, "I'll play 
the priest: from this day forth Ganymede shall call 
thee husband, and thou shalt call Ganymede wife, 
and so we'll have a marriage." "Content," quoth 
Rosader, and laughed. "Content," quoth Ganymede, 
and changed as red as a rose. "And so with a smile 
and a blush, they made up this jesting match, that 
after proved to a marriage in earnest, Rosader full 



little thinking he had wooed and won his Rosalind." 

Meanwhile Saladyne also had been banished by 
Torismond, out of avarice, and he too fled to the 
forest, where Rosader came upon him sleeping, 
watched over by a hungry lion, and rescued him at 
the expense of a wound on the breast. Saladyne 
obtained his brother's forgiveness, and joined the 
company of the banished Gerismond. By chance he 
was able to rescue Aliena and Ganymede from some 
rascals who had laid violent hands on them, Rosader 
having been overpowered and sore wounded. This 
commended him to Aliena, and he soon won her con- 
sent to marry him. Quoth Ganymede, "a happy day 
should it be, if Rosader that day might be married 
to Rosalind." 

"Ah, good Ganymede," quoth he, "by naming Rosa- 
lind, renew not my sorrows; for the thought of her 
perfections is the thrall of my miseries." 

"Tush, be of good cheer, man," quoth Ganymede, 
"I have a friend that is deeply experienced in necro- 
mancy and magic; what art can do shall be acted for 
thine advantage. I will cause him to bring in Rosa- 
lind, if either France or any bordering nation harbor 
her; and upon that take the faith of a young shep- 
herd !" 

The threefold marriage follows, Rosalind's revela- 
tion of her sex persuading Phoebe to accept the 
faithful Montanus. Rosader and Saladyne were in 
the midst of all their jollity, when their brother 
Fernandyne brought word that the twelve peers of 
France were fighting on the edge of the forest on 
behalf of Gerismond against the usurper. With the 
help of Gerismond and his companions, the peers put 
to flight the army of Torismond, who was slain. 
Restored to his throne, Gerismond "created Rosader 
heir apparent to the kingdom; he restored Saladyne 
to all his father's land, and gave him the dukedom of 
Namours; he made Fernandyne principal secretary 
to himself; and that fortune might every way seem 
frolic, he made Montanus lord over all the forest of 
Arden, Adam Spencer Captain of the King's Guard, 
and Corydon master of Alinda's flocks." 

The changes Shakespeare made in the story are 
not of great importance. He concentrates and omits, 
making Celia's flight into the forest voluntary, and, 
by means of Hisperia, connecting Orlando with the 
girls' disappearance so as to account for the banish- 
ment of Oliver; on the other hand, the ease with 
which Celia falls in love with Oliver is better ex- 
plained in the novel than in the play. The characters 
of Touchstone and Jaques, William and Audrey are 
not even suggested by Lodge, and the others are, in 

360 



INTRODUCTION 



any real and profound sense, as much Shakespeare's 
own, for he alone has given them the living charm 
which seems likely to endure as long as the language 
lasts. 

CRITICAL COMMENT~The play has always 
been a favorite — "oftener read than any other," ac- 
cording to Halliwell; Hudson's preference among 
Shakespeare's comedies; "the sweetest and happiest 
of all," in the words of Dowden. Dr. Johnson, with 
more of eighteenth century reserve, says the fable is 
wild and pleasing, the character of Jaques natural 
and well preserved, the comic dialogue very sprightly, 
and the graver part elegant and harmonious. He 
commented upon "the facility with which both Rosa- 
lind and Celia give up their hearts;" and a nineteenth 
century poet and critic, A. C. Swinburne, deplored 
the bestowal of Celia on Oliver as an "unlucky slip 
of the brush which has left so ugly a little smear in 
one corner of the canvas." Professor A. C. Bradley, 
in his Oxford Lectures on Poetry (1909), finds in 
the play the truest expression of Shakespeare's nature 
and Jiabitual temper. "It is full not only of sweet- 
ness, but of romance, fun, humor of various kinds, 
delight in the oddities of human nature, love of mod- 
esty and fidelity and high spirit and patience, dislike 
of scandal and censure, contemplative curiosity, the 
feeling that in the end we are all merely players. . . . 
And finally, it breathes the serene holiday mood of 
escape from the toil, competition, and corruption of 
city and court into the sun and shadow and peace 
of the country, where one can be idle and dream and 
meditate and sing, and pursue or watch the deer as 
the fancy takes one, and make love or smile at lovers 
according to one's age." 

STAGE HISTORY— Ot the early history of As 
You Like It there remains only the tradition that 
Shakespeare himself took the part of Adam. The 
play did not suit the Restoration taste, and for a 
hundred years it seems to have been unknown to the 
stage. It was brilliantly revived at Drury Lane in 
1740 with Mrs. Pritchard as Rosalind; but the most 
famous impersonation of the eighteenth century was 
that of Peg Woffington. In 1757 at Covent Garden 
she collapsed while speaking the epilogue, and was 
carried oif the stage to die. Mrs. Siddons tried the 
part in 1785 without adding to her reputation; Mrs, 
Dancer before her, and Mrs. Jordan after her, were 
more highly praised. John Philip Kemble played 
Orlando in 1787, and Jaques in 1805. Macready 
and Phelps both participated in the Drury Lane re- 
vival of 1842, described at the time as the most 
superb production of the play "the world has ever 



seen or ever will see;" the Rosalind of this occasion 
was the beautiful Mrs. Nisbett, the original of Miss 
Fotheringay in Thackeray's Pendennisj but the great 
Rosalind of this generation was Helen Faucit (after- 
wards Lady Theodore Martin) who acted the part 
with unusual intelligence and charm. Adelaide Neil- 
son, the next noteworthy exponent, is described as "su- 
perbly beautiful and a vision of dazzling glee." 
Ellen Terry, Mrs. Kendal, Mary Anderson, Mrs. 
Langtry, and Julia Neilson figure honorably on the 
records of British Rosalinds of the nineteenth cen- 
tury, and there were many others. Edith Wynne 
Matthison emphasized the wistful tenderness of the 
character, and perhaps imparted into it an excessive 
touch of sentiment, though her fainting scene was 
highly praised. Lily Brayton, playing with Oscar 
Asche at His Majesty's in 1907, made Rosalind 
"something of a minx" in a performance character- 
ized by vigor, jollity, gusto, and a wealth of decora- 
tion. The first open air performance of the play was 
given in 1884 at Kingston-on-Thames, and there have 
been many since, in sunshine and in rain, on both 
sides of the Atlantic. Performances by casts com- 
posed entirely of men, or entirely of women, or entirely 
of boys, or entirely of Syrians — the last at Beyrout 
— are also on record. 

The play was acted at the John Street Theatre, 
New York, in 1786, and again in 1796. The Park 
Street Theatre opened with As You Like It in 1798. 
The next performance recorded is that of 1850 at the 
Astor Place Opera House with Charlotte Cushman 
as Rosalind. There were numerous revivals during 
the second half of the nineteenth century. Julia 
Marlowe's Rosalind, which held the stage at intervals 
for twenty years, was pronounced "sugary but at- 
tractive." Modjeska's portrayal was characterized by 
imagination and poetic feeling; she never forgot that 
Rosalind was a princess, even in her doublet and 
hose. Ada Rehan, on the other hand, emphasized the 
essential womanliness of the part, and brought its 
buoyant humor into strong relief; her presentation 
was exceedingly populfir on both sides of the At- 
lantic, and was undoubtedly the most successful of 
the period, though some critics found it too dashing 
to be altogether dignified. Henrietta Crossman in 
1902 returned to the vein of tender sentiment. Ethel 
Barrymore played Rosalind in 1908, and Maude 
Adams in 1910. A complete list of English-speaking 
Rosalinds would fill many pages, and the play has 
also been acted in German and in French. 

DATE AND TEXT— As You Like It does not 
appear in the Meres list, and was, therefore, in all 



361 



p 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



probability later than 1598. The critics are agreed 
in placing its composition not long before 1600, an 
entry in the Stationers' Registers recording it under 
date Aug. 4 of that year among plays "to be stayed." 
The effort to prevent publication at that time was 



no doubt successful, for it has come down to us only 
in the Folio of 1623. The present issue is a modern- 
ized version of that text, with a few corrections of 
obvious printer's errors; the more important of these 
are noted where they occur. 

C. 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[Scene: Oliver's house; Duke Frederick's court; and the Forest of Arden. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 



' p lords attending on the banished duke. 



The Old Duke, living in banishment. 

The New Duke, Frjederick, his brother, and usurper 

of his dominions. 
Amiexs. 
Jaques, 

Le Beau, a courtier attending upon Frederick. 
Charles, wrestler to Frederick. 
Oliver, 1 

Jaques, I sons of Sir Roland de Boys. 
Orlando, J 

'^°^^^' 1 servants to Oliver. 
Dennis, J 



Touchstone, a clown. 

Sir Oliver Martext, a vicar. 

Corin, \ . , , 
e r shepherds. 

DILVIUS, J ^ 

William, a country fellow, in love with Audrey. 
A person representing Hymen. 



Rosalind, daughter to the banished duke. 
Cema, daughter to Frederick. 
Phebe, a shepherdess. 
Audrey, a country wench. 

Lords, pages, and attendants, etc.] 



ACT FIRST 



Scene I. — [Orchard of Oliver's house.'] 
Enter Orlando and Adam, 



Orl. As I 
fashion: 



remember^ Adam^ it was upon this 
bequeathed me by will but poor a 
thousand crowns^ and^ as thou sayest^, charged 
my brother^ on his blessing, to breed me well; 
and there begins/ my sadness. My brother 
JaquesTTe keeps at school, and report speaks 
goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps 
me rustically at home, or (to speak more prop- 
erly), stays me here at home unkept; for call 
you thaTkeeping for a gentleman of my birth, 
that differs not from the stalling of an ox.^ 
His horses are bred better, for besides that 
they are fair with their feeding, they are 
taught their manage, and to that end riders 
dearly hired; but I, his brother, gain nothing 
under him but ^owjj i, for the which his ani- 
mals on his dunghills are as much bound to 
him as I. Besides t his no thing that he so 
.^^^'"^nti fully gives me, the something that na- 



me the place of a brother, and, as much as in 
him lies, mines my gentility with my educa- 
tion. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and 
the spirit of my father, which I think is within 
me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I 
will no longer endure it, though yet I know 
no wise remedy how to avoid it. 27 

Adam. Yonder) comes my master/ your brother. 

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how 
he will shake me up. 30 

Enter Oliver. 



what make you here? 
I am not taught to make any 



ture gave me I his countenance seems to take 

from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars ' OZz. Know you before whom, sir? 

363 



Oli. Now, sir 
Orl. Nothing 

thing. 
Oli. What mar you then, sir? 34 

Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that 

which God made, a poor unworthy brother of 

yours, with idleness. 
Oli. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be 

naught awhile. , 39 

Orl. Shall _LJieep your hogsi and eat husks witli 

them? What prodigal portion have I spenty 

that I should come to such penury ? 
Oli. Know you where you are,;sir? 
Orl. O, sir, very well: hejx.. in yoiiji^ orchard. 

45 



6 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act I. SC. I. 



[Strikes at hirn.'] 55 
brother, you are too 
[Grapples with him.^ 



Orl. Ay, better than him I am before knows me. 
I Ivnowjyou are my eldest brother; and, in the 
gentle condition of blood, you should so know 
me. The courtesy of nations allows you my 
better, in that you are the first-born; but the 
same tradition takes not away my blood, were 
there twent}^ brothers betwixt us. I have as 
much of my father in me as you, albeit, I con- 
fess, your coming before me is nearer to his 
reverence. 

OIL What, boy! 

Orl. Come, come, elder 
young in this. 

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? 

Orl. I am no villain: I am the youngest son of 
Sir Roland de Boys ; he was my father, and 
he is thrice a villain that says such a father 
begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I 
would not take this hand from thy throat till 
this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying 
so; thou hast railed on thyself. 65 

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient: for your fa- 
ther's remembrance, be at accord. 

Oli. Let me go, I say. . 

Orl. I will not, till I pleasie; you shall hear' me. 
My father charged youfin his will to give me 
good education; you have tjcaizied me like a 
peasantj^ obscuring and hiding from me all 
gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my 
father grows strong in me, and I will no 
lojiger endure it. Therefore, allow me such 
exercises as may become a gentleman, or give 
me the poor allottery my father left me by tes- 
tament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. 

Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is 
spent? Well, sir, get you in. I will not long 
be troubled with you; you shall have some 
part of your will. I pray you, leave me. 82 

Orl. I will I no furtlier offend you than becomes 
me for my good. 

Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. 

Adam. Is 'old dog' ray reward? Most true, I 

have lost my teeth in your service. God be 

with my old master ! he would not have spoke 

such a word. 89 

Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 

Oil. Is it even so? begin vou to grow upon me? 
I will physic your rankness, and yet give no 
thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis ! 

Enter Dennis, 



Den. Calls your worship! 



Oli. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here 

to speak with me? 
Den. So please you, he is here at the door and 

importunes access to you. 
Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.'] 'Twill be a 

good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. 

Enter Charles. 

Cha. Good morrow to your worship. 100 

Oli. Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new 
news at the new court? 

Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the 
old news : that is, the old Duke is banished by 
his younger brother the new Duke; and three 
or four loving lords have put themselves into 
voluatary exile with him, whose lands and 
revenues enrich the new Duke. Therefore he 
gives them good leave to wander. 109 

Oli. Can you tell/if Rosalind, the Duke's daugh- 
ter, be banished with her father? 

Cha. O, no ; for the Duke's daughter, her cousin, 
so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred 
together, that she would have followed her 
exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is 
at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle 
than his own daughter; and never two ladies 
loved as they do. , nS 

Oli. Where will the old Duke live? 

Cha. They say he is already in the forest of 
Arden and a many merry men with him ; and I 
there they live like the old Robin Hood of "| 
England. They say many young gentlemen 
flock to him every day, and fleet the time care- 
lessly, as they did in the golden world. 125 

Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new 
Duke? 

Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint 
you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly 
to understand that your younger brother Or- 
lando hath a disposition to come in disguised 
against me\to try a fall. Tojjiorrow, ^ir, I^ 
wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me 
without some broken limb shall! acquit him well . 
Your brother is but young and tender ; and, for 
your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I 
must, for my own honour, if he come in. 
Therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither 
to acquaint you withal, that either you might 
stay him from his intendment, or brook such 
disgrace \ well as he shall run into, in that it 
is a thing of his own search, and altogether 
against my will. 142 



364 



ACT 



[. SC. I .] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, 
which thou shalt find I will most kindly re- 
quite. I had myself notice of my brother's 
purpose herein, and have by underhand means 
laboured to dissuade him from it; but he is 
resolute. ^ I'll tell thee, Charles, it is the stub- 
bornest young fellow of France, full of ambi- 
tion, an envious emulator of every man's good 
parts, a secret and villainous contriver against 
me Uiis natural brother. Therefore use thy 
discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his 
neck as his finger. And thou wert best look 
to 't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace 
or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, 
he will practise against thee by poison, entrap 
thee by some treacherous device and never 
leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some 
indirect means or other ; for, I assure thee; and 
almost with tears I speak it, there is not one 
so young and so villainous this day living. I 
speak but brotherly of him; but should I an- 
atomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and 
weep and thou must look pale and ^^iQjider. 164 

Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. 
If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment. 
If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle 
for prize more ; and so God keep your worship ! 

Ea;it. 

Oli. Farewell, good Charles. Now will^ I stir 
this gamester. I hope I shall see an end of 
him; for my soul, (yet I know not why,) 
hates nothing more than he. Yet^he's gentle, 
never schooled and yet learned, full of noble 
device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and 
indeed sflL.much in the heart of the world, and 
especially of my own people, who best know 
him, that I am altogether misprised: but it 
shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear 
all : nothing remains but that I kindle the boy 
thither; which now I'll go about. 180 

Ea^it. 

Scene II. — [Lazvn before the Duke's palace.'] 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be 
merry. 

Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am 
mistress of; and would you yet [I] were mer- 
rier? Unless you could teach me to forget a 
banished father, you must not learn me how to 



remember any extraordinary pleasure. 



Cel. Herein I see thou lovest me not with the 
full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy 
banished father, had banished thy uncle, the 
Duke my father, so thou hadst been still with 
me, I could have taught my love to take thy 
father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truth 
of thy love to me were so righteously tem- 
pered as mine is to thee. 15 

Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my es- 
tate, to rej[oice in yours. 

Cel. You know my father hath no child but I, 
nor none is like to have: and, truly, when he 
dies, ij^ou shalt be his heir; for what he hath 
taken away from thy father perforce, I will 
render thee again in affection -"Fy mine hon- 
our, I will; and when I break that oath, let 
me turn monster. Therefore, my sweet Rose, 
my dear Rose, be merry. 25 

Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise 
sports. Let me see; what think you of falling 
in love.f* 

Cel. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: 
but love no man in good earnest; nor no fur- 
ther in sport neither, than with safety of a pure 
blush thou mayst in honour come off again. 

Ros. What shall be our sport, then? 

Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife 
Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may 
henceforth be bestowed equally. . 36 

Ros. I would we could do so, for her benefits are 
mightilymisplaced;and the bountiful blind wo- 
man doth most mistake in her gifts to women. 

Cel. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair, she 
scarce makes honest, and those that she makes 
honest, she makes very ill-favouredly. 42 

Ros. Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office 
to Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the 
world, not in the lineaments of Nature. 

Enter Clown [^Touchstone]. 

Cel. No? when Nature hath made a fair crea- 
ture, may she not by Fortune fall into the fire ? 
Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at 
Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to 
cut off the argument? 50 

Ros. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Na- 
ture, when Fortune makes Nature's natural 
the cutter-ofF of Nature's wit. 

Cel. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work 
neither, but Nature's, who perceiveth our nat- 
ural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, 
[and] hath sent this natural for our whet- 



3Q5 



8 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act I. 



SC. II. 



stone; for always the dulness of the fool is 
the whetstone of the wits. How now, wit! 
whither wander you? 59 

Touch. Mistress, you must come awaj to your 
father. 

Cel. Were you made the messenger? 

Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to 
come for you. 

Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? 65 

Touch. Of a certain knight that swore by his 
honour they were good pancakes, and s^s^ore 
by his honour the mustard was naught. Now 
111 stand to it, the pancakes were naught and 
the mustard was good, and yet was not the 
knight forsworn. 71 

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of 
your knowledge? 

Ros. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. 

Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your 
chins, and swear by your beards I that I am a 
knave. 

Cel. By our beards, (if we had them,) thou 
art. 79 

Touch. By my knavery, (if I had it.) then I 
were; but if you swear by that that is not, 
you are not forsworn. No more was this knight, 
swearing by his honour, for he never had any ; 
or if he had, he had sworn it away before 
ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. 

Cel. Prithee, who is 't that thou meanest? 86 

Touch. One that old Ferdinand, your father, 
loves. 

Ros. Islj father's love is enough to honour him. 
Enough! speak no more of him; you'll be 
whipped for taxation one of these days. 91 

Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak 
wisely what wise men do foolishly. 

Cel. By my troth, thou sayest true ; for since the 
little wit that fools have was silenced, the lit- 
tle foolery that wise men have makes a great 
show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. 97 

Enter Le Beau. 

Ros. With his mouth full of news. 

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed 
their young. 

Ros. Then shall we be news-crammed. loi 

Cel. All the better; we shall be the more mar- 
ketable. Bon jour. Monsieur Le Beau; what's 
the news? 

Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good 
sport. 106 



Cel. Sport! of what colour? 

Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I 
answer you? 

Ros. As wit and fortune will. no 

Touch. Or as the Destinies decree. 

Cel. Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. 

Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, — ■ 

Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. 

Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies. I would have 
told you I of good wrestling, which you have 
lost the sight of. 117 

Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. 

Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning; and, if it 
please your ladyships, you may see the end; 
for the best is yet to do ; and here, where, you 
are, they are coming to perform it. 122 

Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and 
buried. 

Le Beau. There comes an old man" and his three 
sons, — 

Cel. I could match this beginning with an old 
tale. 

Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent 
growth and presence — 130 

Ros. With bills on their necks: 'Be it known 
unto all men by these presents.' 

Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with 
Charles, the Duke's wrestler; which Charles 
in a moment threw him and broke three of his 
ribs, that there is little hope of life in him. 
So he served the second, and so the third. 
Yonder they lie, the poor old man, their fa- 
ther, making such pitiful dole over them that 
all the beholders take his part with weep- 
ing. 140 

Ros. Alas ! 

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the 
ladies have lost? 

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 

Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day. 
It is the first time that ever I heard breaking 
of ribs was sport for ladies. 147 

Cel. Or I, I promise thee. 

Ros. But is there any else longs to see this 
broken music in his sides? Is there yet an- 
other dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see 
this wrestling, cousin? 152 

Le Beau. You must, if you stay here; for here 
is the place appointed for the wrestling, and 
they are ready to perform it. 

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us 
now stay and see it. 



SQQ 



ACT I. SC. 11.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



Flourish. Enter Duke [Frederick]^ Lords, Or- 
lando, Charles, and Attendants, 

Duke F. Come on: since the youth will not be 
entreated^ his own peril on his forwardness. 

Ros. Is yonder the man? i6o 

Le Beau. Even he, madam. 

Cel. Alas, he is too young! yet he looks suc- 
cessfully. 

Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin! are 
you crept hither to see the wrestling? 165 

Ros. Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. 

Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can 
tell you; there is such odds in the man. In 
pity of the challenger's youth I would fain 
dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. 
Speak to him, ladies ; see if you can move 
him\ 172 

Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. 

Duke F, Do so: I'll not be by. 

Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princess 
calls for you. 

Orl. I attend them \.-ith all respect and duty. 

Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles 
the wrestler? 179 

Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general chal- 
lenger : I come but in, as others do, to try with 
him the strength of my youth. 

Cel. Young ffentleman, your spirits are too bold 
for your years. You have seen cruel proof of 
this man's strength; if you saw yourself with 
your eyes, or knew yourself with your judg- 
ment, the fear of your adventure would coun- 
sel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray 
you, for your own sake, to embrace your own 
safety and give over this attempt. 190 

Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not 
therefore be misprised. We will make it our 
suit to the Duke that the wrestling might not 
go forward. 194 

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your 
hard thoughts, wherein I confess me much 
guilty, to deny so fair^ and excellent ladies 
any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle 
wishes go with me to my trial; wherein if I 
be foiled, there is but one shamed that was 
never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is 
willing to be so. I shall do my friendsf no 
wrong, for I have none to lament me; the 
world no injury, for in it I have nothing; 
only in the world I fill up a place, which 
may be better supplied when I have made it 
empty. 206 



Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it 
were with you. 207 

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. 

Ros. Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived 
in you ! 210 

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you! 

Cha. Come, where is this young gallant that is so 
desirous to lie with his mother earth? 

Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more 
modest working. 

Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 

Ch-a. No, I warrant your grace, you shall not en- 
treat him to a second, that have so mightily 
persuaded him from a first. 219 

Orl. You mean to mock me after: you should not 
have mocked me before; but come your ways. 

Ros. Now Hercules be thy speed, young man ! 

Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong 
fellow by the leg. Wrestle. 

Ros. O excellent young man ! 225 

Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can 
tell who should down. 

[Charles is thrown.^ Shout. 

Duke F. No more, no more. 

Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet 
well breathed. 230 

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? 

Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 

Duke F. Bear him away. What is thy name, 
young man? 

Orl. Orlando, my liege: the youngest son of Sir 
Roland de Boj^s. 235 

Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some 
man else; 
The world esteem'd thy father honourable. 
But I did find him still mine enemy: 
Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this 

deed, 

Hadst thou descended from another house. 240 

But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth. 

I would thou hadst told me of another father. 

Exeunt Duke [and train']. 

Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this ? 

Orl. I am more proud Uo beiSir Roland's son. 
His youngest son, and would not change that 
calling, 24s 

To be adopted heir to Frederick. 

Ros. My father lov'd Sir Roland as his soul. 
And all the world was of my father's mind: 
Had I before known this young man his son, 
I should have given him tears unto entreaties. 
Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 



367 



10 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act 



I. SC. II. 



Cel. Gentle cousin, 

Let us go thank him and encourage him. 
My father's rough and envious disposition 
Sticks me at heart. [To Orlando.'] Sir, you 

have well deserv'd. 
If you do keep your promises in love 255 

But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, 
Your mistress shall be happy. 
Ros. [Giving him a chain from her neck.] Gen- 
tleman, 
Wear this for me, one out of suits with for- 
tune. 
That could give more, but that her hand lacks 

means. 
Shall we go, coz ? 
Cel. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. 260 
[They withdraw a little.] 
Orl. Can I not say, I thank you.^^ My better 
parts 
Are all thrown down, and that which here 

stands up 
Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. 
Ros. He calls us back. My pride fell with my 
fortunes ; 
I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? 
Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown 
More than your enemies. 267 

Cel. [Going.] Will you go, coz? 

Ros. Have with you. Fare you well. 

JExeunt [Rosalind and Celia]. 
Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my 
tongue ? 
I cannot speak to her, yet she urged confer- 
ence. 270 
O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown ! 
Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. 

Enter Le Beau. 

Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel 
you 
To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd 
High commendation, true applause and love. 
Yet such is now the Duke's condition 276 

That he misconstrues all that you have done. 
The Duke is humorous: what he is indeed, 
More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. 
Orl. I thank you, sir; and, pray you^ tell me 
this: 280 

Which of the two was daughter of the Duke 
That here was at the wrestling? 
Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 
manners. 



But yet indeed the smaller is his daughter; 
The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke, 285 
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, 
To keep his daughter company ; whose loves 
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 
But I ^can tell you that of late this Duke 
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece. 
Grounded upon no other argument 291 

But that the people praise her for her virtues 
And pity her for her good father's sake ; 
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
W^ill suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you 
well ; 295 

Hereafter, in a better world than this, 
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. 
Orl. I rest|much bounden to you: fare you well. 

[Exit Le Beau.] 
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother. 
From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother. 300 
But heavenly Rosalind ! Exit. 



Scene III. — [A room in the palace.] 
Enter Celia a7id Rosalind. 

Cel. Why, cousin ! why, Rosalind ! Cupid have 

mercy ! not a word ? 
Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 
Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast 

away upon curs ; throw some of them at me. 

Come, lame me with reasons. 6 

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when 

the one should be lamed with reasons and the 

other mad without any. 
Cel. But is all this for your father? 10 

Ros. No, some of it is for my child's father. O, 

how full of briers is this working-day world ! 
Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee 

in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trod- 
den paths, our very petticoats will catch them. 
Ros. I could shake them off my coat; these burs 

are in my heart. 
Cel. Hem tliem away. 
Ros. I would try, if I could cry 'hem,' and have 

him. 20 

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 
Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler 

than myself ! 
Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! You will try in 

time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these 

jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest. 



368 



ACT I. SC. 



III.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



11 



Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should 
fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Ro- 
land's youngest son? 29 

Ros. The Duke my father loved his father 
dearly. 

Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should 
love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, 
I should hate him, for my father hated his 
father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. 35 

Ros. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. 

Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve 
well? 

Ros. Let me love him for that, and do you love 
him because I do. Look, here comes the 
Duke. 41 

Cel. With his eyes full of anger. 

Enter Duke [^Frederich^ with Lords. 

Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your saf- 
est haste 
And get you from our court. 

Ros. Me, uncle ? 

Duke F. You, cousin. 

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
So near our public court as twenty miles, 46 
Thou diest for it. 

Ros. I do beseech your grace. 

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with 

me. 
If with myself I hold intelligence 
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires. 
If that I do not dream or be not frantic, — 51 
As I do trust I am not — then, dear uncle. 
Never so much as in a thought unborn 
Did I offend your highness. 

Duke F. Thus do all traitors; 

If their purgation did consist in words, 55 

They are as innocent as grace itself: 
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. 

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a trai- 
tor. 
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. 

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's 
enough. 60 

Ros. So was I when your highness took his duke- 
dom; 
So was I when your highness banish'd him. 
Treason is not inherited, my lord; 
Or, if we did derive it from our friends, 
What's that to me? My father was no trai- 
tor. 65 
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much 



To think my poverty is treacherous. 
Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 
Duke F. Ay, Celia, we stayed her for your sake; 
Else had she with her father ranged along. 70 
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay. 
It was your pleasure and your own remorse. 
I was too young that time to value her ; 
But now I know her. If she be a traitor. 
Why so am I ; we still have slept together, 75 
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat to- 
gether. 
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
Still we went coupled and inseparable. 
Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her 
smoothness. 
Her very silence and her patience 80 

Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
Thou art a fool ; she robs thee of thy name, 
And thou wilt show more bright and seem 

more virtuous 
When she is gone. Then open not thy lips. 
Firm and irrevocable is my doom 85 

Which I have passed upon her: she is ban- 
ish'd. 
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my 
liege : 
I cannot live out of her company. 
Duke F. You are a fool. You, niece, provide 
yourself. 
If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, 90 
And in the greatness of my word, you die. 

Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords. 
Cel. O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou 
go? 
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee 

mine. 
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than 
I am. 
Ros. I have more cause. 

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin. 95 

Prithee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the 

Duke 
Hath banish'd me, his daughter? 
Ros. That he hath not. 

Cel. No! hath not? Rosalind lacks then the 
love 
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: 
Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet 
girl ? 100 

No: let my father seek another heir. 
Therefore devise with me how we may fly. 
Whither to go, and what to bear with us; 



369 



9 



12 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act I. 



SC. III. 



And do not seek to take your change upon 

you, 

To bear your griefs yourself and leave me 

out. 105 

For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, 

Say M-hat thou canst, I'll go along with thee. 

Ros. Why, whither shall we go} 

Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. 

Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, no 

Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! 
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face. 
The like do you: so shall we pass along, 115 
And never stir assailants. 

Ros. Were it not better. 

Because that I am more than common tall. 
That I did suit me all points like a man? 
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, 
A boar-spear in my hand, and — in my heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there 
will — 121 

We'll have a swashing and a martial outside. 
As many other mannish cowards have 
That do outface it with their semblances. 

Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a 
man ? 125 

Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own 
page; 
And therefore look you call me Ganymede. 
But what will you be called? 

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my 
state : 
No longer Celia, but Aliena. 130 

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal 
The clownish fool out of your father's court? 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel? 

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; 
Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away. 
And get our jewels and our wealth together, 
Devise the fittest time and safest way 
To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
After my flight. Now go we in content 
To liberty and not to banishment. 140 

Exeunt. 

ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — \^The forest of Arden,.'] 

Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three 
Lords like foresters. 

Duke S. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile. 



Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these 

woods 
More free from peril than the envious court? 
Here feel we not the penalty of Adam, 5 

The seasons' difference, as the icy fang 
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind. 
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body. 
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, 
'This is no flattery; these are counsellors 10 
That feelingly persuade me what I am.' 
Sweet are the uses of adversity. 
Which, hke the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; 
And this our life exempt from public haunt 15 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running 

brooks. 
Sermons in stones and good in every thing. 
Ami. I would not change it. Happy is your 

grace. 
That can translate the stubbornness of for- 
tune 
Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 20 

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? j 
And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, > I 
Being native burghers of this desert city. 
Should in their own confines with forked 

heads 
Have their round haunches gor'd. 
First Lord. Indeed, my lord, 25 

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that. 
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd 

you. 
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself 
Did steal behind him as he lay along 30 

Under an oak whose antique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood; 
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag. 
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt. 
Did come to languish ; and indeed, my lord, 35 
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern 

coat 
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears 
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool, 40 
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift 

brook, 
Augmenting it with tears. 
Duke S. But what said Jaques? 



370 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



Did he not moralise this spectacle? 

First Lord. O, yes^ into a thousand similes. 45 
Firsts for his weeping into the needless stream : 
'Poor deer/ quoth he, 'thou mak'st a testament 
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
To that which had too much.' Then, being 

there alone, 
Left and abandoned of his velvet friend [s], 50 
"Tis right,' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part 
The flux of company.' Anon a careless herd, 
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him 
And never stays to greet him. 'Ay,' quoth 

Jaques, 
'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 55 
'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look 
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' 
Thus most invectively he pierceth through 
The body of the country, city, court. 
Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we 60 
Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse, 
To fright the animals, and to kill them up 
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. 

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem- 
plation ? 

Sec. LorS^. We did, my lord, weeping and com- 
menting 6s 
Upon the sobbing deer. 

Duke S. Show me the place: 

I love to cope him in these sullen fits. 
For then he's full of matter. 

First Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. 

Exeunt. 

Scene II. — [A room in the palace.'] 

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 

Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw 
them? 
It cannot be: some villains of my court 
Are of consent and sufferance in this. 
First Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see 
her. 
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, s 
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early 
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mis- 
tress. 
Sec. Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom 
so oft 
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 
Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, 10 

Confesses that she secretly o'erheard 



Your daughter and her cousin much commend 
The parts and graces of tlie wrestler 
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ; 
And she believes, wherever they are gone, 15 
That youth is surely in their company. 
Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant 
hither. 
If he be absent, bring his brother to me. 
I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly. 
And let not search and inquisition quail 20 

To bring again these foolish runaways. 

Exeunt. 

Scene III. — [Before Oliver's house.] 

Enter Orlando and Adam [meeting], 

Orl. Who's there? 

Adam. What, my young master? O my gentle 
master ! 

my sweet master ! O you memory 

Of old Sir Roland ! why, what make you here? 

Why are you virtuous? why do people love 

you? 5 

And wherefore are you gentle, strong and 

valiant ? 
Why would you be so fond to overcome 
The bonny priser of the humorous Duke? 
Your praise is come too swiftly home before 

you. 
Know you not, master, to s[o]me kind of 
men 10 

Their graces serve them but as enemies? 
No more do yours : your virtues, gentle mas- 
ter. 
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
O, what a world is this, when what is comely 
Envenoms him that bears it ! 15 

Old. Why, what's the matter? 
Adam. O unhappy youth! 

Come not within these doors ; within this roof 
The enemy of all your graces lives. 
Your brother — no, no brother ; yet the son — 
Yet not the son, I will not call him son 20 

Of him I was about to call his father — 
Hath heard your praises, and this night he 

means 
To bursi the lodging where you use to lie 
And you within it: if he fail of that. 
He will have other means to cut you off. 25 

1 overheard him and his practices. 

This is no place; this house is but a butchery: 



371 



li 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act II. SC. III. 



Abhor it^ fear it, do not enter it. 

Orl. Why, "whither, Adam, wouldst thou have 
me go? 

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. 

Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg 
my food.f* 31 

Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce 
A thievish living on the common road? 
This I must do, or know not what to do: 
Yet this I will not do, do how I can, 35 

I rather will subject me to the malice 
Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. 

Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred 
crowns. 
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father. 
Which I did store to be my foster nurse 40 
When service should in my old limbs lie lame. 
And unregarded age in corners thrown: 
Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed. 
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. 
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold; 45 
All this I give you. Let me be your servant: 
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood. 
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 50 
The means of weakness and debility. 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter. 
Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you; 
I'll do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 55 

Orl. O good old man, how well in thee appears 
The constant service of the antique world. 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
Thou art not for the fashion of these times, 
WHiere none will sweat but for promotion 60 
And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having: it is not so with thee. 
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, 
That cannot so much as a blossom yield 
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. 65 
But come thy ways; we'll go along together; 
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent. 
We'll light upon some settled low content. 

Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee, 
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. 70 
From seventeen years till now almost four- 
score 
Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek. 
But at fourscore it is too late a week; 
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better 



Than to die well and not my master's debtor. 

Exeunt, 



Scene IV. — [The forest of Arden.] 

Enter Rosalind for Ganymede, Celia for Aliena, 
and Cloztm, alias Touchstone. 

Ros. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits ! 

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were 
not weary. 

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my 
man's aj^parel and to cry like a woman ; but I 
must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet 
and hose ought to show itself courageous to 
petticoat. Therefore courage, good Aliena! 8 

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no 
further. 

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you 
than bear you. Yet I should bear no cross if 
I did bear you, for I think you have no money 
in your purse. 14 

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden, the more fool I. 
When I was at home, I was in a better place ; 
but travellers must be content. 18 

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. 

Enter Corin and Silvius. 

Look you, who comes here: a young man and 
an old in solemn talk. 21 

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. 

Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love 
her! 

Cor. I partly guess; for I have loved ere now. 

Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou can'st not guess, 
Though in thy youth thou wast as true, a 
lover 26 

As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow. 
But if thy love were ever like to mine — 
As sure I think did never man love so — 
How many actions most ridiculous 30 

Hast tliou been drawn to by thy fantasy? 

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 

Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily ! 
If thou rememberest not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into, 35 

Thou hast not lov'd. 
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, 
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise. 



372 



ACT II. SC. IV.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



15 



Thou hast not lov'd: 

Or if thou hast not broke from company 40 

Abruptly, as my passion now makes me. 
Thou hast not lov'd. 

Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! Ea^it. 
Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! Searching of thy 

wound, 

1 have by hard adventure found mine own. 45 
Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I was 

in love I broke my sword upon a stone, and 
bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane 
Smile; and I remember the kissing of her 
batler and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt 
hands had milked; and I remember the woo- 
ing of a peascod instead of her, from whom 
I took two cods and, giving her them again, 
said with weeping tears, 'Wear these for my 
sake.' We that are true lovers run into 
strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, 
so is all nature in love mortal in folly. 57 

Ros. Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of. 

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own 
wit till I break my shins against it. 60 

Ros. Jove, Jove ! this shepherd's passion 
Is much upon my fashion. 

Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale 
with me. 

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man 
If he for gold will give us any food: 65 

I faint almost to death. 

Touch. Holla, you clown ! 

Ros. Peace! fool: he's not thy kinsman. 

Cor. Who calls? 

Touch. Your betters, sir. 

Cor. Else are they very wretched. 

Ros. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. 

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 70 

Ros. I i^rithee, shepherd, if that love or gold 
Can in this desert place buy entertainment. 
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and 

feed: 
Here's a young maid with travel much op- 

press'd 
And faints for succour. 

Cor. Fair sir, I pity her 75 

And wish, for her sake more than for mine 

own. 
My fortunes were more able to relieve her; 
But I am shepherd to another man 
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze. 
My master is of churlish disposition 80 

And little recks to find the way to heaven 



By doing deeds of hospitality; 

Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of 

feed 
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now. 
By reason of his absence, there is nothing 85 
That you will feed on; but what is, come see, 
And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 
Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pas- 
ture? 
Cor. That young swain that you saw here but 
erewhile. 
That little cares for buying any thing. 90 

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty. 

Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock. 
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 
Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like this 
place. 
And willingly could waste my time in it. 95 
Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold. 
Go with me; if you like upon report 
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
I will your very faithful feeder be 
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. 100 

Ea;eunt. 



Scene V. — [The forest.'] 
Enter Amiens^ Jaques, and others. 

Song. 

\_Ami.'] 'Under the greenwood tree 

Who loves to lie with me. 

And turn his merry note 

Unto the sweet bird's throat. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither : 5 

Here shall he see 

No enemy 
But winter and rough weather.* 

Jaq. More, more, I prithee, more. 

Ami. It will make you melancholy. Monsieur 
Jaques. n 

Jaq. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can 
suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel 
sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. 

Ami. My voice is ragged, I know I cannot please 
you. 

Jaq. I do not desire you to please me; I do de- 
sire you to sing. Come, more; another 
stanzo: call you 'em stanzos ? 

Ami. What you will. Monsieur Jaques. 20 



373 



16 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act II. SC. V. 



Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they gavc 
me nothing. Will you sing? 

Ami. More at your request than to please my- 
self. 24 

Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll 
thank you; but that they call compliment is 
like the encounter of two dog-apes ; and when 
a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have 
given him a penny, and he renders me the 
beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that 
will not, hold your tongues. 31 

Ami. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the 
while; the Duke will drink under this tree. 
He hath been all this day to look you. 

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. 
He is too disputable for my company: I think 
of as many matters as he, but I give heaven 
thanks and make no boast of them. Come, 
warble, come. 

Song. 

All together here. 
'Who doth ambition shun 40 

And loves to live i' th' sun. 
Seeking the food he eats 
And pleas'd with what he gets. 

Come hither, come hither, come hither: 

Here shall he see 45 

No enemy 

But winter and rough weather.' 

Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note that I 
made yesterday in despite of my invention. 
Ami. And I'll sing it. 50 

[^Jaq.'] Thus it goes: — 

*If it do come to pass 

That any man turn ass. 

Leaving his wealth and ease, 

A stubborn will to please, 55 

Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: 
Here shall he see 
Gross fools as he 

And if he will come to me.' 

Ami. What's that 'ducdame'? 60 

Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a 

circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll 

rail against all the first-born of Egypt. 

Ami. And I'll go seek the Duke: his banquet is 

prepared. Exeunt. 



Scene VI. — [T/ie forest.'] 
Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Adam. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I 
die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure 
out my grave. Farewell, kind master. 

Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in 
thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer 
thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield 
any thing savage, I will either be food for it, 
or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is 
nearer death than thy powers. For my sake 
be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's 
end; I will here be with thee presently; and 
if I bring thee not something to eat, I will 
give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before 
I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. 
Well said! thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be 
with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak 
air; come, I will bear thee to some shelter; 
and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if 
there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, 
good Adam! 19 

Exeunt. 

Scene VII.— [T/^e forest.] 

\_A table set out.] Enter Duke Senior, \^Ami~ 
ens,] and Lords, like outlaws. 

Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast; 

For I can no where find him like a man. 
First Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone 
hence : 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 
Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 5 
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. 
Go, seek him : tell him I would speak with him. 
Enter Jaques. 
First Lord. He saves my labour by his own ap- 
proach. 
Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life 
is this. 
That your poor friends must woo your com- 
pany ? 10 
What, you look merrily ! 
Jaq. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' th' forest, 
A motley fool; — a miserable world! 
As I do live by food, I met a fool, 
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the 
sun, 15 



374 



ACT II. SC. VII.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



17 



And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms. 
In good set terms^ and yet a motley fool. 
'Good morrow, fool/ quoth I. 'No, sir/ quoth 

he, 
'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me for- 
tune.' 
And then he drew a dial from his poke, 20 
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye. 
Says very wisel}'-, 'It is ten o'clock. 
Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world 

wags: 
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine. 
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven. 25 
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; 
And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear 
The motley fool thus moral on the time. 
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 30 
That fools should be so deep-contemplative. 
And I did laugh sans intermission 
An hour by his dial. O noble fool! 
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. 
Duhe S. What fool is this? 35 

Jaq. O worthy fool! One that hath been a 
courtier. 
And says, if ladies be but young and fair. 
They have the gift to know it; and in his 

brain. 
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage, he hath strange places 
cramm'd 40 

With observation, the which he vents 
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool ! 
I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
Duke S. Thou shalt have«)ne. 
Jaq. It is my only suit; 

Provided that you weed your better judg- 
ments 45 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind. 
To blow on whom I please, for so fools have; 
And they that are most galled with my folly, 
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must 
they so? 51 
The why is plain as way to parish church: 
He that a fool doth very wisely hit 
Doth very foolishly, although he smart. 
Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not, 55 
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 
Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
Invest me in my motley; give me leave 



To speak my mind, and I will through and 

through 
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 60 
If they will patiently receive my medicine. 

Duke S. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou 
wouldst do. 

Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do but good? 

Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding 
sin: 
For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 65 

As sensual as the brutish sting itself; 
And all the embossed sores and headed evils, 
That thou with license of free foot hast caught, 
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, 70 

That can therein tax any private party? 
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea. 
Till that the wearer's very means do ebb? 
What woman in the city do I name. 
When that I say the city-woman bears 75 

The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? 
Who can come in and say that I mean her. 
When such a one as she such is her neighbour ? 
Or what is he of basest function 
That says his bravery is not on my cost, 80 
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits 
His folly to the mettle of my speech ? 
There then; how then? what then? Let me 

see wherein 
My tongue hath wrong'd him; if it do him 

right, 
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free. 
Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, 86 
Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here ? 
Enter Orlando, [with his sword drawn]. 

Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 

Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. 

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 

Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 90 

Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy 
distress. 
Or else a rude despiser of good manners. 
That in civility thou seem'st so empty? 

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny 
point 
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred 96 
And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: 
Fie dies that touches any of this fruit 
Till I and my affairs are answered. 

Jaq. And you will not be answered with reason, 
I must die. loi 



375 



18 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act II. SC. VII. 



Duke S. What would you have? Your gentle- 
ness shall force 
More than your force move us to gentleness. 
Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. 
Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our 
table. 105 

Orl, Speak you so gently.^ Pardon me, I pray 
you: 
I thought that all things had been savage 

here; 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment. But whate'er you 

are 
That in this desert inaccessible, no 

Under the shade of melancholy boughs. 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; 
If ever you have look'd on better days, 
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to 

church. 
If ever sat at any good man's feast, ns 

If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear 
And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied. 
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: 
In the which hojoe I blush, and hide my sword. 
Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days. 
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to 
church, _ 121 

And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our 

eyes 
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd: 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness 
And take upon command what help we have 
That to your wanting may be minister'd. 126 
Orl. Then but forbear your food a little while, 
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn 
And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
Who after me hath many a weary step 130 
Limp'd in pure love: till he be first suffic'd, 
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hun- 
ger, 
I will not touch a bit. 
Duke S. Go find him out, 

And we will nothing waste till you return. 
Orl. I thank ye; and be blest for your good com- 
fort! ^ 135 

[Exit.] 
Duke S. Thou seest we are not all alone un- 
happy: 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more woful pageants than the scene 

Wherein we play in. 
Jaq. All the world's a stage. 



And all the men and women merely play- 
ers : 140 
They have their exits and their entrances; 
And one man in his time plays many parts. 
His acts being seven ages. At first the in- 
fant. 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. 
And then the whining school-boy, with his 
satchel 145 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover. 
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad. 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a sol- 
dier. 
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the 
pard, ISO 
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble reputation 
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the 

justice. 
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd. 
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 155 
Full of wise saws and modern instances; 
And so he plays his part. The sixth age 

shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon. 
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side. 
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too 
wide 160 

For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice. 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all. 
That ends this strange eventful history. 
Is second childishness and mere oblivion, 165 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every 
thing. 

Enter Orlando with Adam. 

Duke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable 
burden. 

And let him feed. 
Orl. I thank you most for him. 
Adam. So had you need: 

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 

Duke S. Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble 

you 171 

As yet, to question you about your fortunes. 

Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. 

Song. 
[Ami.] 'Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 



376 



ACT II. SC. VII.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



19 



Thou art not so unkind 175 

As man's ingratitude; 
Thy tooth is not so keen. 
Because thou art not seen. 
Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh-ho ! sing, heigh-ho ! unto the green 
holly : 180 

Most friendship is feigning, most loving 
mere folly: 
The[n], heigh-ho, the holly! 
This life is most jolly. 

'Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
That dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot: 
Though thou the waters warp. 
Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remember'd not. 
Heigh-ho ! sing, etc.' 

Duke S. li that you were the good Sir Roland's 

son. 
As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, 
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
Most truly limn'd and living in your face, 
Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke 195 
That lov'd your father; the residue of your 

fortune. 
Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, 
Thou art right welcome as thy master is. 
Support him by the arm. Give me your hand. 
And let me all your fortunes understand. 200 

Exeunt. 



ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — [A room in the palace.] 

Enter Duke Frederick, Lords and Oliver. 

Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that can- 
not be; 
But were I not the better joart made mercy, 
I should not seek an absent argument 
Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it : 
Find out thy brother, whereso'er he is. 5 

Seek him with candle; bring him dead or liv- 
ing 
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more 
To seek a living in our territory. 
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call 
thine 



Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, 10 
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's 

mouth 
Of what we think against thee. 
Oli. O that your highness knew my heart in this ! 

I never lov'd my brother in my life. 
Duke F. More villain thou. Well, push him out 
of doors; 15 

And let my officers of such a nature 
Make an extent upon his house and lands : 
Do this expediently and turn him going. 

Ejjeunt. 



Scene II. — [The forest.] 

Enter, Orlando, \with a paper]. 

Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my 
love: 
And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night 
survey 
With thy chaste ej^e, from thy pale sphere 
above, ^ 

Thy huntress' name that my full life doth 
sway. 
O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books, 5 
And in their barks my thoughts I'll char- 
acter ; 
That every eye which in this forest looks 

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. 
Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree 

The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. 10 

Eocil. 
Enter Corin and Clown [Touchstone]. 
Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life. Mas- 
ter Touchstone? 
Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it 
is a good life; but in respect that it is a shep- 
herd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is 
solitary, I like it very well; but in respect 
that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, 
in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me 
well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is 
tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits 
my humour well; but as there is no more 
plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. 
Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? 23 

Cor. No more but that I know the more one 
sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he 
that wants money, means, and content is with- 
out three good friends; that the property of 



377 



20 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act III. SC. II. 



rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pas- 
ture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause 
of the night is lack of the sun; that he that 
hath learned no wit by nature nor art may 
complain of good breeding or comes of a very 
dull kindred. Z2 

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast 
ever in court;, shepherd.^ 

Cor. No, truly. 

Touch. Then thou art damned. 

Cor. Nay, I hope. 

Touch. Truly, thou art damned, like an ill- 
roasted Ggg all on one side. 

Cor. For not being at court .^ Your reason. 40 

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou 
never sawest good manners ; if thou never saw- 
est good manners, then thy manners must be 
wicked ; and wickedness is sin, and sin is dam- 
nation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. 

Cor. Not a whit. Touchstone. Those that are 
good manners at the court are as ridiculous in 
the country as the behaviour of the country is 
most mockable at the court. You told me you 
salute not at the court, but you kiss your 
hands ; that courtesy would be uncleanly, if 
courtiers were shepherds. 52 

Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. 

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes, and 
their fells, you know, are greasy. 

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat ? 
and is not the grease of a mutton as whole- 
some as the sweat of a man ? Shallow, shal- 
low. A better instance, I say; come. 

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 60 

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. 
Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come. 

Cor. And they are often tarred over with the 
surgery of our sheep: and would you have us 
kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed 
with civet. 

Touch. Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in 
respect of a good piece of flesh indeed ! 
Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a 
baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux 
of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. 71 

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll 
rest. 

Touch. Wilt thou rest damned ? God help thee, 
shallow man ! God make incision in thee ! 
thou art raw. 75 

Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, 
get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no 



man's happiness, glad of other men's good, 
content with my harm, and the greatest of my 
pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. 

Touch. That is another simple sin in you to 
bring the ewes and the rams together, and to 
offer to get your living by the copulation of 
cattle, to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to be- 
tray a she-lamb of a twelve-month to a 
crooked-pated, old, cuckoldy ram, out of all 
reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for 
this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; 
I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. 90 

Cor. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my 
new mistress's brother. 
Enter Rosalind, \_with a paper, reading']. 

Ros. 'From the east to western Ind, 
No jewel is like Rosalind. 
Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 95 

Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
All the pictures fairest lin'd 
Are but black to Rosalind. 
Let no fair be kept in mind 
But the fair of Rosalind.' 100 

Touch. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, 
dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours ex- 
cepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to 
market. 

Ros. Out, fool! 105 

Touch. For a taste: 

'If a hart do lack a hind. 

Let him seek out Rosalind. 

If the cat will after kind, 

So be sure will Rosalind. no 

Winter garments must be lin'd. 

So must slender Rosalind. 

They that reap must sheaf and bind ; 

Then to cart with Rosalind. 

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 115 

Such a nut i^ Rosalind. 

He that sweetest rose will find. 

Must find love's prick and Rosalind.' 

This is the very false gallop of verses ; why do 
you infect yourself with them? 120 

Ros. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a 
tree. 

Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 

Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff 
it with a medlar. Then it will be the earliest 
fruit i' the coimtry; for you'll be rotten ere 
you he half ripe, and that's the right virtue 
of the medlar. 128 



378 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



21 



Touch, You have said; but whether wisely or no, 
let the forest judge. 

Enter Celia, with a writing. 

Ros. Peace! 

Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside. 
Cel. [Reads.^ 'Why should this a desert be? 
For it is unpeopled? No; 
Tongues I'll hang on every tree, 135 

That shall civil sayings show: 
Some, how brief the life of man 

Runs his erring pilgrimage. 
That the stretching of a span 

Buckles in his sum of age; 140 

Some of violated vows 

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: 
But upon the fairest boughs. 
Or at every sentence end. 
Will I Rosalinda write, 145 

Teaching all that read to know 
The quintessence of every sprite 

Heaven would in little show. 
Therefore Heaven Nature charg'd 

That one body should be fill'd 150 

With all graces wide-enlarg'd. 

Nature presently distill'd 
Helen's cheek, but not h[er] heart, 

Cleopatra's majesty, 
Atalanta's better part, 155 

Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

By heavenly synod was devis'd. 
Of many faces, eyes and hearts. 

To have the touches dearest priz'd. 160 
Heaven would that she these gifts should have. 
And I to live and die her slave.' 
Ros. O most gentle pulpiter ! what tedious hom- 
ily of love have you wearied your parishion- 
ers withal, and never cried, 'Have patience, 
good people!' 166 

Cel. How now ! back, friends ! Shepherds, go 

off a little. Go with him, sirrah. 
Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honour- 
able retreat, though not with bag and baggage, 
yet with scrip and scrippage. 171 

Exeunt [Covin and Touchstone]. 
Cel. Didst thou hear these verses? 
Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for 
some of them had in them more feet than the 
verses would bear. 



Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the 
verses. 

Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame and could not 
bear themselves without the verse, and there- 
fore stood lamely in the verse. 180 

Cel. But didst thou hear without wondering how 
thy name should be hanged and carved upon 
these trees? 

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the 
wonder before you came; for look here what 
I found on a palm-tree. I was never so 
berhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I 
was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remem- 
ber. 

Cel. Trow you who hath done this? 

Ros. Is it a man? 1^0 

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his 
neck. Change you colour? 

Ros. I prithee, who? 

Cel. O Lord, Lord ! it is a hard matter for 
friends to meet; but mountains may be re- 
moved with earthquakes and so encounter. 

Ros. Nay, but who is it? 

Cel. Is it possible? 

Ros. Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary 
vehemence, tell me who it is. 200 

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonder- 
ful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and 
after that, out of all hooping! 

Ros. Good my complexion ! Dost thou think, 
though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a 
doublet and hose in my disposition? One 
inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery. 
I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak 
apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that 
thou mightest pour this concealed man out of 
thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- 
mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or 
none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of 
thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings. 

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly? 215 

Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of 
man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin 
worth a beard? 

Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 

Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will 
be thankful; let me stay the growth of his 
beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of 
his chin. 223 

Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripped up the 
wrestler's heels and your heart both in an 
instant. 



379 



9.0 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act III. SC. II. 



Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, 
sad brow and true maid. 

Cel. V faitli, coz, 't is he. 

Ros. Orlando? 

Cel. Orlando. 230 

Ros, Alas the day ! what shall I do with my 
doublet and hose? What did he when thou 
sawest him? What said he? How looked 
lie? Wherein went he? What makes he 
here? Did he ask for me? Where remains 
he? How parted he with thee? and when 
shaltthou see him again ? Answer me in one word. 

Cel. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth 
first; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of 
this age's size. To say ay and no to these par- 
ticulars is more than to answer in a catechism. 

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest 
and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly 
as he did the day he wrestled? 244 

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve 
the propositions of a lover; but take a taste 
of my finding him, and relish it with good ob- 
servance. I found him under a tree, like a 
drojDjjed acorn. 

Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it 
drops forth such fruit. 250 

Cel. Give me audience, good madam. 

Ros. Proceed. 

Cel. There lay he, stretched along, like a 
wounded knight. 

Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it 
well becomes the ground. 

Cel. Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it 
curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like 
a hunter. 

Ros. O, ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 260 

Cel. I would sing my song without a burden; 
thou bringest me out of tune. 

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I 
think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 

Cel. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not 
here ? 266 

Enter Orlando and Jaqucs. 

Ros. 'Tis he; slink by^ and note him. 

Jaq. I thank you for your company; but good 

faith, I had as lief have been myself 

alone. 270 

Orl. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I 

thank you too for your society. 
Jaq. God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we 

can. 



Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. 275 
Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing 

love-songs in their barks. 
Orl. I pray you, mar no moe of my verses with 

reading them ill-favouredl3\ 
Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name? 280 

Orl. Yes, just. 
Jaq. I do not like her name. 
OrL There was no thought of pleasing you when 

she was christened. 
Jaq. What stature is she of? 285 

Orl. Just as high as my heart. 
Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have you 

not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, 

and conned them out of rings ? 
Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted 

cloth, from whence you have studied your 

questions. 292 

Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think 'twas made 

of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with 

me, and we two will rail against our mistress 

the world and all our misery? 
Orl. I will chide no breather in the world but 

myself, against whom I know most faults. 
Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in 

love. 300 

Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best 

virtue. I am weary of you. 
Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when 

I found you. 
Orl. He is drowned in the brook; look but in, 

and you shall see him. 306 

Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure. 
Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. 
Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, 

good Signior Love. 310 

Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good 

Monsieur Melancholy. 

\^Exit Jaques.] 
Ros. [Aside to Celia.] I will speak to him like 

a saucy lackey and under that habit play the 

knave with him. Do you hear, forester? 315 
Orl. Very well: what would you? 
Ros. I pray you, what is 't o'clock? 
Orl. You sliould ask me what time o' day ; there's 

no clock in the forest. 
Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest; 

else sighing every minute and groaning every 

hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as 

well as a clock. 323 

Orl. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had 

not that been as proper? 



380 



ACT III. SC. 



II.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



23 



Ros. By no means^ sir. Time travels in divers 
paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who 
Time ambles withal^ w^ho Time trots withal, 
who Time gallops withal, and who he stands 
still withal. 

Orl. I prithee, w^ho doth he trot withal.^ 330 

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid 
between the contract of her marriage and the 
day it is solemnised; if the interim be but a 
se'n-night. Time's pace is so hard that it seems 
the length of seven year, 

Orl. Who ambles Time withal? 336 

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich 
man that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps 
easily because he cannot study, and the other 
lives merrily because he feels no pain; the 
one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learn- 
ing, the other knowing no burden of heavy 
tedious penury. These Time ambles withal. 

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal.^ 344 

Ros. With a thief to the gallows; for though he 
go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself 
too soon there. 

Orl. Who stays it still withal? 

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation; for they 
sleep between term and term, and then they 
perceive not how Time moves. 351 

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth? 

Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in 
the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a pet- 
ticoat. 

Orl. Are you native of this place? 

Ros. x\s the cony that you see dwell where she 
is kindled. 

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you 
could purchase in so removed a dwelling. 360 

Ros. I have been told so of many; but indeed an 

old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, 

who was in his youth an inland man; one that 

knew courtship too well, for there he fell in 

love. I have heard him read many lectures 

against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, 

to be touched with so many giddy offences as 

he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal. 

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal 

evils that he laid to the charge of women? 370 

Ros. There were none principal; they were all 

like one another as half-pence are, every one 

fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault 

came to match it. 

Orl. I prithee, recount some of them. 375 

Ros. No, I will not cast away my physic but on 



those that are sick. There is a man haunts 
the forest, that abuses our young plants with 
carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes 
upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles, all, 
forsooth deifying the name of Rosalind. If I 
could meet that fancy-monger, I would give 
him some good counsel, for he seems to have 
the quotidian of love upon him. 384 

Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you, 
tell me your remedy. 

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon 
you. He taught ine how to know a man in 
love; in whicK cage of rushes I am sure you 
are not prisoner. 390 

Orl. What were his marks? 

Ros. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue 
eye and sunken, which you have not; an Uin- 
questionable spirit, which you have not; a 
beard neglected, which you have not (but I 
pardon you for that, for simply your having 
in beard is a younger brother's revenue). 
Then your hose should be ungartered, your 
bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, 
your shoe untied, and every thing about you 
demonstrating a careless desolation. But you 
are no such man; you are rather point-device 
in your accoutrements, as loving yourself than 
seeming the lover of any other. 403 

Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee be- 
lieve I love. 

Ros. Me believe it ! You may as soon make her 
that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she 
is apter to do than to confess she does; that 
is one of the points in the which Women still 
give the lie to their consciences. But, in good 
sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the 
trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? 412 

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand 
of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate 
he. 

Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 
speak ? 

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how 
much. 419 

Ros, Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, 
deserves as well a dark house and a whip as 
madmen do ; and the reason why they are not 
so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so 
ordinary that the whippers are in love too. 
Yet I profess curing it by counsel. 

Orl. Did you ever cure any so? 426 

Ros. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to 



381 



24 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act III. sc. 



imagine me his love, his mistress, and I set 
him every day to woo me ; at which time would 
I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effemi- 
nate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, 
fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of 
tears, full of smiles; for every passion some- 
thing and for no passion truly any thing, as 
boys and women are for the most part cattle of 
this colour; would now like him, now loathe 
him; then entertain him, then forswear him; 
now weep for him, then spit at him; that I 
drave my suitor from his mad humour of love 
to a living humour of madness; which was, to 
forswear the full stream of the world and to 
live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I 
cured him; and this way will I take upon me 
to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's 
heart, that there shall not be one spot of love 
in 't. 445 

Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me 
Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and 
woo me. 

Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell 
me w^here it is. 451 

Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and 
by the way you shall tell me where in the 
forest you live. Will you go? 

Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 455 

Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, 
sister, will you go.^ 

Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [The forest.'] 

Enter Clown [Touchstone] and Audrey; Jaques 
[behind]. 

Touch. Come apace, good Audrey. I will fetch 
up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? 
am I the man yet? doth my simple feature 
content you? 

Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! what 
features ? 6 

Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as 
the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was 
among the Goths. 

Jaq. [Aside.] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse 
than Jove in a thatched house! n 

Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- 
stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the 



forward child, understanding, it strikes a man 
more dead than a great reckoning in a little 
room. Truly, I w^ould the gods had made thee 
poetical. 

Aud. I do not know what 'poetical' is. Is it 
honest in deed and word? Is it a true thing? 

Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the 
most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, 
and what they swear in poetry may be said 
as lovers they do feign. 

Aud. Do you wish then that the gods had made 
me poetical? 24 

Touch. I do, truly ; for thou swearest to me thou 
art honest. Now, if thou wert a poet, I 
might have some hope thou didst feign. 

Aud. Would you not have me honest? 

Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-fa- 
voured; for honesty coupled to beauty is to 
have honey a sauce to sugar. 31 

Jaq. [Aside.] A material fool ! 

Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray 
the gods make me honest. 

Touch. Truly, and to cast away honestly upon a 
foul slut were to put good meat into an un- 
clean dish. 

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I 
am foul. 39 

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foul- 
ness ! sluttishness may come hereafter. But 
be it as it may be, I will marry thee; and to 
that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, 
the vicar of the next village, who hath prom- 
ised to meet me in this place of the forest and 
to couple us. 46 

Jaq. [Aside.] I would fain see this meeting. 

Audo Well, the gods give us joy! 

Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a 
fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here 
we have no temple but the wood, no assembly 
but horn-beasts. But what though? Cour- 
age! As horns are odious, they are neces- 
sary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end 
of his goods:' right; many a man has good 
horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that 
is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his 
own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men 
alone ? No, no : the noblest deer hath them as 
huge as the rascal. Is the single man there- 
fore blessed? No: as a walled town is more 
worthier than a village, so is the forehead of 
a married man more honourable than the bare 
brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is 



382 



ACT III. SC. III.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



25 



better than no skilly by so much is a horn more 
precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver. 

Enter Si?' Oliver Martext. 

Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will 
you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall 
we go with you to your chapel? 67 

Sir Oil Is there none here to give the woman } 
Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. 
Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the mar- 
riage is not lawful. 71 
Jaq. [Advancing.] Proceed, proceed: I'll give 

her. 
Touch. Good even, good Master What-ye-call 't: 
how do you, sir? You are very w^ell met. 
God 'ild you for your last company ; I am very 
glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. 
Nay, pray be covered. 
Jaq. Will you be married, motley? 79 

Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his 
curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his 
desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would 
be nibbling. 83 

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breed- 
ing, be married under a bush like a beggar? 
Get you to church, and have a good priest that 
can tell you what marriage is. This fellow 
will but join you together as they join wain- 
.scot; then one of you will prove a shrunk 
panel and, like green timber, warp, warp. 90 
Touch. [Aside.] I am not in the mind but I 
were better to be married of him than of an- 
other, for he is not like to marry me well ; and 
not being well married, it will be a good ex- 
cuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. 95 
Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. 
Touch. Come, sweet Audrey: 

We must be married, or we must live in 

bawdry. 
Farewell, good Master Oliver: not, — 100 

O sweet Oliver, 
O brave Oliver, 
Leave me not behind thee : 
but, — 

Wind away. 
Begone, I say, 
I will not to wedding with thee. 
[Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey.] 
Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave 
of them all shall flout me out of my calling. 

Exit. 



Scene IV. — [The forest.] 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Ros. Never talk to me; I will weep. 

Cel. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to 
consider that tears do not become a man. 

Ros. But have I not cause to weep ? 

Cel. As good cause as one would desire; there- 
fore weep. 6 

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. 

Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, 
his kisses are Judas's own children. 

Ros. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. 10 

Cel. An excellent colour; your chestnut was ever 
the only colour. 

Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the 
touch of holy bread. 

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. 
A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more 
religiously; the very ice of chastity is in 
them. 18 

Ros. But why did he swear he would come this 
morning, and comes not? 

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. 

Ros. Do you think so? 

Cel. Yes, I think he is not a pick-purse nor a 
horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do 
think him as concave as a covered goblet, or a 
worm-eaten nut. 26 

Ros. Not true in love? 

Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not 
in. 

Ros. You have heard him swear downright he 
was. 

Cel. 'Was' is not 'is :' besides, the oath of a lover 
is no stronger than the word of a tapster ; they 
are both the confirmer of false reckonings. 
He attends here in the forest on the Duke 
your father. 36 

Ros. I met the Duke yesterday and had much 
question with him. He asked me of what 
parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; 
so he laughed and let me go. But what talk 
we of fathers, when there is such a man as 
Orlando ? 42 

Cel. O, that 's a brave man ! He writes brave 
verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths 
and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, 
athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny 
tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, 
breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all 's 



283 



26 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act III. SC. IV. 



brave that youth mounts and folly guides. 
Who comes here? 49 

Enter Corin. 

Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft inquired 
After the shepherd that complain'd of love. 
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, 
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
That M-as his mistress. 

Cel. Well, and what of him ? 

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, 55 
Between the pale complexion of true love 
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain. 
Go hence a little and I shall conduct you. 
If you will mark it. 

Ros. O, come, let us remove: 

The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. 60 
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say 
I'll prove a busy actor in their play. 

Exeunt. 



Scene V. — [Another part of the forest.'] 

Enter Silvius and Phehe. 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, 

Phebe. 
Say that you love me not, but say not so 
In bitterness. The common executioner. 
Whose heart the accustomed sight of death 

makes hard. 
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck 5 
But first begs pardon ; will you sterner be 
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops .^ 

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Coriyi, [hehind]. 

Phe. I would not be thy executioner ; 
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye: 
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, n 

That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest 

things. 
Who shut their coward gates on atomies. 
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers ! 
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; 15 
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them 

kill thee; 
Now counterfeit to swoon; wliy, now fall 

down; 
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame. 
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers ! 



of 



30 



Now show the wound mine eye hath made in 
thee. 20 

Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 
Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush. 
The cicatrice and capable impressure 
Thy palm some moment keeps; but no^y mine 

eyes. 
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, 25 
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
That can do hurt. 
Sil. O dear Phebe, 

If ever — as that ever may be near — 
You meet in some fresh cheek the power 

fancy. 
Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
That love's keen arrows make. 
Phe. But till that time 

Come not thou near me; and when that time 

comes. 
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not. 
As till that time I shall not pity thee. 
Ros. [Coming forward.] And why, I pray you? 
Who might be your mother, 35 

That you insult, exult, and all at once. 
Over the wretched? What though you have 

no beauty, — 
As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
Than without candle may go dark to bed — 
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? 40 
Why, what means this ? Why do you look pn 

me? 
I see no more in you than in the ordinary 
Of nature's sale-work. 'Od 's my little life, 
I think she means to tangle my eyes too ! 
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 45 
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair. 
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream. 
That can entame my spirits to your worship. 
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you fol- 
low her. 
Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain? 
You are a thousand times a properer man 51 
Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you 
That makes the world full of ill-favoured 

children : 
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; 
And out of you she sees herself more proper 55 
Than any of her lineaments can show her. 
But, mistress, know yourself: down on your 

knees. 
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's 
love. 



384 



ACT III. SC. v.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



27 



For I must tell you friendly in your ear, 
Sell when you can; you are not for all mar- 
kets ; 60 
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his oiFer. 
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well. 

Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year to- 
gether ; 
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. 

Bos. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and 
she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, 
as fast as she answers thee with frowning 
looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why 
look you so upon me.^ 70 

phe. For no ill will I bear you. 

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me. 
For I am falser than vows made in wine; 
Besides, I like you not. If you will know my 

house, 
'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. 75 

Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. 
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him bet- 
ter; 
And be not proud, — though all the world 

could see. 
None could be so abus'd in sight as he. 
Come, to our flock. 80 

Exeunt [Rosalind, Celia, and Coring. 

Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of 
might, 
'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?' 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, — 

Phe. Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius ? 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 

Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. 85 

Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be. 
If you do sorrow at my grief in love. 
By giving love your sorrow and my grief 
Were both extermin'd. 

Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neigh- 
bourly ? 90 

Sil. I would have you. 

Phe. Why, that were covetousness. 

Silvius, the time was that I hated thee. 
And yet it is not that I bear thee love; 
But since that thou canst talk of love so well. 
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, 
I will endure; and I'll employ thee too. 96 

But do not look for further recompense 
Than thine own gladness that thou art em- 
ployed. 

Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love. 



And I in such a poverty of grace, 100 

That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
To glean the broken ears after the man 
That the main harvest reaps: loose now and 

then 
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. 
Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me 

erewhile ? 105 

SiL Not very well, but I have met him oft; 
And he hath bought the cottage and the 

bounds 
That the old carlot once was master of. 
Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him. 
'Tis but a peevish boy — yet he talks well, no 
But what care I for words? Yet words do 

well 
When he that speaks them pleases those that 

hear. 
It is a pretty youth — ^not very pretty. 
But, sure, he's proud — and yet his pride be- 
comes him. 114 
He'll make a proper man : the best thing in him 
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue 
Did make offence his eye did heal it up. 
He is not very tall — yet for his years he's 

tall. 
His leg is but so so — and yet 'tis well. 
There was a pretty redness in his lip, 120 

A little riper and more lusty red 
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the 

difference 
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. 
There be some women, Silvius, had they 

mark'd him 
In parcels as I did, would have gone near 125 
To fall in love with him; but, for my part, 
I love him not nor hate him not; and yet 
I have more cause to hate him than to love 

him; 
For what had he to do to chide at me? 
He said mine eyes were black and my hair 

black ; 130 

And, now I am rememb'red, scorn'd at me. 
I marvel why I answer'd not again; 
But that's all one: omittance is no quittance. 
I'll write to him a very taunting letter. 
And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou, Silvius? 135 
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. 
Phe. I'll write it straight; 

The matter 's in my head and in my heart; 
I will be bitter with him and passing short. 
Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt* 



385 



28 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



ACT FOURTH 

[Scene I. — The forest.'] 
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. 

Jaq. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better ac- 
quainted with thee. 

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 

Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. 

Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are 
abominable fellows, and betray themselves to 
ever}^ modern censure worse than drunkards. 7 

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 

Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. 

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, 
which is emulation ; nor the musician's, which is 
fantastical ; nor the courtier's, which is proud ; 
nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the 
lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, 
which is nice ; nor the lover's, which is all these. 
But it is a melancholy of mine own, com- 
pounded of many simples, extracted from many 
objects, and indeed the sundry contem- 
plation of my travels, in which my often 
rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness. 
Ros. A traveller 1 By my faith, you have great 
reason to be sad. I fear you have sold your 
own lands to see other men's; then, to have 
seen much and to have nothing is to have rich 
eyes and poor hands. 25 

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 
Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had 
rather have a fool to make me merry than ex- 
perience to make me sad; and to travel for 
it too ! 

Enter Orlando. 

Orl. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! 30 
Jaq. Nay, then, God b' wi' you, and you talk in 
blank verse. [Exit.'] 

Ros. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller. Look you 
lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the 
benefits of your own country, be out of love 
with your nativity and almost chide God for 
making you that countenance you are, or I will 
scarce think you have swam in a gondola. — 
Why, how now, Orlando! where have you 
been all this while.? You a lover! And you 
serve me such another trick, never come in my 
sight more. 



[act IV. sc. I. 



Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of 

my promise. 
Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ! He that 
will divide a minute into a thousand parts and 
break but a part of the thousandth part of a 
minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of 
him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoul- 
der, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. 
Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 5^ 

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in 

my sight; I had as lief be wooed of a snail 
Orl. Of a snail.? 

Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, 
he carries his house on his head; a better 
jointure, I think, than you make a woman; 
besides, he brings his destiny with him 
Orl, What's that.? ' ^g 

Ros, Why, horns, which such as you are fain to 
be beholding to your wives for; but he comes 
armed in his fortune, and prevents the slan- 
der of his wife. 
Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind 

is virtuous. 
Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 55 

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a 

Rosalind of a better leer than you. 
Ros. Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a 
holiday humour and like enough to consent. 
What would you say to me now, and I were 
your very very Rosalind .? 71 

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 
Ros. Nay, you were better speak first, and when 
you were gravelled for lack of matter, you 
might take occasion to kiss. Very good ora- 
tors, when they are out, they will spit; and 
for lovers lacking— God warn us .'—matter, 
the cleanliest shift is to kiss. 78 

Orl. How if the kiss be denied.? 
Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there 

begins new matter. 
Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved 

mistress .? 

Ros, Marry, tliat should you, if I were your 

mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker 

than my wit. gg 

Orl. What, of my suit? 

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of 

your suit. Am not I your Rosalind .? 
Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I 

would be talking of her. 
Ros. Well, in her person I say I will not have you. 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



29 



Orl. Then in mine own person I die. 93 

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor 
world is almost six thousand years old, and in 
all this time there was not any man died in 
his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. 
Troilus had his brains dashed out with a 
Grecian club; yet he did what he could to 
die before, and he is one of the patterns of 
love. Leander, he would have lived many a 
fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it 
had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, 
good youth, he went but forth to wash him in 
the Hellespont and being taken with the 
cramp was drow^ned; and the foolish chroni- 
clers of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' 
But these are all lies; men have died from 
time to time, and worms have eaten them, but 
not for love. 108 

Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this 
mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. 

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But 
come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more 
coming-on disposition, and ask me what you 
will, I will grant it. 

Orl. Then love me^ Rosalind. 115 

Ros. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays 
and all. 

Orl. And wilt thou have me? 

Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 

Orl. What sayest thou? 120 

Ros. Are you not good? 

Orl. I hope so. 

Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a 
good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the 
priest and marry us. Give me your hand, 
Orlando. What do you say, sister? 126 

Orl. Pray thee, marry us. 

Cel. I cannot say the words. 

Ros. You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando — ' 

Cel. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife 
this Rosalind? 131 

Orl I will. 

Ros. Ay, but when? 

Orl. Why, now; as fast as she can marry us. 

Ros. Then you must say, 'I take thee, Rosalind, 
for wife.' 

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 137 

Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; but I 
do take thee, Orlando, for my husband. There's 
a girl goes before the priest; and certainly 
a woman's thought runs before her actions. 



Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged. 

Ros. Now tell me how long you would have her 
after you have possessed her. 

Orl. For ever and a day. 145 

Ros. Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, 
Orlando; men are April when they woo, De- 
cember when they wed. Maids are May 
when they are maids, but the sky changes 
when they are wives. I will be more jealous 
of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his 
hen, more clamorous than a parrot against 
rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more 
giddy in my desires than a monkey. I will 
weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, 
and I will do that when you are disposed to 
be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that 
when thou art inclined to sleep. 158 

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so? 

Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. 

Orl. O, but she is wise. 

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do 
this: the wiser, the waywarden make the 
doors upon a woman's wit and it will out at 
the casement; shut that and 't will out at the 
key-hole; stop that, 't will fly with the smoke 
out at the chimney. 167 

Orl, A man that had a wife with such a wit, he 
might say, 'Wit, whither wilt?' 

Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till 
you met your wife's wit going to your neigh- 
bour's bed. 172 

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? 

Ros. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. 
You shall never take her without her answer, 
unless you take her without her tongue. O, 
that woman that cannot make her fault her 
husband's occasion, let her never nurse her 
child herself, for she will breed it like a fool! 

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave 
thee. 181 

Ros. Alas .'dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. 

Orl. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two 
o'clock I will be with thee again. 

Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew 
what you would prove: my friends told me as 
much, and I thought no less. That flattering 
tongue of yours won me; 'tis but one cast 
away, and so, come, death! Two o'clock is 
your hour? 190 

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 

Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so 



387 



so 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act IV. SC. I. 



God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that 
are not dangerous, if you break one jot of 
your promise, or come one minute behind your 
hour, I will think you the most pathetical 
break-promise and the most hollow lover and 
the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind 
that may be chosen out of the gross band of 
the unfaithful. Therefore beware my cen- 
sure and keep your promise. 200 

Orl. With no less religion than if thou wert in- 
deed my Rosalind; so adieu. 

Ros. Well, Time is the old j ustice that examines 
all such offenders, and let Time try. Adieu. 

Exit [^Orlando']. 

Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your 
love-prate. We must have your doublet and hose 
plucked over your head, and show the world 
what the bird hath done to her own nest. 208 

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that 
thou didst know how many fathom deep I am 
in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affec- 
tion hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of 
Portugal. 

Cel. Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you 
pour affection in, it runs out. 215 

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus 
that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen 
and born of madness, that blind rascally boy 
that abuses every one's eyes because his own 
are out, let him be judge how deep I am in 
love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of 
the sight of Orlando; I'll go find a shadow 
and sigh till he come. 22^ 

Cel. And I'll sleep. Exeunt. 

Scene II. — [The forest."] 
Enter Jaques, and Lords, Foresters. 

Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer? 

Lord. Sir, it was I. 

Jaq. Let's present him to the Duke, like a 
Roman conqueror ; and it would do well to set 
the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch 
of victory. Have you no song, forester, for 
this purpose? 

Lord. Yes, sir. 8 

Jaq. Sing it. 'Tis no nr-atter how it be in tune, 
so it make noise enough. Music. 

Song 
'What shall he have that killed the deer ? 



His leather skin and horns to wear. 

Then sing him home; the rest shall hear 

this burden. 
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn: 
It was a crest ere thou wast born. 

Thy father's father wore it, 15 

And thy father bore it: 
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn 
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.' 

Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [The forest.] 
Enter Rosalind and Celia, , 

Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two 
o'clock ? And here much Orlando ! 

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled 
brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and 
is gone forth — to sleep. [Enter Silvius.] 
Look, who comes here. s 

Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth. 
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this. 
I know not the contents ; but, as I guess 
By the stern brow and waspish action 
Which she did use as she was writing of it, 10 
It bears an angry tenour: pardon me; 
I am but as a guiltless messenger. 

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this let- 
ter. 
And play the swaggerer. Bear this, bear all. 
She says I am not fair, that I lack manners ; 15 
She calls me proud, and that she could not 

love me. 
Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will ! 
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt. 
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, 

well. 
This is a letter of your own device. 20 

Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents : 
Phebe did write it. 

Ros. Come, come, you are a fool 

And turn'd into the extremity of love. 
I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand, 
A freestone-coloured hand; I verily did think 
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her 
hands ; 26 

She has a housewife's hand — but that's no 

matter. 
I say she never did invent this letter; 
This is a man's invention and his hand. 



388 



ACT IV. SC. III.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



31 



Sil. Sure, it is hers. 30 

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, 
A style for challengers; why, she defies me, 
Like Turk to Christian: woman's gentle brain 
Could not drop forth such giant-rude inven- 
tion. 
Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect 35 
Than in their countenance. Will you hear the 
letter ? 
Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet ; 

Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 
Ros. She Phebes me. Mark how the tyrant 
writes. 
(Reads) 

'Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, 40 

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?' 

Can a woman rail thus ? 
Sil. Call you this railing? 
Ros. (Reads.) 

'Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?' 45 

Did you ever hear such railing? 

'Whiles the eye of man did woo me. 
That could do no vengeance to me.* 

Meaning me a beast. 

'If the scorn of your bright eyne 50 

Have power to raise such love in mine. 
Alack, in me what strange effect 
Would they work in miid aspect ! 
Whiles you chid me, I did love ; 
How then might your prayers move ! 55 
He that brings this love to thee 
Little knows this love in me; 
And by him seal up thy mind: 
Whether that thy youth and kind 
Will the faithful offer take 60 

Of me and all that I can make; 
Or else by him my love deny. 
And then I'll study how to die.* 

Sil. Call you this chiding? 

Cel. Alas, poor shepherd! 65 

Ros. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no 
pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, 
to make thee an instrument and play false 
strains upon thee ! Not to be endured ! 
Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath 
made thee a tame snake, and say this to her : 
that if she love me, I charge her to love thee ; 
if she will not, I will never have her unless 
thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover. 



hence, and not a word; for here comes more 



company. 



Exit Silmus. 



Enter Oliver. 



on. Good morrow, fair ones : pray you, if you 
know. 
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands 
A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees? 

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour 
bottom : 
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream 
Left on your right hand brings you to the 
place. 81 

But at this hour the house doth keep itself; 
There's none within. 

Oil. If that an eye may profit by a tongue. 
Then should I know you by description; 85 
Such garments and such years: 'The boy is 

fair. 
Of female favour, and bestows himself 
Like a ripe sister : the woman low. 
And browner than her brother.' Are not you 
The owner of the house I did inquire for ? 90 

Cel. It is no boast, being asked, to say we are. 

Oil. Orlando doth commend him to you both. 
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind 
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he ? 

Ros. I am. What must we understand by this ? 

Oli. Some of my shame, if you will know of me 
What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
This handkercher was stain'd. 

Cel. I pray you, tell it. 

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from 
you 
He left a promise to return again 100 

Within an hour; and pacing through the forest. 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo, what bef el ! Lie threw his eye -aside. 
And mark what object did present itself. 
Under an oak, whose boughs wxre moss'd with 
age 105 

And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair. 
Lay sleeping on his back; about his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself. 
Who, with her head nimble in threats, ap- 
proach'd no 

The opening of his mouth; but suddenly. 
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself. 
And with indented glides did slip away 
Into a bush; under which bush's shade 
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, 115 



389 



82 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act IV. sc. 



III. 



Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike 

watch. 
When that the sleejoing man should stir; for 

'tis 
The royal disposition of that beast 
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. 
This seen, Orlando did approach the man 120 
And found it was his brother, his elder 
brother. 

Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same 
brother ; 
And he did render him the most unnatural 
That liv'd amongst men. 

on. And well he might so do. 

For well I know he was unnatural. 125 

Ros. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there. 
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness } 

Oil. Twice did he turn his back and purpos'd so; 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge. 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion, 
]Made him give battle to the lioness, 131 

Who quickly fell before him : in which hurtling 
From miserable slumber I awak'd. 

Cel. Are you his brother? 

Ros. Was 't you he rescued? 

Cel. Was 't you that did so oft contrive to kill 
him? 135 

Oil. ""Twas I; but 'tis not I. I do not shame 
To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 

Ros. But, for the bloody napkin? 

on. By and by. 

When from the first to last betwixt us two 140 
Tears our recountments had most kindly 

bath'd. 
As how I came into that desert place; — 
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, 
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment. 
Committing me unto my brother's love; 145 
Who led me instantly unto his cave. 
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his 

arm 
The lioness had torn some flesh away. 
Which all this while had bled; and now he 

fainted 
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 150 

Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wo«nd; 
And, after some small space, being strong at 

heart. 
He sent me hither, stranger as I am. 
To tell this story, that you might excuse 
His broken promise, and to give this napkin 



Dyed in his blood unto the she^jherd youth 156 
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 

[Rosalind srcoons.'] 

Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ! sweet Gany- 
mede! 

Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on 
blood. 

Cel. There is more in it. Cousin ! — Ganymede ! 

Oli. Look, he recovers. 161 

Ros. I would I were at home. 

Cel. We'll lead j^ou thither. 

I pray you, will you take him by the arm ? 



You 



I 



Oli. Be of good cheer, youth. 

You lack a man's heart. 165 

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body 
would think this was well counterfeited ! I 
pray you, tell your brother how well I coun- 
terfeited. Heigh-ho ! 

Oli. This was not counterfeit. There is too 
great testimony in your complexion that it was 
a passion of earnest. 17a, 

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. 

Oli. Well then, take a good heart and counter 
feit to be a man. 175 

Ros. So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a 
woman by right. 

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler : pray you, 
draw homewards. Good gir, go with us. 

Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back 180 
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. J 

Ros. I shall devise something: but, I pray you," 
commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you 
go ? Exeunt,, 

ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — [The forest.'] 
Enter Clown [Touchstone'] and Audrey. 

Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience,^ 

gentle Audrey. 
And. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all 

the old gentleman's saying. 
Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a 

most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a 

youth here in the forest lays claim to you. 
Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in 

me in the world. Here comes the man you 

mean. 

Enter William. 
Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a 



390 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



33 



clown. By my troths we that have good wits 
have much to answer for: we shall be flouting; 
w^e cannot hold. 14 

Will. Good even, Audrey. 

Aud. God ye good even, William. 

Will. And good even to you, sir. 

Touch. Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy 
head, cover thy head. Nay, prithee, be cov- 
ered. How old are you, friend? 20 

Will. Five and twenty, sir. 

Touch. A ripe age. Is thy name William? 

Will. William, sir. 

Touch. A fair name. Wast born i' the forest 
here ? 25 

Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. 

Touch. 'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich? 

Will. Faith, sir, so so. 

Touch. 'So so' is good, very good, very excel- 
lent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. 
Art thou wise? 31 

Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 

Touch. Why, thou sayest well. I do now re- 
member a saying, 'The fool doth think he is 
wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a 
fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had 
a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips 
when he put it into his mouth; meaning 
thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips 
to open. You do love this maid? 40 

Will. I do, sir. 

Touch. Give me your hand. Art thou learned? 

Will. No, sir. 

Touch. Then learn this of me: to have, is to 
have; for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, 
being poured out of a cup into a glass, by 
filling the one doth empty the other. For all 
your writers do consent that ipse is he. Now, 
you are not ipse, for I am he. 49 

Will. Which he, sir? 

Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman. 
Therefore, you clown, abandon, which is in 
the vulgar leave, — the society, — which in the 
boorish is company, — of this female, — which 
in the common is woman; which together is, 
abandon the society of this female, or, clown, 
• thou perishest; or, to thy better understand- 
ing, diest; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee 
away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty 
into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee, 
or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with 
thee in faction; I will o'cr-run thee with pol- 
icy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways. 



Therefore tremble, and depart. 
And, Do, good William. 
Will. God rest you merry, sir. 



Enter Covin. 

Cor. Our master and mistress seeks you. 

away, away ! 
Touch. Trip, Audrey ; trip, Audrey ! I 

I attend. 



64 



Exit. 



attend, 
Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [^The forest.^ 
Enter Orlando and Oliver. 

Orl. Is 't possible that on so little acquaintance 
you should like her? that but seeing, you 
should love her ? and loving woo ? and, wooing, 
she should grant? and will you persever to 
enjoy her? 5 

Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, 
the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my 
sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; 
but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her 
that she loves me; consent with both that we 
may enjoy each other. It shall be to your 
good; for my father's house and all the reve- 
nue that was old Sir Roland's will I estate 
upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. 14 

Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding 
be to-morrow; thither will I invite the Duke 
and all 's contented followers. Go you and 
prepare Aliena ; for look you, here comes my 
Rosalind. 19 

Enter Rosalind. 

Ros. God save you, brother. 

Oli. And you, fair sister. [Exit.] 

Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to 
see thee wear thy heart in a scarf ! 

Orl. It is my arm. 

Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded 
with the claws of a lion. 26 

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 

Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counter- 
feited to swoon when he showed me your 
handkercher ? 

Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 31 

Ros. O, I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true: 



391 



34 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act v. SC. II. 



there was never any thing so sudden but the 
fight of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical 
brag of *I came, saw, and overcame.' For 
your brother and my sister no sooner met but 
they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; 
no sooner loved but they sighed; no sooner 
sighed but they asked one another the reason; 
no sooner knew the reason but they sought the 
remedy; and in these degrees have they made 
a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will 
climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before 
marriage. They are in the very wrath of love, 
and they will together. Clubs cannot part them. 

Orl. They shall be married to-morrow, and I 
will bid the Duke to the nuptial. But, O, 
how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness 
through another man's eyes ! By so much 
the more shall I to-morrow be at the height 
of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think 
my brother happy in having what he wishes 
for. 52 

Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your 
turn for Rosalind.^ 

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 55 

Ros. I will weary you then no longer with idle 
talking. Know of me then, for now I speak 
to some purpose, that I know you are a gentle- 
man of good conceit. I speak not this that 
you should bear a good opinion of my knowl- 
edge, insomuch I say I know you are. 
Neither do I labour for a greater esteem than 
may in some little measure draw a belief from 
you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. 
Believe then, if you please, that I can do 
strange things. I have, since I was three 
year old, conversed with a magician, most 
profound in his art and yet not damnable. 
If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as 
your gesture cries it out, when your brother 
marries Aliena, shall you marry her. I know 
into what straits of fortune she is driven; and 
it is not impossible to me, if it appear not in- 
convenient to you, to set her before your eyes 
to-morrow, human as she is and without any 
danger. " 75 

Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings? 

Ros. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, 
though I say I am a magician. Therefore, 
put you in your best array ; bid your friends ; 
for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall, 
and to Rosalind, if you will. 81 

Enter Silvius and Phehe. 



Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover 
of hers. 

Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentle- 
ness. 
To show the letter that I writ to you. 

Ros. I care not if I have ; it is my study 85 

To seem despiteful and ungentle to you. 
You are there followed by a faithful shep- 
herd; 
Look upon him, love him; he worships you. 

Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to 
love. 

Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; 90 
And so am I for Phebe. „ 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. ; 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. ! 

Ros. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service; 95 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, 100 

All made of passion, and all made of wishes. 
All adoration, duty, and observance, 
All humbleness, all patience and impatience. 
All purity, all trial, all observance; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And so am I for no woman. 

Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love 
you? no 

Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love 
you? 

Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love 
you? 

Ros. Why do you speak too, *Why blame you 
me to love you?' 

Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. 

Ros. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the 
howling of Irish wolves against the moon. 
[To Sil.] I will help you, if I can. [To 
Phe.] I would love you, if I could. To- 
morrow meet me all together. [To Phe.] 
I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and 
I'll be married to-morrow. [To Orl.] I will 
satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you 
shall be married to-morrow. [To Sil.] I 
will content you, if what pleases you contents 
you, and you shall be married to-morrow 
[To Orl.] As you love Rosalind, meet. [To 



392 



ACT V. SC. II.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



35 



Sil.] As you love Phebe, meet. And as I 
love no woman, I'll meet. So fare you well: 
I have left you commands. 131 

Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. 

Phe. Nor I. 

Orl. Nor I. Exeunt. 

Scene III. — [The forest.] 
Enter Cloivn [Touchstone] and Audrey. 

Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey: 
to-morrow will we be married. 

Aud. I do desire it with all my heart; and I 
hope it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be 
a woman of the world. Here come two of 
the banished Duke's pages. 6 

Enter two Pages. 

First Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 

Touch. By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, 
and a song. 

Sec. Page. We are for you: sit i' the middle. 10 

First Page. Shall we clap into 't roundly, with- 
out hawking, or spitting, or saying we are 
hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad 
voice ? 

Sec. Page. I' faith, i' faith; and both in a tune, 
like two gipsies on a horse. 16 

Song. 

'It was a lover and his lass. 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
That o'er the green corn-field did pass 

In the spring time, the only pretty ring 
time, 20 

When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: 

Sweet lovers love the spring. 

'Between the acres of the rye, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
These pretty country folks would lie, 25 

In spring time, etc. 

'This carol they began that hour. 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 

How that a life was but a flower 

In spring time, etc. 30 

'And therefore take the present time. 
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; 

For love is crowned with the prime 
In spring time,' etc. 



Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there 
was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note 
was very untuneable. 37 

First Page. You are deceived, sir: we kept time, 
we lost not our time. 

Touch. By my troth, yes; I count it but time 
lost to hear such a foolish song. God b' wi' 
you ; and God mend your voices ! Come, 
Audrey. Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — [The forest.] 

Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, 
Oliver, and Celia. 

Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the 
boy 
Can do all this that he hath promised .f* 
Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do 
not; 
As those that fear they hope, and know they 
fear. 

Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phehe. 

Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is 
urged : 5 

You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, 
You will bestow her on Orlando here? 
Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give 

with her. 
Ros. And you say, you will have her, when I 

bring her? 
Orl, That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 
Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? 
Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. 12 
Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me. 

You'll give yourself to this most faithful shep- 
herd? 
Phe. So is the bargain. 15 

Ros. You say that you'll have Phebe, if she will ? 
SiL Though to have her and death were both 

one thing. 
Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter 
even. 
Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your 

daughter ; 
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter; 
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me. 
Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd ; 22 
Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her. 
If she refuse me; and from hence I go, 
To make these doubts all even. 

Exeunt Rosalind and Celia, 



393 



38 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



[act v. SC. IV. 



Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your 

pleasures ; 

I am for other than for dancing measures. 

Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay, 200 

Jaq. To see no pastime I. What you would 

have 

I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. 

Exit. 
Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these 
rites. 
As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. 

[A dance.'] 



[EPILOGUE.] 

Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the 
epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than 
to see the lord the prologue. If it be true 
that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a 
good play needs no epilogue ; yet to good wine 



they do use good bushes, and good plays prove 
the better by the help of good epilogues. 
What a case am I in then, that am neither a 
good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you 
in the behalf of a good play ! I am not fur- 
nished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not 
become me: my way is to conjure you; and 
I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O 
women, for the love you bear to men, to like 
as much of this play as please you. And I 
charge you, O men, for the love you bear to 
women — as I perceive by your simpering, 
none of you hates them — that between you and 
the women the play may please. If I were a 
woman, I would kiss as many of you as had 
beards that pleased me, complexions that liked 
me, and breaths that I defied not; and, I am 
sure, as many as have good beards or good 
faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, 
when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. 24 

Exeunt. 



FINIS 



NOTES 



ACT I 



i. 2-3 bequeathed me.. . . charged, i. e., my father. 
14 taught their manage, trained. 
20 hinds, farm servants. 
22 mines, undermines. 
31 make, do. 
40-42 Shall I keep . . . such penury. An allusion 

to the parable of the Prodigal Son; see Luke XV. 

12, 16. 
54 is nearer to his reverence, entitles you to some 

of the respect due to him. 

76 exercises, occupations, pursuits. 

77 allottery, share. 

124 carelessly, free from care. 

125 world, age. 

134 shall, must, will have to. 

146 by underhand means, indirectly. 

156 practise, plot. 

163 anatomize, dissect, analyze, expose. 

172 gentle, of good birth and manners, a gentleman. 

173 noble device, worthy ideas and purposes, 
sorts, ranks. 

177 misprised, undervalued. 

11. 6 learn, teach. 

41 honest, virtuous, chaste. 

42 ill-favouredly, ugly, 
52 natural, fool. 

87 Ferdinand] Capell; Frederick F. Some editors 



get over the difficulty by assigning the next speech 
to Celia. 
91 taxation, satire. 

115 amaze, daze, bewilder. 

131-132 Be it known — these presents, the usual pre- 
amble of public notices. 

150 broken music, a technical term in Elizabethan 
orchestral music. 

200 gracious, favorably regarded, in people's good 
graces. 

222 speed, helper. 

238 still, always, constantly. 

253 envious, malicious. 

258 suits, service and favor. 

263 quintain, a wooden figure to be tilted at. 

268 Have with you (to Celia), 'I'm with you.' 

270 conference, conversation. 

276 condition, state of mind. 

278 humorous, governed by humors, i. e., moods. 

284 smaller] Malone; taller F. Some change is nec- 
essary. See I. iii. 117. 

291 argument, reason. 

296 In a better world, in a better state of affairs. 

iii. 18 Hem, cough. 
33 chase, reasoning. 
37-38 deserve well, i. e., to be hated because he hated 

her father. 
49 intelligence, communication. 
55 purgation, proof of innocence. 



S96 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



S9 



64 derive, inherit. 

friends, relatives. 
72 remorse, compassion. 

77 Juno's swans. Swans are the birds of Venus. 
Juno's chariot was drawn by peacocks. 
119 curtle-ax, cutlass, short sword. French, coutelas. 
124 semblances, outward appearance. 
130 Aliena (Latin), 'stranger,' 'foreigner.' 
135 woo, persuade. 

ACT II 

i. 5 penalty, the punishment of Adam's transgression, 
which brought about the changes of the seasons. 
Some editors change not to hut. 
6 as, such as. 

8 which, in regard to which. 
10 these, the seasons (line 6). 

22 fools, a term of pity and endearment as in 39. 

23 desert, wild. 

26 Jaques, two syllables. 

33 sequester'd, separated from companions, isolated. 

39 conrs'd, followed. 

67 cope, cope with. 

68 matter, substance, things worth hearing. 

il. 8 roynish, scurvy. 

19 suddenly, immediately. 

20 quail, slacken. 

iii. 7 fond, foolish. 

8 bonny priser, stalwart champion. 
26 practices, plots. 
37 diverted, corrupted, 
blood, natural affection. 

52 lusty, vigorous. 

53 kindly, natural, seasonable. 

71 seventeen] Rowe; seaventie F — an obvious mis- 
print. 

iv. 1 weary] Theobald; merry F. If the original 
reading is right, Rosalind is hiding her real feel- 
ings. 

12 cross. The ancient penny had a cross stamped 
on it. 

31 fantasy, love. 

44 thy wound] Rowe; they would F — another mis- 
print. 

45 by hard adventure, by a painful chance. 
50 chopt, chapped. 

52 peascod here stands for the whole plant. 

53 cods, pea-pods. 

57 mortal in folly, mortally foolish. 
59 ware, aware. 
66 clown, boor. 

72 desert, wild, as in II. i. 23. 
95 waste, spend. 

99 feeder, of sheep. 

V. 32 cover the while, set the table in the meantime. 
36 disputable, disputatious, argumentative. 

48 note, tune. 

49 in despite of my invention, to revenge myself on 
my own lack of imagination. 

63 first bom of Egypt. See Exodus XI. 5. 

vi. 8 conceit, imagination. 



vii. 5 compact of jars, made up of discords. 

6 the spheres, in which, according to the ancient 
belief, the heavenly bodies were fixed. It was sup- 
posed that each in its revolution yielded a note, 
and that the eight notes together made a sublime 
harmony. See Merchant of Venice, V. i. 60-63. 
13 motley, the parti-colored dress of the profes- 
sional jester. 

55 bob, hit. 

56 anatomiz'd, dissected, exposed, as in I. i. 163. 

57 squandering, random. 

66 brutish sting", animal passion. 
71 tax, censure. 

73 wearer's] Rowe; wearie F. 

79 basest function, lowest occupation. 

80 bravery, finery. 

on my cost, at my expense. 
85 free, innocent. 

96 inland, in touch with civilization. 

97 nurture, culture. 

125 upon command, at your will. 

139 All the world's a stage. The motto of the Globe 
Theatre, where this play was probably first acted, 
was 'Totus mundus agit histrionem' — all the world 
acts the player's part. 

144 mewling, squalling. 

150 pard, leopard. 

151 jealous, suspicious, quick to take offense. 
156 modern instances, trite illustrations. 

158 pantaloon, a silly old man; originally a stock 
character in Italian comedy. 

163 his, its. 

167 venerable burden. A Stratford tradition re- 
calls this scene as acted by Shakespeare himself 
in the part of Adam. See Appendix. 

178 Because thou art not seen. The winter wind's 
unkindness does not hurt like that of a person who 
is seen and known. 

193 effigies, likeness. 

ACT III 

i. 3 argument, occasion, object. 
11 quit, acquit. 

17 extent upon, valuation of. 

18 expediently, expeditiously. 

ii. 4 Thy huntress' name. Orlando imagines Rosa- 
lind as one of the attendants of Diana, goddess of 
the chase and of chastity. 
10 unexpressive, inexpressible. 

74 make incision in thee, cure thee, referring to the 
medical practice of blood-letting. 

75 raw, green, inexperienced. 
80 harm, misfortune. 

97 lin'd, delineated. 
103 rank, jog-trot in file. 
109 after kind, follow nature. 
125 medlar, a play on 'meddler.' 
136 civil, of civilized life. 
153 cheek, beauty. 

her] Rowe; his F. 
155 better part, physical grace. 
163 pulpiter] Spedding; Jupiter F. 
171 scrip, shepherd's pouch. 



S97 



n 



40 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



179 without, outside of. 

186-188 berhymed . . . Irish rat. A double allusion 

to the doctrine of the transmigration of souls and 

the superstition that Irish Matches could destroy 

rats with rimes. 
191 chain. See I. ii. 258. 
204 Good my complexion! Rosalind swears by her 

blushes. 
206-207 one inch ... of discovery. If you delay a 

second longer, my curiosity will be as boundless as 

the unexplored Pacific. 
221 stay, wait for. 
226 sad, serious. 

234 Wherein went he? How was he dressed? 
238 Crargantua, a fabulous giant in Rabelais. 
245 resolve, solve, answer. 
258 furnished, dressed, equipped. 

260 heart, a pun on 'hart.' 

261 burden, refrain. 

289 conned, learned by heart. 

out of ring's, from the sayings engraved inside 
rings. 

290 painted cloth, tapestry, which was sometimes 
adorned with mottoes. 

307 figure, face, portrait. 

314 habit, dress, disguise. 

334 se'nnight, week. Cf. fortnight. 

354 fringe upon a petticoat. The metaphor suits 

Rosalind's real character better than her assumed 

one. 

362 religious, under vows. 

363 inland, cultivated. 
368 taxed, blamed. 

382 fancy-monger, dealer in love-fancies. 

392 blue, dark about the lids. 

393 unquestionable, unwilling to be talked to, re^ 
served. 

396 simply, indeed, having, wealth. 

397 younger brother's revenue, little or nothing. 
402 point-device, finical. 

435 colour, kind, as in I. ii. 107. 

436 entertain him, treat him as my lover. 
443 liver, held to be the seat of the passions. 

iii. 8 capricious, originally meant goatish. Latin 

capra, a goat, 

9 Goths, pronounced 'Gotes'; another pun. 
10 ill-inhabited, residing unsuitably in a fool. 
15 great reckoning, a big bill. 
26 honest, virtuous. 
32 material, full of matter. 
36 foul, plain-looking. 
58 rascal, a lean, worthless deer. 
64 sir, the title formerly given to a priest. 

76 'ild, yield, i. e„ reward. 

77 toy, a trifle. 

78 pray be covered, please put your hat on. 
80 bow, collar. 

iv. 9 Something" browner than Judas's. According 
to tradition Judas had red hair, which was con- 
sidered an indication of a deceitful nature. 
15 cast, cast-off, with a pun on castus, chaste. 
38 question, conversation. 
46 puisny, weak, inferior, clumsy. 



V. 23 cicatrice, mark. Latin, cicatrix, a scar, 
capable impressure, perceptible impression. 
29 fancy, love. 
47 bugle, black glass bead. 
51 properer, handsomer. See 55. 
62 foul, plain-looking, ugly, as in III. iii. 39. 
81 Dead shepherd, the poet Marlowe, from whos 
Hero and Leander (pr. 1598) the next line 
quoted. 

89 extermin'd, brought to an end. 
108 carlot, churl, peasant. 
115 proper. See above, 51, 55. 
125 parcels, detail. 
138 passing, exceedingly. 

ACT I\ 

i. 7 modern censure, commonplace criticism. 
11 is, arises from. 
15 nice, fastidious. 
19 my] Rowe; by F. Possibly by should be re 
tained and the preceding in omitted. 
34 disable, decry. 

38 swam in a gondola, been at Venice. 
48-49 Cupid hath . . . heart-whole. Love (like 

constable) may have taiaped him en the shoulder 
by way of arrest, but has not taken any bit of his 
heart into his keeping. 
67 leer, appearance. 
74 gravelled, stuck, stranded. 
94 by attorney, by proxy. 
113 coming-on, encouraging. 
140 before, faster than. 
152 against, before. 

155 Diana in the fountain. Figures of Diana were 
common as fountains, but there may be a particular 
allusion here to one set up in Cheapside in 1596. 
178 occasion, responsibility. 
201 religion, strictness, binding obligation. 

204 try, decide. 

205 misused, abused. 

222 shadow, a shady spot. 

ii. 13 Then . . . burden. F prints these words as a 
line in the song; but they appear to be a stage- 
direction indicating that the actors sing as they ac- 
company their comrade off the stage. 

iii. 25 Preestone-coloured, brownish-yellow. 

39 Phebes me, treats me in the Phebe-style, i. e., 
tyrannically. 

58 by him, in a letter borne by him. 

79 neighbour bottom, neighbouring valley. 

81 left, passed by. 

94 napkin, handkerchief. See line 98. 

113 indented, zigzag. 

123 render, report, describe. 

132 hurtling, disturbance, conflict. 

135 contrive, plan, 

172 passion of earnest, real suffering. 



ACT V 



i. 61 bandy, contend. 



398 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



41 



62 faction, conspiracy. 

ii. 13 estate, settle, bestow. 
42 incontinent, immediately. 
59 conceit, understanding-, 

66 conversed, been acquainted, had to do. 

67 not damnable, not worthy of condemnation for 
practising black magic, which involved a league 
with the devil, 

69 gesture, behavior, demeanor. 
77 tender dearly, hold dear. 

iii. 4 dishonest, dishonorable, 
11 roundly, directly, straightway. 
37 untuneable, out of tune. 

iv. 4 hope, i, e., in vain, 
27 lively, life-like; favour, looks. 
35 toward, at hand. 
45 purgation, proof, as in I, iii, 55. 

measure, a slow, courtly dance. 
50 ta'en up, made up, Cf, 104, 
58 copulatives, candidates for matrimony. 

64 foul, ugly, 

65 sententious, full of pithy sayings, 

67 bolt, small, blunt arrow used for short distances; 

hence the proverb: 'A fool's bolt is soon shot.' 
72 seeming-, becomingly, 

80 disabled, decried, depreciated, as in IV, i, 31. 
114 S. D. still, quiet, low, gentle. 



116 atone, become at one. 

120 her] F3 F4; his, F^ F.^. Some editors also change 

his in the next line to her, but the first her may 

be taken as antecedent to whose. 
141 sure, indissolubly bound. 
144 questioning, debate, conversation. 
156 fancy, love, combine, bind. 

162 address'd, prepared, power, force. 

163 conduct, leadership. 

166 religious, under vows^ as in III. ii. 362. 

174 lands withheld, from Oliver by the usurping 
Duke. See III. i. 9-12. 

175 dukedom, by inheritance as Rosalind's husband. 
179 shrewd, harsh, sharjj, piercing. 

181 states, estates. 

EPJLOGTJE 

2 unhandsome, unbefitting. 

3 lord, hero. 

4 needs no bush, (a proverbial expression) re- 
quires no recommendation or advertisement. A 
brush of ivy was the sign customarily hung at the 
door of a wine shop. 

10 furnished, dressed. Rosalind still wears her 
wedding-dress. 

18-19 If I were a woman. A boy acted the part 
of Rosalind. In the public theatres there were no 
women actors till after the Restoration. 

20 liked, pleased. 



APPENDIX— SHAKESPEARE'S ACTING IN AS YOU LIKE IT 



Capell writes in. his 'Notes' (1779) : — 'A traditional 
story was current some years ago about Stratford, 
that a very old man of that place, of weak intellects, 
but yet related to Shakespeare, being asked by some 
of his neighbors what he remembered about him, an- 
swered, that he saw him once brought on the stage 
on another man's back; which answer was applied 
by the hearers to his having seen him perform in 
this scene (As You Like It II. vii.).' 

The stor}^ that Shakespeare acted the part of 
Adam, Steevens, also, found in 'the manuscript 
papers of the late Mr. Oldys', and thus tells it in 
his Variorum edition (1793): — 'Mr, Oldys had cov- 
ered several quires of paper with laborious collec- 
tions for a regular life of our author. From these 
I have made the following extracts: "One of Shake- 
speare's younger brothers, who lived to a good old 
age, even some years, as I compute, after the restora- 
tion of King Charles II, would in his younger days 
come to London to visit his brother Will, as he 
called him, and be a spectator of him as an actor 
in some of his own plays. This custom, as his 
brother's fame enlarged, and his dramatic entertain- 
ments grew the greatest support of our principal, 
if not of all our theatres, he continued, it seems, so 
long after his brother's death as even to the latter 
end of his own life. The curiosity at this time of 
the most noted actors [exciting them] to learn some 



believed, as there was besides a kinsman and de- 
scendant of the family, who was then a celebrated 
actor among them [Charles Hart], this opportunity 
made them greedily inquisitive into every little cir- 
cumstance, more especially in his dramatic char- 
acter, which his brother could relate of him. But he, 
it seems, was so stricken in years, and possibly his 
memory so weakened with infirmities (which might 
make him the easier pass for a man of weak intel- 
lects), that he could give them but little light into 
their inquiries; and all that could be recollected from 
him of his brother Will in that station was, the 
faint, general, and almost lost ideas he had of hav- 
ing once seen him act a part in one of his own come- 
dies, wherein, being to personate a decrepit old man, 
he wore a long beard, and appeared so weak and 
drooping and unable to walk, that he was forced to 
be supported and carried by another person to a 
table, at which he was seated among some company, 
who were eating, and one of them sung a song." ' 

Malone discredits this story as far as the brother 
of Shakespeare is concerned, and says: 'From 
Shakespeare's not taking notice of any of his broth- 
ers or sisters in his will, except Joan Hart, I think 
it highly probable that they were all dead in 1016", 
except her, at least of those of the whole blood; 
though in the Register there is no entry of the burial 
of his brother Gilbert, antecedent to the death of 



thing from him of his brother, etc., they justly held i Shakespeare, or at any subsequent period; but we 
him in the highest veneration. And it may be well I know that he survived his brother Edmund. The 

399 



42 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



truth is, that this account of our poet's having per- 
formed the part of an old man in one of his own 
comedies, came originally from Mr. Thomas Jones of 
Tarbick, in Worcestershire, who related it from the 
information, not of one of Shakespeare's brothers, 
but of a relation of our poet, who lived to u good 



old age, and who had seen him act in his youth.' 
Coleridge (as reported by Collier) and Halliwell- 
Phillipps gave credence to the Stratford tradition, 
and it is now generally accepted as containing a germ 
of truth. 



400 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



SOURCES OF THE PLOT— In tlie main plot of 
Twelfth y'lght are combined two of the most popular 
stories which English and Italian playwrights of the 
sixteenth century derived from the comedy of an- 
cient Rome. The one story, dealing with the com- 
plications produced by the appearance in the same 
town of twin brothers mutually unconscious of each 
other's presence, reached modern literature from the 
Mencechmi of Plautus, and with comparatively little 
modification had already furnished Shakespeare ma- 
terial for one of his earliest plays — The Comedy of 
Errors. The other story, treating the perplexities of 
love which are bound to arise when a charming young 
lady disguises herself as an even more irresistible 
young man, owes its origin, rather less directly, to 
several plays of Terence and Plautus. It was vari- 
ously elaborated by Italian and Spanish writers of 
the Renaissance, and passed then to England, where 
it became perhaps the most important plot device 
in all the Elizabethan drama. Taking it up in his 
early play of The Tivo Gentlemen of Verona, Shake- 
speare gave it final and masterly form in As You 
Like It, and returned to it a dozen years later when 
writing Cymheline. 

The combination of these two stories, achieved by 
representing the indistinguishable twins, not as broth- 
ers but as brother and masculinely-garbed sister, had 
been made in Italy long before Shakespeare began to 
write; and the resultant plot, doubly rich in comic and 
romantic possibilities, had been largely utilized both 
on the stage and in prose narrative. In 1531, a liter- 
ary society of Siena called Gl' Intronati (The Thunder- 
smitten) acted under the title of GV Ingannati (The 
Deceived) a play in which it is possible to recognize 
the general outlines of the parts of Viola, Sebastian, 
Orsino, and Olivia. Viola is called Lelia, while the 
other three characters of Shakespeare answer roughly 
to the Fabrizio, Flaminio, and Isabella of the Italian 
work. A Latin version of the latter, called Lwlia 
after the heroine's name, was performed at Queens' 
College, Cambridge, in 1595, but remained unprinted 
till 1910. From one of these dramas Shakespeare 
might have got the first vague suggestion for the 
romantic incidents in Twelfth Night, but in fact 



there is no proof that he knew either. There is still 
less likelihood that the poet was acquainted with the 
two somewhat similar Italian plays called GV In- 
ganni (The Deceivers), though the later of the two, 
printed at Venice in 1593, introduces an approxima- 
tion to Shakespeare's "Cesario" in the name "Ce- 
sare" which the disguised girl assumes. 

The story of GV Ingannati is repeated in prose 
narrative, with changed names and some alteration of 
details, in the twenty-eighth novel of Bandello's 
famous collection (1554). Bandello's tale was the 
basis of a French version made by Belleforest, and 
Belleforest's appears to have been used by Barnabe 
Riche, who in his collection of English stories called 
Riche his Farewell to Military Profession (1581) 
gave a new shape to the novel. He renamed the 
characters once more, calling them Apolonius 
(Orsino), Silla (Viola), Silvio (Sebastian), and 
Julina (Olivia) ; he removed the scene of action from' 
Italy to Constantinople; and first suggested the epi- 
sode of shipwreck and the mourning of Julina 
(Olivia). Though possessed of decided merits when 
compared in point of structure with the earlier 
versions, Riche's novel, Apolonius and Silla, is in 
spirit probably the coarsest of them all; and Dr. Fur- 
ness was shocked by the general belief that Twelfth- 
Night is indebted to it. "I venture to dissent," he 
says in the preface to his Variorum edition of the 
play; "not on the score that there are no incidents 
common to both story and comedy, because there are 
such, but I cannot believe that Shakespeare was ever 
in the smallest degree influenced by Riche's coarse 
repulsive novel. I doubt that Shakespeare ever read 
it, at least I hope he never did; his hours were 
more precious to us all than those of any poet who 
ever lived; it would be grievous to think that he 
wasted even half a one over Apolonius and Silla." 
But it is Shakespeare's particular glory that he 
achieved just such marvelous feats of purification, 
and time can hardly be said to have been wasted 
which led to the substitution of the serene beauty of 
Twelfth Night for the mere vulgarity of the work 
it supplanted. 

Apart from the fact that Riche's novel must have 



401 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



been far better known to the English public of 
Shakespeare's day than any other extant treatment 
of the story, the dramatist's use of A'polonius and 
Silla is strongly suggested by the circumstance that 
it alone presents the Viola-Orsino-Sebastian-Olivia 
complication in the way Shakespeare presents it. In 
Bandello, Gl'Ingannati, and Lwlia this plot is con- 
fused by the presence of a very important alien ele- 
ment in the fact that Viola is beloved by the old 
father of Olivia. Only Riche, moreover, of all 
Shakespeare's predecessors, makes Orsino (Apolonius) 
a duke and a man of authority instead of a mere 
Italian gallant; and Riche alone offers a hint for the 
great dramatic scene (V. i. 100-174) in which Olivia 
confronts Viola in the presence of Orsino and claims 
her as her husband. It may be added that another 
story in Riche's volume, "Of Two Brethren and their 
Wives," offers the only known parallel to any part 
of the Malvolio plot in a husband's attempt to reform 
a shrewish wife by locking her up "in a darke house" 
and pretending to the neighbors that she is lunatic. 

In 1608, a band of English actors performing at 
Gratz in Austria gave a play of which the outline is 
known only from a rough German version published 
in 1677 with the title, Tugend- und Liebesstreit (The 
Strife of Virtue and Love). This work, evidently 
based closely upon the Apolonius and Silla story of 
Riche, suggests the speculation whether in the case 
of Twelfth Night, as in so many of his other plays, 
Shakespeare may not have found his plot material 
already worked up into a crude drama when he ap- 
proached it. The extant evidence, however, is too 
slight to admit of definite conclusions. 

An editor can hardly escape a feeling of shame 
and impatience at the necessity of giving so much 
space to the discussion of Shakespeare's indebtedness 
in a play which, when all is said, must be acknowl- 
edged as one of the most brilliantly original of the 
poet's works. The relationship discussed applies only 
to the rudimentary conception of four figures. Even 
for these four the humanizing traits and nearly all 
the vivifying plot details are quite new; while for 
the rest of the play Shakespeare is indebted to no 
one but himself. Except for the remote parallel 
mentioned in the preceding paragraph, no source of 
any of the Malvolio business has been found; nor 
is there any pre-Shakespearean antecedent of Sir 
Toby, Sir Andrew, or Maria. In the two knights, in- 
deed, the poet is simply continuing the great Falstaflf 
comedy of the slightly earlier Henry IV plays. The 
souls of Sir John, of Justice Shallow and Master 
Slender have suffered metempsychosis, as it were, into 



these Illyrian knights, where they display themselves 
hardly less delightfully than in their original setting. 

DATE — Tivelfih Night is not mentioned in Meres's 
list of Shakespeare's plays (1598) and may be fairly 
assumed not to have appeared when Meres wrote. 
The earliest evidence for the existence of any part 
of the drama dates from the following year, 1599, 
when the finest of the songs, "O mistress mine, where 
are you roaming," (II. iii.) was published in a musical 
miscellany, Morley's Consort Lessons. This by no 
means proves the existence of the play, for the 
songs introduced into Elizabethan dramas were very 
often not the original compositions of the dramatists. 
There is, indeed, pretty general agreement that the 
poor song with which Tioelfth Night closes can hardly 
be by Shakespeare. Yet one would be sorry to de- 
prive the poet of the charming lyric, *'0 mistress 
mine;" and there is no apparent reason to deny the 
possibility either that Ttvelfth Night may have been 
acted in 1599 or that a song of Shakespeare's may 
have become known a year or two before the presenta- 
tion of the play in which it found its final place. 
In any case, an unusually satisfying piece of evidence 
proves that Twelfth Night was performed in Febru- 
ary, 1602, and that it was then a relatively fresh 
play. John Manningham, a student of law in the 
Middle Temple, London, recorded in his diary, under 
date of February 2, 1601^: "At our feast we had a 
play called 'Twelfth Night, or What you Will,' much 
like the Comedy of Errors, or Menechmi in Plautus, 
but most like and near to that in Italian called 
Inganni. A good practice in it to make the Steward 
believe his lady widow was in love with him, by 
counterfeiting a letter as from his lady in general 
terms, telling him what she liked best in him, and 
prescribing his gesture in smiling, his apparel, etc., 
and then when he came to practice making him be- 
lieve they took him to be mad." 

This is conclusive proof of the existence of Twelfth 
Night at the beginning of the year which we call, 
by modern reckoning, 1602. Nineteenth century in- 
vestigations have carried a little farther Manningham's 
approximately correct indication of the play's source. 
The only obvious difference between the comedy de- 
scribed by the diarist and that which we know lies 
in the fact that in the former Olivia is said to be 
a "lady widow." This may easily be a misconception 
due to her mourning for her brother's death; but it 
is noteworthy that in Riche's novel Julina (Olivia) 
is actually in mourning for a deceased husband. It 
would be quite in accord with what we know of the 
careful revision Shakespeare gave the plays of his 



402 



INTRODUCTION 



middle period, if he had introduced this change in 
tlie reason for Olivia's mourning — a change making 
for delicacy and romance — after he had seen his 
comedy presented on the stage, 

TEXT — The suggestion just made cannot be cor- 
roborated, for we have only one text of Twelfth 
Night; namely, that which appeared in the 1623 Folio 
of Shakespeare's plays and which represents the final 
theatrical version of the drama. This edition is very 
accurately printed, and the comedy would call for 
little textual criticism, if it were not for the in- 
tentionally mystifying nonsense of some of the 
speeches of Sir Andrew and the Clown. 

STAGE HISTORY— That Twelfth Night should 
have been selected by the gentlemen of the Middle 
Temple for performance at their great feast in 1603 
is evidence of the contemporary regard for the play. 
Canon Ainger speculates very interestingly upon the 
probability that Shakespeare himself took the part 
either of Malvolio or of Orsino on this occasion 
(Shakespeare in the Middle Temple, English Illus- 
trated Magazine, 1884, p. 373). On Easter Monday, 
1618, two years after the poet's death, the comedy was 
presented at court before James I; and another court 
performance, under the title of Malvolio, was given 
on Candlemas Day, 1623. In some commendatory 
verses prefixed to the 1640 edition of Shakespeare's 
sonnets, Leonard Digges makes special allusion to 
the drawing power of Malvolio's part: 

"The Cockpit, Galleries, Boxes, all are full. 
To hear Malvolio, that cross-garter'd gull." 

Twelfth Night appears to have been popular with 
Restoration audiences, though no play of Shakespeare 
is more opposed to Restoration taste. Pepys wit- 
nessed three performances in 1661, 1663, and 1668 
respectively, drawn by the general concourse, as his 
diary records on the first occasion, "against my own 
mind and resolution." It is not surprising under the 
circumstances that he thought the comedy "silly" 
and "one of tlie weakest plays that ever I saw 
on the stage." Downes, however, writing of the 
same time in his Roscius Anglicanus (1708) reports: 
"Twelfth Night, or what you will;' wrote by Mr. 
Shakespeare, had mighty success by its well per- 
formance: Sir Toby Belch, by Mr. Betterton. . . . All 
the parts being justly acted crown'd the play. Note, 
It was got up on purpose to be acted on Twelfth 
Night." 

About a score of revivals in London are recorded 
between the time of Pepys and the performance of 
the comedy at Covent Garden, November, 1820, "de- 
graded to an opera." In 1741 and again in 1746, 



Macklin, the great Shy lock of the eighteenth century, 
acted Malvolio at the Drury Lane Theater; on the 
latter occasion with Peg Woffington as Viola. The 
closing quarter of this century witnessed a number 
of great revivals of Tivelfth Night; and it was the 
remembrance of these performances, when Bensley 
acted Malvolio, Mrs. Jordan Viola, and Dodd 
Aguecheek, that twenty-five years later inspired 
Charles Lamb's fine essay "On Some of the Old 
Actors." A revival at Edinburgh early in the nine- 
teenth century was much praised both by Sir Walter 
Scott, who introduces an allusion to the actors of 
Sebastian and Viola into his novel of Waverley, and 
by the great Shakespeare scholar, Dyce, who writes 
that Terry on this occasion presented Malvolio 
"much better than any one I have since seen in the 
part." At the Princess's Theater, London, Charles 
Kean produced Twelfth Night forty times during 
the season of 1850-51, much oftener than any other 
play of the season. The next notable London re- 
vival was that first given at the Lyceum Theater, 
July 8, 1884. 0\\ this occasion Ellen Terry acted 
Viola and Sir Henry Irving Malvolio. Miss Terry's 
Viola was praised in the highest degree and it re- 
mains one of the standard interpretations of the 
role. On the whole, however, this revival was not 
a success, perhaps from the ineffective presentation 
of the comic parts of Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and 
the Clown. 

The only recorded American performance of the 
play during the eighteenth century was given at 
Boston, May 5, 1794. First acted in New York at 
the Park Theater, June, 1804, the play has since been 
almost as popular in that city, and as well per- 
formed, as in London. The most remarkable nine- 
teenth-century performances in America have per- 
haps been those in which Viola was presented by 
Adelaide Neilson (1877-1880), by Madame Modjeska, 
and by Ada Rehan (1893). The very elaborate pro- 
duction of the play on the last occasion, under the 
management of Augustin Daly, called forth two ex- 
cellent essays by William Winter (Shadows of the 
Stage, Third Series, p. 20-46). 

CRITICAL COMMENT— ''This play is in the 
graver part elegant and easy," Dr. Johnson remarked 
rather ponderously, "and in some of the lighter 
scenes exquisitely humorous." This praise he quali- 
fies by adding that Aguecheek's character, though 
drawn with great propriety, is not "the proper prey 
of a satirist," and that the marriage of Olivia "wants 
credibility, and fails to produce the proper instruc- 
tion required in the drama, as it exhibits no just 



403 



4 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



picture of life." Hazlitt's criticism {Characters of 
Shakespeare's Plays, 1817) is the best explanation 
of those features of romantic comedy which puzzle 
or offend writers who judge the play, like Johnson, 
by the rules of classic drama: "This is justly con- 
sidered as one of the most delightful of Shake- 
speare's comedies. It is full of sweetness and 
pleasantry. It is perhaps too good-natured for 
comedy. It has little satire, and no spleen. It aims 
at the ludicrous rather than the ridiculous. It makes 
us laugh at the follies of mankind, not despise them, 
and still less bear any ill-will towards them. Shake- 
speare's comic genius resembles the bee rather in 
its power of extracting sweets from weeds or poisons, 
than in leaving a sting behind it. He gives the most 
amusing exaggeration of the prevailing foibles of his 
characters, but in a way that they themselves, in- 
stead of being offended at, would almost join in 
to humor; he rather contrives opportunities for them 
to show themselves off in the happiest lights, than 
renders them contemptible in the perverse construc- 
tion of the wit or malice of others. . . . This may be 
called the comedy of nature, and it is the comedy 
which we generally find in Shakespeare." 

"The great and secret charm of Twelfth Night" 



Hazlitt says truly, "is the character of Viola. Much 
as we like catches and cakes and ale, there is some- 
thing that we like better. We have a friendship for 
Sir Toby; we patronize Sir Andrew; we have an 
understanding with the Clown, a sneaking kindness 
for Maria and her rogueries; we feel a regard for 
Malvolio, and sympathize with his gravity, his smiles, 
his cross garters, his yellow stockings, and imprison- 
ment in the stocks. But there is something that ex- 
cites in us a stronger feeling than all this — it is 
Viola's confession of her love." 

Of Malvolio, whose role most of the great actors 
have preferred to that of Sir Toby or Orsino, Charles 
Lamb has written the finest appreciation {On Some 
of the Old Actors, 1823): "Malvolio is not essenti- 
ally ludicrous. He becomes comic but by accident. 
He is cold, austere, repelling; but dignified, con- 
sistent, and, for what appears, rather of an over- 
stretched morality. Maria describes him as a sort 
of Puritan; and he might have worn his gold chain 
with honor in one of our old round-head families, 
in the service of a Lambert, or a Lady Fairfax. 
But his morality and his manners are misplaced in 
Illyria. He is 'opposed to the proper levities of the 
piece, and falls in the unequal contest." B. 



404 



TWELFTH NIGHT; 

OR, WHAT YOU WILL 



[Scene of Action: A city in Illyria and the adjacent sea-coast. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 

Orsixo^ Duke of Illyria. 

Sebastiax, a j^oung gentleman of Messaline. 

AxToxio, a sea-captain, the friend of Sebastian. 



rsino's court. 



CuRio^ ~) 

>- gentlemen of O 
Valextixe, J 

Sir Toby Belch^ Olivia's uncle. 

Sir Axdrew Aguecheek, suitor to Olivia. 

Malvolio, Olivia's steward. 



Feste. the clown, "^ ^ ^,. . 

L servants of Olivia. 
Fabiax_, J 

A sea-captain, the friend of Viola. 

Viola^ Sebastian's twin-sister. 

Olivia, a great lady of Illyria. 

Maria, her gentlewoman. 

A Priest, Courtiers, Sailors, Officers, and Attendants.] 



ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [Orsino's palace.'j 

Enter Orsino, Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other 
Lords. [^Music witliiii.'] 

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on; 
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, 
The appetite may sicken, and so die. 
That strain again ! it had a dying fall : 
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound, 5 
That breathes upon a bank of violets. 
Stealing and giving odour ! Enough ; no 

more: 
'Tis not so sweet novi^ as it was before. 
O spirit of love ! how quick and fresh art 

thou. 
That, notwithstanding thy capacity 10 

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there. 
Of what validity and pitch soe'er. 
But falls into abatement and low price. 
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy 
That it alone is high fantastical. 15 

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? 

Duke. What, Curio? 

Cur. The hart. 

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: 
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence ! 20 



That instant was I turn'd into a hart; 
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds. 
E'er since pursue me. 

Enter Valentine. 

How now! what news from her? 



my lord, I might not be ad 
handmaid do return this 



Val. So please 
mitted ; 
But from her nanamaid do return tnis an- 
swer : 25 
The element itself, till seven years' heat. 
Shall not behold her face at ample view; 
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk 
And water once a day her chamber round 
With eye-offending brine: all this to season 30 
A brother's dead love, which she would keep 

fresh 
And lasting in her sad remembrance. 
Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine 
frame 
To pay this debt of love but to a brother. 
How will she love, when the rich golden 
shaft 35 

Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 
That live in her; when liver, brain and heart, 
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and 

fill'd 
Her sweet perfections witli one self king! 
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers: 40 



405 



n 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act I. SC. I. 



Love-thoughts 
bowers. 



lie rich when canopied with 
Exeunt. 



Scene IL — [The sea-coast.~\ 

Enter Viola, a Captain, and Sailors. 

Vio. What country^ friends^ is this? 
Cap. This is Illyria^ lady. 
Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? 
]\Iy brother he is in Elysium. 
Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you, 
sailors .^ 5 

Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were 

saved. 
Vio. O my poor brother ! and so j^erchance may 

he be. 
Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with 
chance, 
Assure yourself, after our ship did split. 
When you and those poor number saved with 
you 10 

Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, 
Most provident in peril, bind himself. 
Courage and hope both teaching him the prac- 
tice. 
To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea ; 
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, 15 
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves 
So long as I could see. 
Vio. For saying so, there's gold: 

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, 
Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 20 
The like of him. Know'st thou this coun- 
try? 
Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and 
born 
Not three hours' travel from this very place. 
Vio. Who governs here? 

Cap. A noble duke, in nature as in name. 25 
Vio. What is his name? 
Cap. Orsino. 

Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name 
him: 
He was a bachelor then. 
Cap. And so is now, or was so very late; 30 
For but a month ago I went from hence. 
And tlien 'twas fresh in murmur, — as, you 

know. 
What great ones do the less will prattle of, — 



That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. 

Vio. What's she? 35 

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
That died some twelvemonth since, then leav- 
ing her 
In the protection of his son, her brother. 
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love, 
They say, she hath abjur'd the company 40 
And sight of men. 

Vio. O that I serv'd that lady 

And might not be deliver'd to the world. 
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow. 
What my estate is ! 

Cap. That were hard to compass; 

Because she will admit no kind of suit, 45 

No, not the duke's. 

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; 
And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits 50 
With this thy fair and outward character. 
I prethee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, 
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid 
For such disguise as haply shall become 
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke: 
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him: 56 
It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing 
And speak to him in many sorts of music 
That will allow me very worth his service. 
What else may hap to time I will commit; 60 
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: 
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not 
see. 

Vio. I thank thee: lead me on. Exeunt. 



Scene HI. — [Olivia's house. "] 
Enter Sir Toby and Maria. 

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take 
the death of her brother thus? I am sure 
care's an enemy to life. 

Mar. By my troth. Sir Toby, you must come in 
earlier o' nights: your cousin, my lady, takes 
great exceptions to your ill hours. 6 

Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted. 

Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within 
the modest limits of order. 9 

Sir To. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer 
than I am: these clothes are good enough to 



406 



ACT 



sc. 



III.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



drink in; and so be these boots too: and they 
be not, let them hang themselves in their own 
straps. 

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: 
I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of 
a foolish knight that you brought in one 
night here to be her wooer. 17 

Sir To. Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek? 

Mar. Aj, he. 

Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. 

Mar. What's that to the purpose? 21 

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a 
year. 

Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these 
ducats: he's a very fool and a prodigal. 25 

Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so ! he plays o' the 
viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four 
languages word for word without book, and 
hath all the good gifts of nature. 29 

Mar. He hath indeed, almost natural: for be- 
sides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; 
and but that he hath the gift of a coward to 
allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis 
thought among the prudent he would quickly 
have the gift of a grave. 35 

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and 
substractors that say so of him. Who are 
they? 

Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk 
nightly in your company. 39 

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece: 
I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage 
in mv throat and drink in Illyria: he's a 
coward and a coistrel that will not drink to 
my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a 
parish-top. What, wench ! Castiliano vulgo! 
for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. 46 

Enter Sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby 

Belch ! 
Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew ! 

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 50 

Mar. And you too, sir. 
Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. 
Sir And. What's that? 
Sir To. My niece's chambermaid. 
Sir And. Good ]\Iistress Accost, I desire better 

acquaintance. 56 

Mar. ]\Iy name is Mary, sir. 
Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost, — 



Sir To. You mistake, knight: 'accost' is front 
her, board her, woo her, assail her. 60 

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake 
her in this company. Is that the meaning of 
'accost' ? 

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. 

Sir To. And thou let. part so. Sir Andrew, 
would thou mightst never draw sword again. 

Sir And. And you part so, mistress, I would I 
might never draw sword again. Fair lady, 
do you think you have fools in hand? 

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 70 

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's 
my hand. 

Mar. Now, sir, 'thought is free:' I pray you, 
bring your hand to the buttery-bar and let it 
drink. 

Sir And. Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your 
metaphor ? j6 

Mar. It's dry, sir. 

Sir And. Why, I think so: I am .not such an 
ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's 
your jest? 80 

Mar. A dry jest, sir. 

Sir And. Are you full of them? 

Mar. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends: 
marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. 

Exit Maria. 

Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: 
when did I see thee so put down? 86 

Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you 
see canary put me down. Methinks some- 
times I have no more wit than a Christian or 
an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater 
of beef, and I believe that does harm to my 
wit. 91 

Sir To. No question. 

Sir And. And I thought that, I'ld forswear it. 
I'll ride home to-morrow. Sir Toby. 

Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight? 95 

Sir And. What is 'pourquoi'? do or not do? I 
would I had bestowed that time in the tongues 
that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear- 
baiting : O, had I but followed the arts ! 

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head 
of hair. loi 

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my 
hair? 

Sir To. Past question; for thou seest it will not 
curl by nature. 105 

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't 
not? 



407 



8 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act I. SC. III. 



Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; 
and I hope to see a housewife take thee be- 
t\yeen her legs and spin it off. no 

Sir And. Faith, I'll home to-morrow. Sir Toby: 
your niece will not be seen; or if she be, it's 
four to one she'll none of me: the count him- 
self here hard by woos her. 114 

Sir To. She'll none o' the count: she'll not match 
above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor 
wit; I have heard her swear't. Tut, there's 
life in't, man. 118 

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fel- 
low o' the strangest mind 1' the world; I de- 
light in masques and revels sometimes alto- 
gether. 121 

Sir To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses, 
knight ? 

Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he 
be, under the degree of my betters ; and yet I 
will not compare with an old man. 126 

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, 
knight ? 

Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper. 

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. 130 

Sir And. And I think I have the back-trick 
simply as strong as any man in Illyria. 132 

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where- 
fore have these gifts a curtain before 'em? 
are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's 
picture? why dost thou not go to church in a 
galliard and come home in a coranto? My 
very walk should be a jig; I would not so 
much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. 
What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide 
virtues in? I did think, by the excellent con- 
stitution of thy leg, it was formed under the 
star of a galliard. 142 

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent 
well in a damn'd coloured stock. Shall we set 
about some revels? 145 

Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not 
born under Taurus? 

Sir And. Taurus! That's sides and heart. 

Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me 
see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha! excel- 
lent! Exeunt. 151 

Scene IV. — [The palace.l 

Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. 

Val. If the duke continue these favours towards 



you, Cesario, you are like to be much ad- 
vanced: he hath known you but three days, 
and already you are no stranger. 4 

Vio. You either fear his humour or my negli- 
gence, that you call in question the contin- 
uance of his love: is he inconstant, sir, in his 
favours ? 

Val. No, believe me. 

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. 

Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. 

Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho? 10 

Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. 

Duke. [To Curio.^ Stand you a while aloof. 
Cesario, 
Thou know'st no less but all; I have un- 

clasp'd 
To thee the book even of my secret soul : 
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto 
her ; 15 

Be not denied access, stand at her doors. 
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow 
Till thou have audience. 

Vio. Sure, my noble lord. 

If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow 
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 20 

Duke. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds 
Rather than make unprofited return. 

Vio. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what 
then? 

Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love. 
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: 
It shall become thee well to act my woes ; 26 
She will attend it better in thy youth 
Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect. 

Vio. I think not so, my lord. 

Duke. Dear lad, believe it; 

For they shall yet belie thy happy years, 30 
That say thou art a man : Diana's lip 
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small 

pipe 
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound. 
And all is semblative a woman's part. 
I know thy constellation is right apt 35 

For this affair. Some four or five attend 

him; 
All, if you will ; for I myself am best 
When least in company. Prosper well in this. 
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord. 
To call his fortunes thine. 

Vio. I'll do my best. 40 



408 



ACT I. SC. IV.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



To woo your lady: [Aside] yet;, a barful 

strife ! 
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. 

Exeunt. 



Scene V. — [Olivia's Jiouse.'] 
Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, 
or I will not open my lips so wide as a 
bristle may enter in way of thy excuse: my 
lady will hang thee for thy absence. 4 

Clo. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged 
in this world needs to fear no colours. 

Mar. Make that good. 

Clo. He shall see none to fear. 

Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee 
where that saying was born, of 'I fear no 
colours.* II 

Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary? 

Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold 
to say in your foolery. 

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; 
and those that are fools, let them use their 
talents. i6 

Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so long 
absent; or, to be turned away, is not that as 
good as a hanging to you? 19 

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar- 
riage; and, for turning away, let summer bear 
it out. 

Mar. You are resolute, then? 

Clo. Not so, neither; but I am resolved on two 
points. 25 

Mar. That if one break, the other will hold; 
or, if both break, your gaskins fall. 

Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt. Well, go 
thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, 
thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as 
any in Illyria. 

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here 
comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you 
were best. [Exit.] 34 

Enter Lady Olivia with Malvolio [and attend- 
ants]. 

Clo. [Aside.] Wit, and't be thy will, put me 
into good fooling! Those wits, that think 
they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and 
I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a 



wise man: for what says Quinapalus? 'Bet- 
ter a witty fool than a foolish wit.' 40 

[Aloud.] God bless thee, lady! 

on. Take the fool away. 

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows ? Take away the 
lady. 

on. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you: 
besides, you grow dishonest. 46 

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good 
counsel will amend: for give the dry fool 
drink, then is the fool not dry: bid the dis- 
honest man mend himself; if he mend, he is 
no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the 
botcher mend him. Any thing that's mended 
is but patched: virtue that transgresses is but 
patched with sin; and sin that amends is but 
patched with virtue. If that this simple syl- 
logism will serve, so ; if it will not, what rem- 
edy? As there is no true cuckold but ca- 
lamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade 
take away the fool; therefore, I say again, 
take her away. 

Oil, Sir, I bade them take away you. 60 

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 
cucullus non facit monachumj that's as much 
to say as I wear not motley in my brain. 
Good madonna, give me leave to prove you 
a fool. 

Oli. Can you do it? 65 

Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna. 

Oli. Make your proof. 

Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna: good 
my mouse of virtue, answer me. 

Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 
bide your proof. 71 

Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou? 

Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. 

Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. 

Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 75 

Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your 
brother's soul being in heaven. Take away 
the fool, gentlemen. 

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio ? doth 
he not mend? 80 

Mai, Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death 
shake him: infirmity, that decays the wise, 
doth ever make the better fool. 

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for 
the better increasing your folly ! Sir Toby 
will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will 
not pass his word for twopence that you are 
no fool. 87 



409 



10 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act I. SC. V. 



on. How say you to that, Malvolio? 

Mai. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in 
such a barren rascal: I saw him put down 
the other day with an ordinary fool that has 
no more brain than a stone. Look you now, 
he's out of his guard already ; unless you laugh 
and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. 
I protest, I take these wise men, that crow 
so at these set kind of fools, no better than 
the fools' zanies. 96 

Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and 
taste with a distempered appetite. To be 
generous, guiltless and of free disposition, is 
to take those things for bird-bolts that you 
deem cannon-bullets : there is no slander in 
an allowed fool, though he do nothing but 
rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, 
though he do nothing but reprove. 104 

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for 
thou speakest well of fools ! 

Enter Maria. 

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen- 
tleman much desires to speak with you. 

Oli. From the Count Orsino, is it? 

Mar. I know not, madam: 'tis a fair young man, 
and well attended. m 

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? 

Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks noth- 
ing but madman: fie on him! [Exit Maria.^ 
Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the 
count, I am sick, or not at home; what you 
will, to dismiss it. Exit Malvolio. Now you 
see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and 
people dislike it. 

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy 
eldest son should be a fool; whose skull Jove 
cram with brains ! for, — here he comes, — 

Enter Sir Toby. 

one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater. 
Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he 

at the gate, cousin ? 125 

Sir To. A gentleman. 
Oli. A gentleman? what gentleman? 
Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here — a plague o* 

these pickle-herring! How now, sot! 
Clo. Good Sir Toby ! 130 

Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early 

by this lethargy? 



Sir To. Lechery ! I defy lechery. There's 
one at the gate. 

Oli. Ay, marry, what is he? 135 

Sir To. Let him be the devil, and he will, I 
care not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all 
one. Exit. 

Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? 

Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad 
man: one draught above heat makes him a 
fool ; the second mads him ; and a third drowns 
him. 

Oli. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him 
sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of 
drink, he's drowned: go, look after him. 144 

Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool 
shall look to the madman. [Exit.^ 

Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will 
speak with you. I told him you were sick; 
he takes on him to understand so much, and 
therefore comes to speak with you. I told; 
him you were asleep; he seems to have a fore- 
knowledge of that too, and therefore comes 
to speak with you. What is to be said to him, 
lady? he's fortified against any denial. 

Oli. Tell him he shall not speak with me. 155 

Mai. Ha's been told so; and he says, he'll 
stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and 
be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak 
with you. 

Oli. What kind o' man is he? 

Mai. Why, of mankind, 160 

Oli. What manner of man? 

Mai. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, 
will you or no. 

Oli. Of what personage and years is he? 164 

Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young 
enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis 
a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an 
apple: 'tis with him in standing water, be- 
tween boy and man. He is very well-fa- 
voured and he speaks very shrewishly; one 
would think his mother's milk were scarce 
out of him. 171 

Oli. Let him approach: call in my gentle- 
woman. 

Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. Exit. 

Enter Maria. 

Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my 
face. 175 



410 



ACT 



I. sc. v.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



11 



We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. 
Enter Viola. 

Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which 
is she? 

Oli. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your 
will ? i8o 

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable 
beauty, — I pray you, tell me if this be the 
lady of the house, for I never saw her: I 
would be loath to cast away my speech, for 
besides that it is excellently well penned, I 
have taken great pains to con it. Good beau- 
ties, let me sustain no scorn ; I am very comp- 
tible, even to the least sinister usage. 

Oli. Whence came you, sir? 189 

Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, 
and that question's out of my part. Good 
gentle one, give me modest assurance if you 
be the lady of the house, that I may proceed 
in my speech. 

Oli. Are you a comedian? 194 

Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the 
very fangs of malice I swear, I am not that 
I play. Are you the lady of the house ? 

Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. 198 

Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp 
yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not 
yours to reserve. But this is from my com- 
mission: I will on with my speech in your 
praise, and then show you the heart of my 
message. 

Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive 
you the praise. 205 

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis 
poetical. 

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned: I pray 
you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at 
my gates, and allowed your approach rather 
to wonder at you than to hear you. If you 
be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be 
brief: 'tis not that time of moon with me to 
make one in so skipping a dialogue. 214 

Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your 
way. 

Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a lit- 
tle longer. Some mollification for your giant, 
sweet lady. Tell me your mind: I am a 
messenger. 220 

Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de- 
liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. 
Speak your office. 

41 



Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no 
overture of war, no taxation of homage: I 
hold the olive in my hand; my words are as 
full of peace as matter. 

Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? 
what would you? 229 

Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me 
have I learned from my entertainment. What 
I am, and what I would, are as secret as 
maidenhead; to your ears, divinity, to any 
other's, profanation. 234 

Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this 
divinity. 

[Exeunt Maria and Attendants.'] 
Now, sir, what is your text? 

Vio. Most sweet lady, — 

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be 
said of it. Where lies your text? 240 

Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 

Oli. In his bosom ! In what chapter of his 
bosom ? 

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of 
his heart. 245 

Oli. O, I have read it: it is heresy. Have you 
no more to say? 

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 

Oli. Have you any commission from your lord 
to negotiate with my face? You are now out 
of your text: but we will draw the curtain 
and show you the picture. Look you, sir, 
such a one I was this present: is't not well 
done ? [ Unveiling.'] 

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. 254 

Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and 
weather. 

Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and 
white 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid 

on: 
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive. 
If you will lead these graces to the grave 260 
And leave the world no copy. 

Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I 
will give out divers schedules of my beauty: 
It shall be inventoried, and every particle 
and utensil labelled to my will: as, item, two 
lips, indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with 
lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so 
forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? 

Vio. I see you what you are, you are too proud; 
But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 270 
My lord and master loves you: O, such love 

1 



12 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act I. SC. V. 



Could be but recompens'd, though you were 

crown'd 
The nonpareil of beauty ! 

Oli. How does he love me? 

Vio. With adorations, fertile tears, 

With groans that thunder love, with sighs of 
fire. 275 

Oli. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot 

love him: 

Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble. 

Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; 

In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd and 

valiant ; 
And in dimension and the shape of nature 280 
A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him; 
He might have took his answer long ago. 

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life. 
In your denial I would find no sense; 285 

I would not understand it. 

Oli. Why, what would you? 

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate. 
And call upon my soul within the house; 
Write loyal cantons of contemned love 
And sing them loud even in the dead of night; 
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills 291 
And make the babbling gossip of the air 
Cry out 'Olivia !' O, you should not rest 
Between the elements of air and earth. 
But you should pity me. 

Oli. You might do much. 



What is your parentage: 



296 



Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: 
I am a gentleman. 

Oli. Get you to your lord ; 

I cannot love him: let him send no more; 
Unless, perchance, you come to me again, 300 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well: 
I thank you for your pains: spend this for 
me. 

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse: 
My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 304 
Love make his heart of flint that you shall 

love; 
And let your fervour, like my master's, be 
Plac'd in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. 

Ea;it. 

Oli. 'What is your parentage?' 

'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: 
I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art; 310 
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and 
spirit, 



Do give thee five-fold blazon: not too fast: 

soft, soft! 
Unless the master were the man. How now ! 
Even so quickly may one catch the plague? 
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections 315 
With an invisible and subtle stealth 
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. 
What ho, Malvolio! 

Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Here, madam, at your service. 

Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, 
The county's man: he left this ring behind 
him, 320 

Would I or not: tell him I'll none of it. 
Desire him not to flatter with his lord. 
Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for 

him: 
If that the youth will come this w^ay to-mor- 
row, 
I'll give him reasons for't: hie thee, Malvolio. 
Mai. Madam, I will. Ej^it. 326 

Oli. I do I know not what, and fear to find 
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not 

owe; 
What is decreed must be, and be this so. 

Finis, Actus primus. 



ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — [The sea-coast.l 
Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not 
that I go with you? 

Seb. By your patience, no. My stars shine 
darkly over me: the malignancy of my fate 
might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I 
shall crave of you your leave that I may bear 
my evils alone: it were a bad recompense for 
your love, to lay any of them on you. 

Ant. Let me yet know of you whither you are 
bound. 10 

Seb. No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage is 
mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so 
excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not 
extort from me what I am willing to keep in; 
therefore it charges me in manners the rather 



412 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



13 



to express myself. You must know of me 
then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I 
called Roderigo. My father was that Sebas- 
tian of Messaline, whom I know you have 
heard of. He left behind him myself and a 
sister, both born in an hour: if the heavens 
had been pleased, would we had so ended ! but 
you, sir, altered that; for some hour before 
you took me from the breach of the sea was 
my sister drowned. 

Ant. Alas the day! 25 

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much 
resembled me, was yet of many accounted 
beautiful: but, though I could not with such 
estimable wonder overfar believe that, yet 
thus far I will boldly publish her: she bore a 
mind that envy could not but call fair. She 
is drowned already, sir, with salt water, 
though I seem to drown her remembrance 
again with more. 33 

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. 

Seb. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. 

Ant. If you will not murther me for my love, 
let me be your servant. 37 

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, 
that is, kill him whom you have recovered, de- 
sire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom 
is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the 
manners of my mother, that upon the least oc- 
casion more mine eyes will tell tales of me. I 
am bound to the Count Orsino's court: fare- 
well. Exit. 

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with 
thee ! 45 

I have many enemies in Orsino's court. 
Else would I very shortly see thee there. 
But, come what may, I do adore thee so, 
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. 49 

Exit. 



Scene II. — [A street.] 
Enter Viola and Malvolio, at several doors. 

Mai. Were not you even now with the Countess 

Olivia.^ 
Via. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have 

since arrived but hither. 4 

Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir : you might 

have saved me my pains, to have taken it away 

yourself. She adds, moreover, that you 



should put your lord into a desperate assur- 
ance she will none of him : and one thing more, 
that you be never so hardy to come again in 
his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's 
taking of this. Receive it so. 12 

Vio. She took the ring of me.^ I'll none of it. 
Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; 
and her will is, it should be so returned: if 
it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your 
eye; if not, be it his that finds it. Exit. 17 

Vio. I left no ring with her: what means this 
lady.? 
Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd 

her ! 
She made good view of me; indeed, so much. 
That methought her eyes had lost her tongue. 
For she did speak in starts distractedly, 22 
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her pas- 
sion 
Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none. 
I am the man: if it be so, as 'tis, 26 

Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, 
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
How easy is it for the proper-false 30 

In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! 
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ! 
For such as we are made of, such we be. 
How will this fadge.? my master loves her 

dearly ; 
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; 35 
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. 
What will become of this ? As I am man. 
My state is desperate for my master's love; 
As I am woman, — now alas the day ! — 
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia 
breathe ! 40 

O time ! thou must untangle this, not I ; 
It is too hard a knot for me t' untie! {Exit.] 



Scene III. — [Olivia's house.] 
Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed 
after midnight is to be up betimes ; and 'dilu- 
culo surgere/ thou know'st, — 

Sir And. Nay, by my trotli, I know not: but 
I know, to be up late is to be up late. s 

Sir To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an un- 



413 



11 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act II. SC. III. 



filled can. To be up after midnight and to go 
to bed tben^ is early: so that to go to bed after 
midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not 
our life consist of the four elements ? lo 

Sir And. Faith, so they say; but I think it 
rather consists of eating and drinking. 

Si?' To. T\\ art a scholar; let us therefore eat 
and drink. Marian, I say ! a stoup of wine ! 

Enter Clown. 

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. 15 

Clo. How now, my hearts ! did you never see 
the picture of 'we three'.? 

Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. 

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent 
breast. I had rather than forty shillings I 
had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, 
as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very 
gracious fooling last niglit, when thou spok'st 
of Pigrogromitus, of the VajDians passing the 
equinoctial of Queubus : 'twas very good, i' 
faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman : 
hadst it.? 26 

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Mal- 
volio's nose is no whipstock: my lady has "a 
white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle- 
ale houses. 

Sir And. Excellent! why, this is the best fool- 
ing, when all is done. Now, a song. 31 

Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: 
let's have a song. 

Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one 
knight give a — 35 

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of 
good life.? 

Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. 

Sir And. Ay, ay: I care not for good life. 

Clown sings. 
.'O mistress mine, where are you roaming.? 40 
O, stay and hear ; your true love's coming. 

That can sing both high and low: 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting; 
Journeys end in lovers meeting. 
Every wise man's son doth know.' 

Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith. 

Sir To. Good, good. 

Clo. 'What is love.? 'tis not hereafter; 
Present mirth hath present laughter; 

What's to come is still unsure: 50 

In delay there lies no plenty; 
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. 



Youth's a stuff will not endure.' 

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true 
knight. 55 

Sir To. A contagious breath. 

Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. 

Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in con- 
tagion. But shall we make the welkin dance 
indeed .? shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch 
that will draw three souls out of one weaver? 
shall we do that.? 62 

Sir And. And you love me, let's do't: I am dog 
at a catch, 

Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch 
well. 6s 

Sir And. Most certain. Let our catch be, 
'Thou knave.' 

Clo. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight? I 
shall be constrained in't to call thee knave, 
knight. 70 

Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have con- 
strained one to call me knave. Begin, fool: 
it begins 'Hold thy peace.' 

Clo. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. 

Sir And. Good, i' faith. Come, begin. 75 

Catch sung. 

Enter Maria. 

Mar. What a caterwauling do you keep here! 
If my lady have not called up her steward 
Malvolio and bid him turn you out of doors, 
never trust me. 79 

Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, 
Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and 'Three merry 
men be we.' Am not I consanguineous ? am I 
not of her blood.? Tilly v ally. Lady! \^Sings 
'There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady !' 

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable 
fooling. 

Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be dis^ 
posed, and so do I too: he does it with a bet- 
ter grace, but I do it more natural. 

Sir To. [Sings^ 'O, the twelfth day of Decem- 
ber,' — 

Mar. For the love o' God, peace ! 

Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. My masters, are you mad? or what are 

you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, 

but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night, 

Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, 

14 



ACT II. SC. III.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



15 



that ye squeak out your coziers' catches with- 
out any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is 
there no respect of place^ persons, nor time in 
you ? 99 

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. 
Sneck up ! loi 

Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My 
lady bade me tell you, that, though she har- 
bours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied 
to your disorders. If you can separate your- 
self and your misdemeanours, you are welcome 
to the house; if not, and it would please you 
to, take leave of her, she is very willing to 
bid you farewell. io8 

Sir To. 'Farewell, dear heart, since I must 
needs be gone.' no 

Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby. 

Clo. 'His eyes do show his days are almost 
done.' 

Mai. Is't even so? 

Sir To. 'But I will never die.' 115 

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 

Mai. This is much credit to you. 

Sir To. 'Shall I bid him go?' 

Clo. 'What and if you do?' 

Sir To. 'Shall I bid him go, and spare not?' 120 

Clo. 'O no, no, no, no, you dare not.' 

Sir To. Out o' tune, sir: ye lie. Art any more 
than a steward? Dost thou think, because 
thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes 
and ale? 125 

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be 
hot i' the mouth too. 

Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your 
chain with crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria ! 

Mai. Mistress ^lary, if you prized my lady's 
favour at any thing more than contempt, you 
would not give means for this uncivil rule : she 
shall know of it, by this hand. Exit. 

Mar. Go shake your ears. 134 

Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink 
wlien a man's a-hungry, to challenge him the 
field, and then to break promise with him and 
make a fool of him. 138 

Sir To. Do't, knight: I'll write thee a challenge; 
or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word 
of mouth. 141 

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night: 
since the youth of the count's was to-day with 
my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Mon- 
sieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do 
not gull him into a nayword, and make him a 



common recreation, do not think I have wit 
enough to lie straight in my bed: I know I 
can do it. 

Sir To. Possess us, possess us ; tell us something 
of him. 150 

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of 
Puritan. 

Sir And. O, if I thought that, I 'Id beat him like 
a dog! 

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy ex- 
quisite reason, dear knight? 156 

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but 
I have reason good enough. 

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any 
thing constantly, but a time-pleaser ; an af- 
fectioned ass, that cons state without book and 
utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded 
of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with ex- 
cellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that 
all that look on him love him ; and on that vice 
in him will my revenge find notable cause to 
work. 166 

Sir To. What wilt thou do? 

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epis- 
tles of love; wherein, by the colour of his 
beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his 
gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and 
complexion, he shall find himself most feel- 
ingly personated. I can write very like my 
lady your niece: on a forgotten matter we can 
hardly make distinction of our hands. 175 

Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. 

Sir And. I have 't in my nose too. 

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou 
wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and 
that she's in love with him. 180 

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that 
colour. 

Sir And. And your horse now would make him 
an ass. 

Mar. Ass, I doubt not. 185 

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable! 

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my 
johysic will work with him. I will plant you 
two, and let the fool make a third, where lie 
shall find the letter: observe his construction 
of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on 
the event. Farewell. E.vit. 192 

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. 

Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. 

Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that 
adores me: what o' that? 196 



415 



16 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act II. SC. III. 



Sir And. I was adored once too. 

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need 

send for more money. 
Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am 

a foul way out. 201 

Sir To. Send for money, knight: if thou hast 

her not i' the end, call me cut. 
Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it 

how you will. 205 

Sir To. Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 

'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; 

come, knight. Exeunt, 

Scene IV. — \_The palace.'] 
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. 

Duke. Give me some music. Now, good mor- 
row, friends. 
Nov/, good Cesario, but. that piece of song. 
That old and antic song we heard last night: 
Methought it did relieve my passion much. 
More than light airs and recollected terms 5 
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times: 
Come, but one verse. 

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, 
that should sing it. 

Duke. Who was it? * 10 

Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the 
lady Olivia's father took much delight in. 
He is about the house. 

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the 
while. [Exit Curio.] Music plays. 

Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love, 15 
In the sweet pangs of it remember me; 
For such as I am all true lovers are, 
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else. 
Save in the constant image of the creature 
That is belov'd. How dost thou like this 
tune ? 20 

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
Where Love is thron'd. 

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: 

My life upon't, young though thou art, thine 

eye 
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves : 25 
Hath it not, boy? 

Vio. A little, by your favour. 

Duke. What kind of woman is't? 

Vio. Of your complexion. 

Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years, 
i' faith? 



Vio. About your years, my lord. 

Duke. Too old, by heaven: let still the woman 
take 30 

An elder than herself: so wears she to him. 
So sways she level in her husband's heart: 
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves. 
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm. 
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, 
Than women's are. 

Vio. 1 think it well, my lord. 36 

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thy- 
self. 
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent; • 
For women are as roses, whose fair flower 
Being once display'd, doth fall that very 
hour. 40 

Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so; 
To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 

Enter Curio and Clown. 

Duke. O, fellow, come, the song we had last 
night. 
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain; 
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun 45 
And the free maids that weave their thread 

with bones 
Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth. 
And dallies with the innocence of love. 
Like the old age. 
Clo. Are you ready, sir? 50 

Duke. Ay; prethee, sing. Music. 

The Song. 

*Come away, come away, death. 

And in sad cypress let me be laid; 
Fly away, fly away, breath; 

I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 55 

My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

O, prepare it! 
My part of death, no one so true 
Did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 60 

On my black coffin let there be strown; 
Not a friend, not a friend greet 

My poor corpse, where my bones shall 
be thrown: 
A thousand thousand sighs to save. 

Lay me, O, where 65 

Sad true lover never find my grave, 
To weep there !' 



416 



ACT II. SC. IV.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



17 



Duke. There's for thy pains. 

do. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, 
sir. 70 

Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. 

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one 
time or another. 

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. 74 

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee ; and 
the tailor make thy doublet of changeable 
taffeta, for th}^ mind is a very opal. I would 
liave men of such constancy put to sea, that 
their business might be every thing and their 
intent everywhere; for that's it that always 
makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. 81 

Exit. 

Duke. Let all the rest give place. 

[Curio and Attendants retire.^ 
Once more, Cesario, 
Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty: 
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world. 
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; 85 

The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon 

her. 
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; 
But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems 
That nature pranks her in attracts my soul. 

rio. But if she cannot love you, sir? 90 

Duke, I cannot be so answer'd. 

Vio. Sooth, but you must. 

Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, 
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; 
You tell her so; must she not then be an- 
swer'd ? 95 

Duke. There is no woman's sides 

Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart 
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention. 
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite, 100 

No motion of the liver, but the palate. 
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt ; 
But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
And can digest as much: make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me 105 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Vio. Ay, but I know — 

Duke. What dost thou know ? 

Vio. Too well what love women to men may 
owe: 
In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
My father had a daughter lov'd a man, no 
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, . 



I should your lordship. 
Duke. And what's her history? 

Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her 
love. 
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud. 
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in 
thought, 115 

And with a green and yellow melancholy ■ 
She sat, like patience on a monument. 
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? 
We men may say more, swear more: but in- 

aeed 
Our shows are more than will; for still we 
prove 120 

Much in our vows, but little in our love. 
Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? 
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's 
house. 
And all the brothers too: and yet I know not. 
Sir, shall I to this lady ? 
Duke. Ay, that's the theme. 125 

To her in haste; give her this jewel; say. 
My love can give no place, bide no denay. 

Exeunt. 

Scene V. — [Olivia's garden.] 

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. 

Fab. Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this 
sport, let me be boiled to death with melan- 
choly. 4 

Sir To. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the 
niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some 
notable shame? 7 

Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought 
me out o' favour with my lady about a bear- 
baiting here. 10 

Sir To. To anger him we'll have the bear again ; 
and we will fool him black and blue: shall we 
not. Sir Andrew ? 

Sir And. And we do not, it is pity of our 
lives. 15 

Enter Maria. 

Sir To. Here comes the little villain. 
How now, my metal of India ! 

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Mal- 
volio's coming down this walk: he has been 
yonder i' the sun practising behaviour to his 



417 



18 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act II. SC. V, 



own shadow this half hour: observe him, for 
the love of mockery; for I know this letter 
will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, 
in the name of jesting! Lie thou there 
[throzvs down a letter] ; for here comes the 
trout that must be caught with tickling. 26 

Exit, 
Enter Malvolio. 

Mai, 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria 
once told me she did affect me: and I have 
heard herself come thus near, that, should she 
fancy, it should be one of my complexion. 
Besides, she uses me with a more exalted re- 
spect than any one else that follows her. 
What should I think on't? 33 

. Sir To. Here's ^n overweening rogue ! 
Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare 
turkey-cock of him: how he jets under his ad- 
vanced plumes ! 37 
Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue! 
Sir To. Peace, I say. 

Mai. To be Count Malvolio ! 40 

Sir To. Ah, rogue! 
Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 
Sir To. Peace, peace! 

Mai. There is example for't; the lady of the 

Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel! 46 

Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in: look how 

imagination blows him. 
Mai. Having been three months married to her^ 
sitting in my state, — ^o 

Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the 

eye ! 

Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my 

branched velvet gown; having come from a 

day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping, — 

Sir To. Fire and brimstone! 56 

Fab. O, peace, peace! 

Mai. And then to have the humour of state; and 
after a demure travel of regard, telling them 
I know my place as I would they should do 
theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby, — 61 

Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! 
Fab. O peace, peace, peace! now, now. 
Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient 
start, make out for him: I frown the while; 
and perchance wind up my watch, or play 
with my — some rich jewel. Toby approaches; 
courtesies there to me, — 68 

Sir To. Shall this fellow live? 



Fab. 



Though our silence be drawn from us with 
cars, yet peace. 
Mai, I extend my hand to him thus, quenching 
my familiar smile with an austere regard of 
control, — 
Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' 
the lips then.?^ ^^ 

Mai, Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having 
cast me on your niece give me this prerogative 
of speech,' — 
Sir To, What, what.? g^ 

Mai, 'You must amend your drunkenness.' 
Sir To. Out, scab! 
Fab, Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of 

our plot. 
Mai. 'Besides, you waste the treasure of your 
time with a foolish knight,' — 86 

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. 
Mai. 'One Sir Andrew,' — 
Sir And, I knew 'twas I; for many do call me 

fool. 
Mai. What employment have we here? 

[Taking up the letter.] 
Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. 
Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humours in- 
timate reading aloud to him! g^ 
Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these 
be her very C's, her U's and her T's; and thus 
makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt 
of question, her hand. 
Sir And, Her C's, her U's and her T's: why 

that? _ 

100 

Mai. [Reads] 'To the unknown beloved, this, 
and my good wishes :' — her very phrases ! By 
your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure 
her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal: 'tis 



90 



los 



418 



my lady. To whom should this be? 
Fab. This wins him, liver and all. 
Mai. [Reads] 

'Jove knows I love: 

But who? 
Lips, do not move; 
No man must know.* no 

'No man must know.' What follows? the 
numbers altered! 'No man must know:' if 
this should be thee, Malvolio? 
Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock! 
Mai. [Reads] 

'I may command where I adore ; 115 

But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore: 
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life,' 



ACT II. SC. v.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



19 



Fah. A fustian riddle! 

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 120 

Mai. 'M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.' Na}^, 
but first, let me see, let me see, let me see. 

Fah. What dish o' poison has she dressed him ! 

Sir To. And with w^hat wing the staniel checks 
at it ! 125 

Mai. 'I may command where I adore.' Why, 
she may command me: I serve her; she is my 
lady. Why, this is evident to any formal 
capacity; there is no obstruction in this: and 
the end, — what should that alphabetical posi- 
tion portend? If I could make that resemble 
something in me, — Softly ! M, O, A, I, — 132 

Sir To. O, ay, make up that: he is now at a 
cold scent. 

Fab. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though 
it be as rank as a fox. 136 

Mai. M, — ]\Ialvolio; M, — why, that begins my 
name. 

Fah. Did not I say he would work it out? the 
cur is excellent at faults. 140 

Mai. ]\I, — but then there is no consonancy in 
the sequel; that suffers under probation: A 
should follow, but O does. 

Fah. And O shall end, I hope. 

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him 
cry O ! 146 

Mai. And then I comes behind. 

Fah. Ay, and you had any eye behind you, you 
might see more detraction at your heels than 
fortunes before you. 150 

Mai. M, O, A, I; this simulation is not as the 
former : and yet, to crush this a little, it would 
bow to me, for every one of these letters are 
in my name. Soft ! here follows prose. 154 
[^Reads^ 'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. 
In my stars I am above thee; but be not 
afraid of greatness : some are born great, some 
achieve greatness, and some have greatness 
thrust upon 'em. Thy Fates open their 
hands ; let thy blood and spirit embrace them ; 
and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to 
be, cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. 
Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with serv- 
ants ; let thy tongue tang arguments of state; 
put thyself into the trick of singularity: she 
thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Re- 
member who commended thy yellow stockings, 
and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered: I 
say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou, 
desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a 

41 



steward still, the fellow of servants, and not 
worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell. 
She that would alter services with thee, 172 

The Fortunate-Unhappy.' 
Daylight and champaign discovers not more: 
this is open. I will be proud, I will read 
politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will 
wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point- 
devise the very man. I do not now fool my- 
self, to let imagination jade me; for every 
reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. 
She did commend my yellow stockings of late, 
she did praise my leg being cross-gartered; 
and in this she manifests herself to my love, 
and with a kind of injunction drives me to 
these habits of her liking. I thank my stars 
I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yel- 
low stockings, and cross-gartered, even with 
the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my 
stars be praised ! Here is yet a postscript. i83 
[Reads^ 'Thou canst not choose but know 
who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let 
it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become 
thee well; therefore in my presence still smile, 
dear my sweet, I prethee.' 

Jove, I thank thee: I will sm_ile; I will do 
everything that thou wilt have me. E.vit. 195 

Fah. I will not give my part of this sport for a 
pension of thousands to be paid from the 
Sophy. 

Sir To. I could marry this wench for this 
device. 200 

czV And. So could I too. 

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her but 
such another jest. 

Sir And. Nor I neither. 

Enter Maria. 

Fah. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 205 

Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? 
Sir And. Or o' mine either? 
Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, 

and become thy bond-slave? 
Sir And. V faith, or I either? 210 

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, 

that when the image of it leaves him he must 

run mad. 
Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon 

him? 215 

Sir To. Like aqua-vitae with a midwife. 
Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, 
9 



20 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act II. SC. V. 



mark his first approach before my lady: he 
will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis 
a colour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a 
fashion she detests; and he will smile upon 
her, which will now be so unsuitable to her 
disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as 
she is, that it cannot but turn him into a 
notable contempt. If you will see it, follow 

me. ^ ^ ''' 

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most ex- 
cellent devil of wit! 

Sir And. I'll make one too. Ea:eunt. 



ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — [Olivias orchard.] 



Enter Viola, and Clown. 



Via. Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou 
live by thy tabor? 

do. No, sir, I live by the church. 

Vio. Art thou a churchman? 4| 

do. No such matter, sir: I do live by the | 
church; for I do live at my house, and my 
house doth stand by the church. 

Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beg- 
gar, if a beggar dwell near him; or, the 
church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand 
by the church. ^ 

do. You have said, sir. To see this age! A 
sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit: 
how quickly the wrong side may be turned 
outward! ^^ 

Vio. Nay, that's certain; they that daily 
nicely with words may quickly make them 

do. I would, therefore, my sister had had no 
name, sir. ^° 

Vio. Why, man? j i n 

do. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to daily 
with that word might make my sister wanton. 
But indeed words are very rascals since bonds 
disgraced them. ^5 

Vio. Thy reason, man? 

do. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without 
words; and words are grown so false, I am 
with them 



in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you : if 
that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it 
would make you invisible. 35 

Vio. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool? 
do. No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no 
folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be 
married; and fools are as like husbands as 
pilchards are to herrings; the husband's the 
bigger : I am indeed not her fool, but her cor- 
rupter of words. ^ 41 
Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. 
Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like 
the sun, it shines everywhere. I would be 
sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with 
your master as with my mistress: I think I 
saw your wisdom there. ^ 47 
Vio. Nay, and thou pass upon me, I'll no more 

with thee. Hold, there's expenses for thee. 
do. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, 
send thee a beard! si 

Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick 
for one; [Aside] though I would not have it 
grow on my chin. Is thy lady within? 
do. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? 
Vio. Yes, being kept together and put to; 

use. .1 

do. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, 
sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. S9 

Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged. 

do. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, beg- 
ging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. 
My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them 
whence you come; who you are and what you 
would are out of my welkin, I might say 
'element,' but the word is over-worn. Exit. 66 

Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the 

fool ; 

And to do that well craves a kind of wit: 
He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
The quality of persons, and the time, 70 

And, like the haggard, check at every feather 
That comes before his eye. This is a practice 
As full of labour as a wise man's art: 
For folly that he wisely shows is fit; 
But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their 
wit. 



Enter Sir Toby, and [Sir] Andrew. 



rri'^Ir^aTtCuTrrrV;;;; felW andl«. To Save you, gentleman. 

' ' i- f^r. rinflimo- 3< Vio. And you, sir. 

ar Not so. st I do care for something; hut\ Sir And. Dieu vous garde, mons.eur. 

420 



ACT III. SC. 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



21 



Vio. Et vous aussi; votre serviteiir. 

Sir And. I hope^ sir, you are; and I am 
yours. 8i 

Sir To. Will you encounter the house .^ my niece 
is desirous you should enter, if your trade be 
to her. 

Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she 
is the list of my voyage. 85 

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir; put them to mo- 
tion. 

Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than 
I understand what you mean by bidding me 
taste my legs. 91 

Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. 

Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance. 
But we are prevented. 

Enter Olivia and Gentlewoman ^^Maria^. 

Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens 

rain odours on you ! 95 

Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier: 'Rain 

odours ;' well. 
Vio. j\Iy matter hath no voice, lady, but to your 
own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. loo 
Sir. And. 'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed:' 

I'll get 'em all three all ready. 
Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me 
to my hearing. [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir An- 
drew, and Mai'ia.l^ Give me your hand, sir. 
Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. 
Oli. What is your name.^ 106 

Fio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair prin- 
cess. 
Oli. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry 
world 
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment: no 
Y' are servant to the Count Orsino, youth. 
Vio, And he is yours, and his must needs be 
yours : 
Your servant's servant is your servant, 
madam. 
Oli, For him, I think not on him: for his 
thoughts. 
Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd 
with me! 115 

Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle 
thoughts 
On his behalf. 
Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you, 

I bade you never speak again of him: 
But, would you undertake another suit. 



I had rather hear you to solicit that 120 

Than music from the spheres. 

Vio. Dear lady, — ■ 

Oli. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send. 
After the last enchantment you did here, 
A ring in chase of you: so did I abuse 
Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you: 125 
Under your hard construction must I sit. 
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning. 
Which you knew none of yours: what might 

you think? 
Have you not set mine honour at the stake 
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of 
your receiving 131 

Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom. 
Hides my heart. So, let me hear jou speak. 

Vio. I pity you.* 

Oli. That's a degree to love. 

Vio. No, not a grise; for 'tis a vulgar proof, 135 
That very oft we pity enemies. 

Oli. Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile 
again. 

world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! 
If one should be a prey, how much the better 
To fall before the lion than the wolf! 140 

Clock strikes. 
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. 
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have 

you: 
And yet, when wit and youth is come to har- 
vest. 
Your wife is like to reap a proper man: 
There lies your way, due west. 145 

Vio. Then westward-ho ! Grace and good dis- 
position 
Attend your lad3^ship ! 

You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me? 
Oli. Stay: 

1 prethee, tell me what thou think'st of me. 150 
Vio. That you do think you are not what you 

are. 
Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. 
Vio, Then think you right: I am not what I am. 
Oli. I would you were as I would have you be ! 
Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am? 155 

I wish it might, for now I am your fool. 
Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 

In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 

A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon 

Than love that would seem hid: love's night 
is noon. 160 



421 



22 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act III. SC. I. 



Cesario, by the roses of the springs 
By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, 
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, 
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. 
Do not extort th}^ reasons from this clause, 165 
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause; 
But rather reason thus with reason fetter. 
Love sought is good, but given unsought is 
better. 

Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, 
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, 170 
And that no woman has ; nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
And so adieu, good madam: never more 
Will I my master's tears to you deplore. 

Oli. Yet come again ; for thou perhaps mayst 

move 175 

That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. 

Ea;eunt. 



Scene II. — [Olivia's house.l 
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 

Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. 

Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy 
reason. 

Fab. You must needs yield your reason. Sir 
Andrew. 5 

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more fa- 
vours to the count's serving-man than ever she 
bestowed upon me; I saw 't i' the orchard. 

Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? 
tell me that. 10 

Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her 
toward you. 

Sir And. 'Slight, will you make an ass o' me? 

Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the 
oaths of judgment and reason. 16 

Sir To. And they have been grand-jurymen 
since before Noah was a sailor. 18 

Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your 
sight only to exasperate you, to awake your 
dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and 
brimstone in your liver. You should then 
liave accosted her; and with some excellent 
jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have 
bangod the youth into dumbness. This was 
looked for at your hand, and this was balked: 
the double gilt of this opportunity you let 



time wash off, and you are now sailed into 
the north of my lady's opinion ; where you 
will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's 
beard, unless you do redeem it by some laud- 
able attempt either of valour or policy. 31 

Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with 
valour; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a 
Brownist as a politician. 34 

Sir To. Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon 
the basis of valour. Challenge me the count's 
youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven 
places : my niece shall take note of it ; and as- 
sure thyself, there is no love-broker in the 
world can more prevail in man's commenda- 
tion with woman than report of valour. 41 

Fab. There is no way but this. Sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge 
to him? 44 

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be 
curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so 
it be eloquent and full of invention: taunt him 
with the license of ink: if thou thou'st him 
some thrice, it shall not be amiss ; and as many 
lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although 
the sheet were big enough for the bed of 
Ware in England, set 'em down: go, about it. 
Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though 
thou write with a goose-pen, no matter: about 
it. 

Sir And. Where shall I find you? 55 

Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubiculo : go. 

Exit Sir Andrew. 

Fab. This is a dear manakin to you. Sir Toby. 

Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad, some two 
thousand strong, or so. 

Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him: but 
you'll not deliver't? 61 

Sir To. Never trust me, then; and by all means 
stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen 
and wainropes cannot hale them together. 
For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find 
so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot 
of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy. 67 

Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his 
visage no great presage of cruelty. 

Enter Maria. 

Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of mine 
comes. 71 

Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh 
yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yond 



422 



ACT III. SC. 11.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



2B 



gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very rene- 
gade; for there is no Christian, that means 
to be saved by believing rightly, can ever be- 
lieve such impossible passages of grossness. 
He's in yellow stockings. 
Sir To. And cross-gartered? 79 

Mar. Most villainously ; like a pedant that keeps 
a school i' the church. I have dogged him, 
like his murtherer. He does obey every point 
of the letter that I dropped to betray him: he 
does smile his face into more lines than is in 
the new map with the augmentation of the 
Indies : you have "not seen such a thing as 'tis. 
I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. 
I know my lady will strike him: if she do, 
he'll smile and take't for a great favour. 
Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. 90 

Exeunt omnes. 



Scene III. — \_A street.^ 

Enter Sebastian and Antonio. 

Seh. I would not by my will have troubled you; 
But, since you make your pleasure of your 

pains, 
I will no further chide you. 
Ant. I could not stay behind you: my desire. 
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me 
forth ; 5 

And not all love to see you, though so much 
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage. 
But jealousy what might befall your travel. 
Being skilless in these parts; which to a 

stranger, 
Unguided and unfriended, often prove 10 

Rough and unhospitable : my willing love. 
The rather by these arguments of fear. 
Set forth in your pursuit. 
Seh. My kind Antonio, 

I can no other answer make but thanks. 
And thanks, and ever [thanks; and] oft good 
turns 15 

Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay: 
But, were my worth as is my conscience firm. 
You should find better dealing. What's to 

do.? 
Shall we go see the reliques of this town? 
Ant. To-morrow, sir: best first go see your 
lodging. 20 

Seh. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night: 



I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes 

With the memorials and the things of fame 

That do renown this city. 

Ant. Would you'ld pardon me; 

I do not without danger walk these streets : 25 
Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count his gal- 
leys 
I did some service; of such note indeed. 
That were I ta'en here it would scarce be 
answer 'd. 

Seh. Belike you slew great number of his peo- 
ple. 

Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature; 
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel 31 
Might well have given us bloody argument. 
It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
What we took from them; which, for traffic's 

sake. 
Most of our city did: only myself stood out; 35 
For which, if I be lapsed in this place, 
I shall pay dear. 

Seh. Do not then walk too open. 

Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my 
purse. 
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet, 40 
Whiles you beguile the time and feed your 

knowledge 
With viewing of the town: there shall you 
have me. 

Seh. Why I your purse? 

Ant. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy 
You have desire to purchase; and your store, 
I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 46 

Seh. I'll be your purse-bearer and leave you 
For an hour. 

Ant. To th' Elephant. 

Seh. I do remember. Exeunt. 



Scene IV. — [Olivia's orchard.'] 

Enter Olivia and Maria. 

Oli. I have sent after him: he says he'll come; 
How shall I feast him? what bestow of him? 
For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or 

borrow'd. 
I speak too loud. 

Where is Malvolio? he is sad and civil, 5 

And suits well for a servant with my fortunes : 
Where is Malvolio? 



423 



24 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act III. SC. IV. 



Mar. He's coming, madam; but in very strange 
manner. He is, sure, possessed, madam. 

on. Why, what's the matter? does he rave? 

Mar. No, madam, he does nothing but smile: 
your ladyship were best to have some guard 
about you, if he come; for, sure, the man is 
tainted in's wits. 14 

on. Go call him hither. I am as mad as he. 
If sad and merry madness equal be. 

Enter Malvolio. 

How now, Malvolio ! 

Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. 

Oli. Smilest thou? 

I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 20 

Mai. Sad, lady! I could be sad: this does make 
some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gar- 
tering; but what of that? if it please the eye 
of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is, 
'Please one, and please all.' 25 

Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the mat- 
ter with thee? 

Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow in 
my legs. It did come to his hands, and com- 
mands shall be executed: I think we do know 
the sw^eet Roman hand. 31 

Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? 

Mai. To bed! ay, sweet-heart, and I'll come to 
thee. 

Oli. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou smile 
so and kiss thy hand so oft? 36 

Mar. How do you, Malvolio? 

Mai. At your request! yes; nightingales answer 
daws. 

Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous bold- 
ness before my lady? 41 

Mai. 'Be not afraid of greatness:' 'twas well 
writ. 

Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? 

Mai. 'Some are born great,' — 45 

Oli. Ha! 

Mai. 'Some achieve greatness,' — 

Oli. What sayest thou? 

Mai. 'And some have greatness thrust upon 
them.' 50 

Oli. Heaven restore thee ! 

Mai. 'Remember who commended thy yellow 
stockings, '--- 

Oli. Thy yellow stockings ! 

Mai. 'And wished to see thee cross-gartered.' 

Oli. Cross-gartered ! 56 



Mai. 'Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to 

be so;' — 
Oli. Am I made? 

Mai. 'If not, let me see thee a servant still.' 60 
Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count 
Orsino's is returned: I could hardly entreat 
him back: he attends your ladyship's pleas- 
ure. 65 

Oli. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good 
Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's 
my cousin Toby? Let some of my people 
have a special care of him: I would not have 
him miscarry for the half of my dowry. 70 

Exit [with Maria']. 

MaL O, ho ! do you come near me now ? no 
worse man than Sir Toby to look to me ! This 
concurs directly with the letter: she sends him 
on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to 
him; for she incites me to that in the letter. 
'Cast thy humble slough,' says she; 'be oppo- 
site with a kinsman, surly with servants ; let 
thy tongue tang with arguments of state; put 
thyself into the trick of singularity;' and con- 
sequently sets down the manner how; as, a 
sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, 
in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. 
I have limed her; but it is Jove's doing, and 
Jove make me thankful ! And when she went 
away now, 'Let this fellow be looked to:' fel- 
low ! not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but 
fellow. Why, everything adheres together, 
that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a 
scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe 
circumstance — What can be said? Nothing 
that can be can come between me and the full 
prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is 
the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. 92 

Enter Toby, Fabian, and Maria. 

Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanc- 
tity? If all the devils of hell be drawn in 
little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet 
I'll speak to him. 96 

Fab. Here he is, here he is. How is't with you, 
sir? how is't with you, man? 

Mai. Go off; I discard you: let me enjoy my 
private: go off. 100 



424 



JICT III. SC. IV. 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



25 



Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within 
him! did not I tell you.^ Sir Toby, my lady 
prays you to have a care of him. 

Mai. Ah, ha ! does she so } 104 

Sir To. Go to, go to; peace, peace; we must 
deal gently with him: let me alone. How do 
you, Malvolio.^ how is't with you? What, 
man! defy the devil: consider, he's an enemy 
to mankind. 

Mai. Do you know what you say? no 

Mar. La you, and you speak ill of the devil, 
how he takes it at heart! Pray God, he be 
not bewitched! 

Fah. Carry his water to the wise woman. 

Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow 
morning, if I live. My lady would not lose 
him for more than I'll say. 117 

Mai. How now, mistress ! 

Mar. O Lord! 

Sir To. Prethee, hold thy peace; this is not the 
way: do you not see you move him? let me 
alone with him. 122 

Fah. No way but gentleness ; gently, gently : 
the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly 
used. 

Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock ! how dost 
thou, chuck? 126 

Mai. Sir! 

Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man ! 
'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with 
Satan: hang him, foul collier! 130 

Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, 
get him to pray. 

Mai. My prayers, minx! 

Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of 
godliness. 135 

Mai. Go, hang yourselves all ! you are idle shal- 
low things : I am not of your element : you 
shall know more hereafter. Exit. 

Sir To. Is't possible? 

Fah. If this were played upon a stage now, I 
could condemn it as an improbable fiction. 141 

Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection 
of the device, man. 

Mar. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take 
air and taint. 145 

Fah. Why, we shall make him mad indeed. 

Mar. The house will be the quieter. 

Sir To. Come, wx'll have him in a dark room 
and bound. My niece is already in the belief 
that he's mad : we may carry it thus, for our 
pleasure and his penance, till our very pas- 



time, tired out of breath, prompt us to have 
mercy on him: at which time we will bring 
the device to the bar and crown thee for a 
finder of madmen. But see, but see. 155 

Enter Sir Andrew. 

Fah. More matter for a May morning. 

Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it: I war- 
rant there's vinegar anj. pepper in't. 

Fah. Is't so saucy? 

Sir And. Ay, is't, I warrant him: do but 
read. 161 

Sir To. Give me. [Reads'] 'Youth, whatsoever 
thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.' 

Fah. Good, and valiant. 

Sir To. [Reads'] 'Wonder not, nor admire not 
in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I will 
show thee no reason for't.' 

Fah. A good note ; that keeps you from the blow 
of the law. 169 

Sir To. [Reads] 'Thou comest to the lady 
Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly: 
but thou liest in thy throat; that is not the 
matter I challenge thee for.' 

Fah. Very brief, and to exceeding good sense — 
less. 17s 

Sir To. [Reads] 'I will waylay thee going 
home; where if it be thy chance to kill me,' — 

Fah. Good. 

Sir To. [Reads] 'Thou killest me like a rogue 
and a villain.' 180 

Fah. Still you keep o* the windy side of the 
law: good. 

Sir To. [Reads] 'Fare thee well; and God have 
mercy upon one of our souls ! He may have 
mercy upon mine; but my hope is better, and 
so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest 
him, and thy sworn enemy, 

Andrew Aguecheek.' 
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot: 
I'll give't him. 189 

Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't: he 
is now in some commerce with my lady, and 
will by and by depart. 

Sir To. Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at 
the corner of the orchard like a bum-baily: so 
soon as ever thou seest him, draw; and, as 
thou drawest, swear horrible; for it comes to 
pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swag- 
gering accent sharply twanged off, gives 
manhood more approbation than ever proof 



425 



26 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act III. SC. IV. 



itself would have earned him. Away ! 200 
Sir And, Nay^ let me alone for swearing. Exit. 
Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter: for 
the behaviour of the young gentleman gives 
liim out to be of good capacity and breeding; 
his emplo^'ment between his lord and my niece 
confirms no less: therefore this letter, being 
so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror 
in the youth: he will find it comes from a 
clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his chal- 
lenge by word of mouth; set upon Aguecheek 
a notable report of valour; and drive the gen- 
tleman, as I know his youth will aptly receive 
it, into a most hideous opinion of his rage, 
skill, fury, and impetuosity. This will so 
fright them both that they will kill one an- 
other by the look, like cockatrices. 215 

Enter Olivia and Viola. 

Fab. Here he comes with your niece: give themi 

way till he take leave, and presently after 

him. 

Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some 

horrid message for a challenge. 220 

[Ea;eunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria.] 

on. I have said too much unto a heart of stone 

And laid mine honour too unchary out: 

There's something in me that reproves my 

fault ; 
But such a headstrong potent fault it is. 
That it but mocks reproof. 225 

Vio. With the same 'haviour that your passion 
bears 
Goes on my master's griefs. 
Oli. Here, wear this jewel for me, *tis my pic- 
ture; 
Refuse it not ; it hath no tongue to vex you ; 
And I beseech you come again to-morrow. 230 
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny, 
That honour sav'd may upon asking give? 
Vio. Nothing but this; your true love for my 

master. 
Oli. How with mine honour may I give him that 

Which I have given to you? 
Vio. I will acquit you. 235 

Oli. Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee well: 
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. 

iExit.] 

Enter Toby and Fabian. 

Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 

Vio. And you, sir. 239 



Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to't: 
of what nature the wrongs are thou hast 
done him, I knpw not; but thy intercepter, 
full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends 
thee at the orchard-end : dismount thy tuck, be 
yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is 
quick, skilful, and deadly. 246 

Vio. You mistake, sir, I am sure; no man hath 
any quarrel to me: my remembrance is very 
free and clear from any image of offence done 
to any man. 250 

Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you: 
therefore, if you hold your life at any price, 
betake you to your guard; for your opposite 
hath in him what youth, strength^ skill, and 
wrath can furnish man withal. 255 

Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he? 

Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unhatched 
rapier and on carpet consideration ; but he is a 
devil in private brawl': souls and bodies hath 
he divorced three; and his incensement at 
this moment is so implacable, that satisfaction 
can be none but by pangs of death and sepul- 
chre. Hob, nob, is his word; give't or take't. 

Vio. I will return again into the house and de- 
sire some conduct of the lady. I am no 
fighter. I have heard of some kind of men 
that put quarrels purposely on others, to taste 
their valour: belike this is a man of that 
quirk. 268 

Sir To. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself 
out of a very competent injury: therefore, get 
you on and give him his desire. Back you 
shall not to the house, unless you undertake 
that with me which, with as much safety you 
might answer him: therefore, on, or strip your 
sword stark naked; for meddle you must, 
that's certain, or forswear to wear iron about 
you. 27(> 

Vio. This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech 
you, do me this courteous office, as to know of 
the knight what my offence to him is: it is 
something of my negligence, nothing of my 
purpose. 280 

Sir. To. I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you 
by this gentleman till my return. 

Exit Toby. 

Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this mat- 
ter? 

Fab. I know the knight is incensed against you, 
even to a mortal arbitrement; but nothing of 
the circumstance more. 



426 



ACT III. SC. IV.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



27 



Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is 
he ? 289 

Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to 
read him by his form, as you are like to find 
him in the proof of his valour. He is, indeed, 
sir, the most skilful, bloody, and fatal oppo- 
site that you could possibly have found in 
any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards 
him? I will make your peace with him if I 
can. 296 

Vio. I shall be much bound to you for't: I am 
one that had rather go with sir priest than sir 
knight. I care not who knows so much of 
my mettle. Exeunt. 300 

Enter Tohy and Andrew. 

Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not 
seen such a firago. I had a pass with him, 
rapier, scabbard and all, and he gives me the 
stuck in with such a mortal motion, that it is 
inevitable; and on the answer, he pays you 
as surely as your feet hit the ground they 
step on. They say he has been fencer to the 
Sophy. 

Sir And. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him. 

Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified : 
Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. 310 

Sir And. Plague on't, and I thought he had 
been valiant and so cunning in fence, I 'Id 
have seen him damned ere I 'Id have chal- 
lenged him. Let him let the matter slip, and 
I'll give him my horse, grey Capilet. 

Sir To. I'll make the motion: stand here, make 
a good show on't: this shall end without the 
perdition of souls. [Aside.] Marry, I'll ride 
your horse as well as I ride you. 319 

Enter Fabian and Viola. 

[To Fab.] I have his horse to take up the quar- 
rel. I have persuaded him the youth's a 
devil. 

Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him; and 
pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at 
his heels. 324 

Sir To. [To Vio.] There's no remedy, sir; he 
will fight with you for's oath sake: marry, he 
hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and 
he finds that now scarce to be worth talking 
of: therefore draw, for the supportance of his 
vow ; he protests he will not hurt you. 330 



Vio. [Aside.] Pray God defend me! A little 
thing would make me tell them how much I 
lack of a man. 

Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. 334 

Sir To. Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; 
the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have 
one bout with you; he cannot by the duello 
avoid it: but he has promised me, as he is a 
gentleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you. 
Come on; to't. 340 

Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath! 

Enter Antonio. 

Vio. I do assure you, 'tis against my will. 

[They draw.] 
Ant. Put up your sword. If this young gen- 
tleman 
Have done ofFence, I take the fault on me: 
If you offend him, I for him defy you. 345 

Sir To. You, sir ! why, what are you ? 
Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do 
more 
Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 
Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for 
you. [Draws.] 350 

Enter Officers. 

Fab. O good Sir Toby, hold ! here come the offi- 
cers. 

Sir To. I'll be with you anon. 

Vio. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you 
please. 355 

Sir And. Marry, will I, sir; and, for that I 
promised you, I'll be as good as my word: he 
will bear you easily and reins well. 

First Off. This is the man; do thy office. 

Sec. Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of 
Count Orsino. 361 

Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 

First Off. No, sir, no jot; I know your favour 
well. 
Though now you have no sea-cap on your 

head. 
Take him away: he knows I know him well. 

Ant. I must obey. [To Vio.] This comes 
with seeking you: 366 

But there's no remedy; I shall answer it. 
What will you do, now my necessity 
Makes me to ask you for my purse .^ It 

grieves me 
Much more for what I cannot do for you 370 



427 



28 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act III. SC. IV. 



Tliaii -what befalls myself. You stand 

amaz'd; 
But be of comfort. 
Sec. Off. Come^ sir^ away. 

Aiit. I must entreat of you some of that money. 

Vio. What money, sir? 375 

For the fair kindness j^ou have show'd me 

here, 
And, part, being prompted by your present 

trouble, 
Out of my lean and low ability 
I'll lend you something: my having is not 

much ; 
I'll make division of my present wath you: 380 
Hold, there's half my coffer. 
Ant. Will you deny me now? 

Is't possible that my deserts to you 
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my mis- 
ery, 
Lest that it make me so unsound a man 
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 385 
That I have done for you. 
Vio. I know of none; 

Nor know I you by voice or any feature: 
I hate ingratitude more in a man 
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, 
Or any taint of vice whose strong corrup- 
tion 390 
Inhabits our frail blood. 
Ant. O heavens themselves! 
Sec. Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go. 
Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that 
you see here 
I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death, 
Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, 395 
And to his image, which methought did prom- 
ise 
Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 
First Off. What's that to us? The time goes 

by: away! 

Ant. But O how vild an idol proves this god! 

Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature 

shame. 400 

In nature there's no blemish but the mind; 

None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind: 

Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil 

Are empty trunks o'erflourish'd by the devil. 

First Off. The man grows mad: away with him! 

Come, come, sir. 405 

Ant. Lead me on. Exit [with Officers]. 

Vio. Methinks his words do from such passion 

fly. 



That he believes himself: so do not I. 
Prove true, imagination, O, prove true. 
That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you ! 410 

Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, 
Fabian: we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two 
of most sage saws. 

Vio. He named Sebastian: I my brother know 
Yet living in my glass ; even such and so 415 
In favour was my brother, and he went 
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, 
For him I imitate: O, if it prove. 
Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in 
love. [Exit.] 

Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more 
a coward than a hare: his dishonesty appears 
in leaving his friend here in necessity and 
denying him; and for his cowardship, ask 
Fabian. 

Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious 
in it. 42s 

Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat 
him. 

Sir To. Do; cufF him soundly, but never draw 
thy sword. 

Sir And. And I do not, — [Exit.] 430 

Fab. Come, let's see the event. 

Sir To. I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing 
yet. Exit [with Fabian]. 



ACT FOURTH 

Scene I. — [Before Olivia's house.] 
Enter Sebastian and Clown. 

Clo. Will you make me believe that I am not 
sent for you? 

Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow : 
Let me be clear of thee. 4 

Clo. Well held out, i' faith ! No, I do not know 
you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, 
to bid you come speak with her; nor your 
name is not Master Cesario; nor this is not 
my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so. 

Seb. I prethee, vent thy folly somewhere else. 
Thou know'st not me. n 

Clo. Vent my folly ! he has heard that word 
of some great man and now applies it to a 
fool. Vent my folly ! I am afraid this great 
lubber, the world, will prove a cockney. I 
prethee now, ungird thy strangeness and tell 



428 



ACT IV. SC. 



!•] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



29 



me what I shall vent to my lady: shall I vent 
to her that thou art coming? 

Seb. I prethee^ foolish Greek, depart from me: 
There's money for thee: if you tarry longer, 
I shall give worse payment. 21 

Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand. 
These wise men that give fools money get 
themselves a good report — after fourteen 
years' purchase. 25 

Enter [Si?-] Andreiv, \_Sir'] Toby, and Fabian. 

Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again? 

there's for you. 
Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there, and 
there. 

Are all the people mad? 
Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger 

o'er the house. 31 

Clo. This will I tell my lady straight: I would 

not be in some of your coats for two pence. 

[Ea;it.] 
Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. 34 

Sir And. Nay, let him alone. I'll go another 

way to work with him; I'll have an action of 

battery against him, if there be any law in 

Illyria: though I struck him first, yet it's no 

matter for that. 
Seb. Let go thy hand. 40 

Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, 

my young soldier, put up your iron: you are 

well fleshed; come on. 
Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst 
thou now? 

If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy 

sword. 45 

Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must have 

an ounce or two of this malapert blood from 

you. 

Enter Olivia. 

Oh. Hold, Toby; on thy life I charge thee, 

hold! 
Sir To. Madam! so 

Oli. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch. 

Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, 

Where manners ne'er were preach'd! out of 
my sight! 

Be not offended, dear Cesario. 

Rudesby, be gone ! 

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.] 



I prethee, gentle friend, 55 
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
In this uncivil and unjust extent 
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house. 
And hear thou there how many fruitless 

pranks 
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou there- 
by 60 
Mayst smile at this: thou shalt not choose but 

go: 
Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me. 
He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 
Seb. What relish is in this? how runs the 
stream? 
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream: 65 

Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; 
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep ! 
Oli. Nay, come, I prethee; would thou'ldst be 

ruled by me ! 
Seb. Madam, I will. 
Oli. O, say so, and so be! Exeunt. 

Scene II. — [Olivia's house.] 
Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, I prethee, put on this gown and this 
beard; make him believe thou art Sir Topas 
the curate: do it quickly; I'll call Sir Toby 
the whilst. [Exit.] 4 

Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble 
myself in 't ; and I would I were the first that 
ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not 
tall enough to become the function well, nor 
lean enough to be thought a good student; but 
to be said an honest man and a good house- 
keeper goes as fairly as to say a careful man 
and a great scholar. The competitors enter. 

Enter [Sir] Toby [and Maria]. 

Sir To. Jove bless thee, master Parson. 

Clo. Bonos dies. Sir Toby: for, as the old her- 
mit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, 
very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 
'That that is is;' so I, being master Parson, 
am .master Parson; for, what is 'that' but 
'that,' and 'is' but 'is'? 

Sir To. To him. Sir Topas. 20 

Clo. What, ho, I say ! peace in this prison ! 

Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good 
knave. 



429 



30 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act IV. SC. II. 



Mai., within. Who calls there? 

Clo. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit 
Malvolio the lunatic. 26 

Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go 
to my lady. 

Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou 
this man ! talkest thou nothing but of ladies ? 

Sir To. Well said, master Parson. 31 

Mai. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged: 
good Sir Topas, do not think I am mad: they 
have laid me here in hideous darkness. 34 

Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by 
the most modest terms ; for I am one of those 
gentle ones that will use the devil himself 
with courtesy : sayest thou that house is dark ? 

Mai. As hell. Sir Topas. 39 

Clo. Why, it hath bay windows transparent as 
barricadoes, and the clearstores toward the 
south north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet 
complainest thou of obstruction? 

Mai. I am not mad. Sir Topas: I say to you, 
this house is dark. 45 

Clo. Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no 
darkness but ignorance; in which thou art 
more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog. 

Mai. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, 
though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I 
say, there was never man thus abused. I am 
no more mad than you are: make the trial of 
it in any constant question. 53 

Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras con- 
cerning wild fowl? 

Mai. That the soul of our grandam might haply 
inhabit a bird. 

Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion? 

Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way 
approve his opinion. 60 

Clo. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in dark- 
ness: thou shalt hold th' opinion of Pythag- 
oras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to 
kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul 
of thy grandam. Fare thee well. 65 

Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas! 

Sir To. My most exquisite Sir Topas! 

Clo. Nay, I am for all waters. 

Mar. Thou mightst have done this without thy 
beard and gown: he sees thee not. 70 

Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring 
me word how thou findest him. I would we 
were well rid of this knavery. If he may be 
conveniently delivered, I would he were, for 
I am now so far in offence with my niece that 



I cannot pursue with any safety this sport 
to the upshot. Come by and by to my cham- 
ber. Exit [with Maiia^. 

Clo. {^Singing,'] 'Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, 

Tell me how thy lady does.* 

Mai. Fool! 80 

Clo. 'My lady is unhind, perdy.' 

Mai. Fool! 

Clo. 'Alas, why is she so?' 

Mai. Fool, I say! 

Clo. 'She loves another' — ^Who calls, ha? 85 

Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well 
at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, 
ink, and paper: as I am a gentleman, I will 
live to be thankful to thee for't. 

Clo. Master Malvolio? 90 

Mai. Ay, good fool. 

Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five 
wits? 

Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously 
abused : I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou 
art. 96 

Clo. But as well? then you are mad indeed, if 
you be no better in your wits than a fool. 

Mai. They have here propertied me; keep me 
in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and 
do all they can to face me out of my 
wits. loi 

Clo. Advise jou what you say; the minister is 
here. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heav- 
ens restore ! endeavour thyself to sleep, and 
leave thy vain bibble babble. 105 

Mai. Sir Topas! 

Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. 
Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God be wi' you, good 
Sir Topas. Marry, amen. I will, sir, I will. 

Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say! no 

Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? 
I am shent for speaking to you. 

Mai. Good fool, help me to some light and some 
paper. I tell thee, I am as well in my wits 
as any man in Illyria. 115 

Clo. Well-a-day that you were, sir ! 

Mai. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some 
ink, paper, and light; and convey what I will 
set down to my lady: it shall advantage thee 
more than ever the bearing of letter did. 120 

Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, 
are you not mad indeed? or do you but coun- 
terfeit? 

Mai. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true. 

Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I 



430 



ACT IV. SC. II.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



31 



see his brains. I will fetch you light and 
paper and ink. 127 

Mai. Fool^ I'll requite it in the highest degree: 
I prethee, be gone. 

Clo. \_Singing.'] 'I am gone_, sir^ 130 

And anon^ sir_, 
111 be with you again. 

In a trice. 

Like to the old Vice, 
Your need to sustain; 13s 

*Who, with dagger of lath. 
In his rage and his wrath, 

Cries, ah, ha ! to the devil: 
Like a mad lad, 
Pare thy nails, dad ; 140 

Adieu, good man devil.' Exit. 

Scene III. — [Olivia's orchard.] 

Enter Sebastian. 

Seh. This is the air; that is the glorious sun; 
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't; 
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, 
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then? 
I could not find him at the Elephant: 5 

Yet there he was; and there I found this 

credit. 
That he did range the town to seek me out. 
His counsel now might do me golden service; 
For though my soul disputes well with my 

sense. 
That this may be some error, but no mad- 
ness, 10 
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 
So far exceed all instance, all discourse. 
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes 
And wrangle with my reason that persuades 

me 
To any other trust but that I am mad 15 

Or else the ladj^'s mad; yet, if 'twere so. 
She could not sway her house, command her 

followers. 
Take and give back affairs and their dis- 
patch 
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bear- 
ing 
As I perceive she does: there's something 
in't 20 

That is deceiveable. But here the lady 
comes. 



Enter Olivia and Priest. 

Oli. Blame not this haste of mine. If you 
mean well. 
Now go with me and with this holy man 
Into the chantry by: there, before him. 
And underneath that consecrated roof, 25 

Plight me the full assurance of your faith; 
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
May live at peace. He shall conceal it 
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note. 
What time we will our celebration keep 30 
According to my birth. What do you say ? 
Seh. I'll follow this good man, and go with 
you; 
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 
Oli. Then lead the way, good father; and heav- 
ens so shine. 
That they may fairly note this act of mine ! 35 

Exeunt. 
Finis, Actus Quartus. 



ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — [Before Olivia's house.] 
Enter Clown and Fabian. 

Fab. Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see his 

letter. 
Clo. Good Master Fabian, grant me another 

request. 
Fab. Any thing. 5 

Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. 
Fab. This is, to give a dog, and in recompense 

desire my dog again. 

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and Lords. 

Duke. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends? 
Clo. Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings- 10 
Duke. I know thee well: how dost thou, my 

good fellow? 
Clo, Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the 

worse for my friends. 
Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy 

friends. 16 

Clo. No, sir, the worse. 
Duke. How can that be? 
Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass 

of me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an 



431 



32 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act v. SC. I. 



ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the 
knowledge of myself, and l.y my friends I 
am abused: so that, conclusions to be as kisses, 
if your four negatives make jour two affirma- 
tives, why then, the worse for my friends and 
the better for my foes. 26 

Duke. Why, this is excellent. 

Clo. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you 
to be one of my friends. 

Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me: 
there's gold. 31 

Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, 
I would you could make it another. 

Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. 34 

Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this 
once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. 

Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner, to be 
a double-dealer: there's another. 38 

Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and 
the old saying is, the third pays for all: the 
triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or 
the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you 
in mind; one, two, three. 43 

Duke. You can fool no more money out of me 
at this throw: if you will let your lady know 
I am here to speak with her, and bring her 
along with you, it may awake my bounty fur- 
ther. 47 

Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I 
come again. I go, sir; but I would not have 
you to think that my desire of having is the 
sin of covetousness: but, as you say, sir, let 
your bounty take a nap. I will awake it anon. 

Exit. 52 

Enter Antonio and Officers. 

Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue 
me. 

Duke. That face of his I do remember well; 
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd 55 
As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war: 
A bawbling vessel was he captain of. 
For shallow draught and bulk unprizable; 
With which such scathful grapple did he make 
With the most noble bottom of our fleet, 60 
That very envy and the tongue of loss 
Cried fame and honour on him. What's the 
matter ? 

First Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio 

That took the Phoenix and her fraught from 
Candy; 



And tliis is he that did the Tiger board, 65 
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg: 
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and 

state. 
In private brabble did we apprehend him. 
Vio. He did me kindness, sir, drew on my 

side; 
But in conclusion put strange speech upon 

me: 70 

I know not what 'twas but distraction. 
Duke. . Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief ! 
What foolish boldness brought thee to their 

mercies. 
Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear. 
Hast made thine enemies? 
Ant. Orsino, noble sir, 75 

Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you 

give me: 
Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, 
Though I confess, on base and ground enough, 
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me 

hither : 
That most ingrateful boy there by your side, 
From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy 

mouth 8r 

Did I redeem; a wrack past hope he was: 
His life I gave him and did thereto add 
My love, without retention or restraint, 
All his in dedication; for his sake 85 

Did I expose myself, pure for his love. 
Into the danger of this adverse town; 
Drew to defend him when he was beset: 
Where being apprehended, his false cunning. 
Not meaning to partake with me in danger, 90 
Taught him to face me out of his acquaint- 
ance. 
And grew a twenty years removed thing 
While one would wink; denied me mine own 

purse. 
Which I had recommended to his use 
Not half an hour before. 
Vio. How can this be? 95 

Duke. When came he to this town? 
Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months 

before. 
No interim, not a minute's vacancy. 
Both day and night did we keep company. 

Enter Olivia and Attendants. 

Duke. Here comes the countess: now heaven 
walks on earth. 100 



432 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



But for thee, fellow; fellow, thy words are 

madness : 
Three months this youth hath tended upon 

me; 
But more of that anon. Take him aside. 
Oli. What would my lord, but that he may not 
have, 
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? 105 

Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
Vio. Madam ! 
Duke. Gracious Olivia, — 
Oli. What do you say, Cesario? Good my 

lord, — ■ 
Vio. My lord would speak; my duty hushes 
me. no 

Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, 
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear 
As howling after music. 
Duke. Still so cruel? 

Oli. Still so constant, lord. 

Duke. What, to perverseness ? you uncivil lady. 
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 116 
My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath 

breath'd out 
That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I 
do? 
Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall 

become him. 

Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do 

it, 120 

Like to th' Egyptian thief at point of death. 

Kill what I love? — a savage jealousy 

That sometime savours nobly. But hear me 

this: 
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith. 
And that I partly know the instrument 125 
That screws me from my true place in your 

favour, 
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still; 
But this your minion, whom I know you love. 
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender 

dearly. 
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, 130 

Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. 
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe 

in mischief: 
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love. 
To spite a raven's heart within a dove. 
Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, 135 
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 
Oli. Where goes Cesario? 
Fio. After him I love 



More than I love these eyes, more than my 
life. 

More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. 

If I do feign, you witnesses above 140 

Punish my life for tainting of my love! 
Oli. Ay me, detested ! how am I beguil'd ! 
Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you 

wrong ? 
Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long? 

Call forth the holy father. 
Duke. Come, away ! 145 

Oli. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay. 
Duke. Husband! 

Oli. Ay, husband: can he that deny? 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah! 
Vio. No, my lord, not I. 

Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear 

That makes thee strangle thy propriety. 150 

Fear not, Cesario; take thy fortunes up; 

Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou 
art 

As great as that thou fear'st. 

Enter Priest, 

O, welcome, father ! 
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence. 
Here to unfold, though lately we intended 155 
To keep in darkness what occasion now 
Reveals before 'tis ripe, what thou dost know 
Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me. 
Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands. 
Attested by the holy close of lips, 161 

Strengthen'd by interchangement of your 

rings ; 
And all the ceremony of this compact 
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony: 
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward 
my grave 165 

I have travell'd but two hours. 
Duke. O thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou 
be 
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case? 
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow. 
That thine own trip shall be thine over- 
throw ? 170 
Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet 
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 
Vio. My lord, I do protest — 
Oli. O, do not swear! 
Hold little faith, though thou hast too much 
fear. 



433 



34 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act 



Enter Sir Andrew. 

Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon! 175 
Send one presently to Sir Toby. 

on. What's the matter? 

Sir And. H'as broke my head across and has 
given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too: for the 
love of God, your help ! I had rather than, 
forty pound I \vere at home. 181 

on. Who has done this, Sir Andrew? 

Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario: 
we took him for a coward, but he's the very 
devil incardinate. 185 

Duke. My gentleman, Cesario? 

Sir And. 'Od's lifelings, here he is! You broke 
my head for nothing; and that that I did, I 
was set on to do't by Sir Toby. 

Vio. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt 
you : 190 

You drew your sword upon me without cause; 
But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 

Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you 
have hurt me: I think you set nothing by a 
bloody coxcomb. 195 

Enter [*Sir] Tohy and Clown. 

Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear 
more: but if he had not been in drink, he 
would have tickled you othergates than he did. 

Duke. How now, gentleman! how is't with 
you ? 200 

Sir To. That's all one: has hurt me, and there's 
th' end on't. Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, 
sot? 

Clo. O, he's drunk. Sir Toby, an hour agone; 
his eyes were set at eight i' the morning. 205 

Sir To. Then he's a rogue, and a passy-meas- 
ures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue. 

Oli. Away with him ! Who hath made this havoc 
with them? 

Sir And. I'll help you. Sir Toby, because we'll 
be dressed together. 211 

Sir To. Will you help? an ass-head and a cox- 
comb and a knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull ! 

Oli. Get him to bed, and' let his hurt be look'd 
to. [^Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby, and 

Sir Andrew.] 

Enter Sebastian. 



Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kins- 
man; 

434 



But, had it been the brother of my blood, 
I must have done no less with wit and safety. 
You throw a strange regard upon me, and 

by that 
I do perceive it hath offended you: 220 

Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
We made each other but so late ago. 

Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two 
persons, 
A natural perspective, that is and is not! 

Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! 225 

How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me. 
Since I have lost thee ! 

Ant. Sebastian are you? 

Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio? 

Ant. How have you made division of yourself? 
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 230 
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebas- 
tian ? 

Oli. Most wonderful ! 

Seb. Do I stand there? I never had a brother; 
Nor can there be that deity in my nature. 
Of here and everywhere. I had a sister, 235 
Whom the blind waves and surges have de- 

vour'd. 
Of charity, what kin are you to me? 
What countryman? what name? what parent- 
age? 

Vio. Of Messaline. Sebastian was my father; 
Such a Sebastian was my brother too, 240 

So went he suited to his watery tomb. 
If spirits can assume both form and suit. 
You come to fright us. 

Seb. A spirit I am indeed; 

But am in that dimension grossly clad 
Which from the womb I did participate. 245 
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek. 
And say 'Thrice-welcome, drowned Viola !* 

Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 

Seb. And so had mine. 250 

Vio. And died that day when Viola from her 
birth 
Had number'd thirteen years. 

Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
He finished indeed his mortal act 
That day that made my sister thirteen years. 

Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both 256 
But this my masculine usurp'd attire. 
Do not embrace me till each circumstance 
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump 
That I am Viola: which to confirm, 260 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



35 



I'll bring you to a captain in this town, 
Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gentle 

help 
I was preserv'd to serve this noble count. 
All the occurrence of my fortune since 
Hath been between this lady and this lord. 265 

Seb. [To Olivia.] So comes it, lady, you have 
been mistook: 
But nature to her bias drew in that. 
You would have been contracted to a maid; 
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd. 
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 270 

Dujie. Be not amaz'd; right noble is his blood. 
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 
I shall have share in this most happy wrack. 

[To Viola.] Boy, thou hast said to me a thou- 
sand times 
Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. 

Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear; 276 
And all those swearings keep as true in soul 
As doth that orbed continent the fire 
That severs day from night. 

Duke. Give me thy hand; 

And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 280 

Vio. The captain that did bring me first on 
shore 
Hath my maid's garments: he upon some ac- 
tion 
Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit, 
A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 

Oli. He shall enlarge him: fetch Malvolio 
hither : 285 

And yet, alas, now I remember me. 
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. 

Enter Clown with a letter, and Fabian. 

A most extracting frenzy of mine own 
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. 
How does he, sirrah? 290 

Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Beelzebub at the 
stave's end as well as a man in his case may 
do: has here writ a letter to you; I should 
have given 't you to-day morning, but as a 
madman's epistles are no gospels, so jt skills 
not much when they are delivered. 296 

Oli. Open 't, and read it. 

Clo. Look then to be well edified when the fool 
delivers the madman. [Reads.] 'By the 
Lord, madam/ — 300 

Oli. How now! art thou mad? 

Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness: and 



your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, 
you must allow Vox. 

Oli. Prethee, read i' thy right wits. 305 

Clo. So I do, madonna; but to read his right 
wits is to read thus: therefore perpend, my 
princess, and give ear. 

Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabian.] 

Fab. [Reads] 'By the Lord, madam, you wrong 
me, and the world shall know it: though you 
have put me into darkness and given your 
drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the 
benefit of my senses as well as your ladyship. 
I have your own letter that induced me to the 
semblance I put on; with the which I doubt 
not but to do myself much right, or you much 
shame. Think of me as you please. I leave 
my duty a little unthought of and speak out 
of my injury. 

The madly-used Malvolio.' 

Oli. Did he write this ? 320 

Clo. Ay, madam. 

Duke. This savours not much of distraction. 

Oli. See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him 

hither. [Exit Fabian.] 

My lord, so please you, these things further 

thought on. 
To think me as well a sister as a wife, 325 

One day shall crown th' alliance on't, so 

please you. 
Here at my house and at my proper cost. 

Duke. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your 
offer. 
[To Viola] Your master quits you; and for 

your service done him. 
So much against the mettle of your sex, 330 
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding. 
And since you call'd me master for so long, 
Here is my hand: you shall from this time be 
Your master's mistress. 

Oli. A sister ! you are she. 

Enter Malvolio [with Fabian]. 

Duke. Is this the madman? 

Oli. Ay, my lord, this same. 335 

How now, Malvolio ! 
Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong, 

Notorious wrong. 
Oli. Have I, Malvolio? no. 

Mai. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that 
letter. 

You must not now deny it is your hand: 



435 



36 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



[act v. SC. I. 



Write from it, if you can, in hand or phrase; 
Or say 'tis not your seal, not your invention. 
You can say none of this: well, grant it then 
And tell me, in the modesty of honour, 343 
Wliy you have given me such clear lights of 

favour. 
Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to 

you, 345 

To put on yellow stockings and to frown 
Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people; 
And, acting this in an obedient hope. 
Why have you sufFer'd me to be imprison'd, 
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, 350 
And made the most notorious geek and gull 
That e'er invention play'd on? tell me, why? 
Oli. Alas, ^lalvolio, this is not my writing. 
Though, I confess, much like the character: 
But out of question 'tis Maria's hand. 355 

And now I do bethink me, it was she 
First told me thou wast mad; then camest in 

smiling, 
And in such forms which here were presup- 

pos'd 
Upon thee in the letter. Prethee, be content: 
This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon 

thee ; 360 

But when we know the grounds and authors 

of it, 
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge 
Of thine own cause. 
Fab. Good madam, hear me speak. 

And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come 
Taint the condition of this present hour, 365 
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall 

not. 
Most freely I confess, myself and Toby 
Set this device against Malvolio here. 
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
We had conceiv'd against him: Maria writ 370 
The letter at Sir Toby's great importance; 
In recompense whereof he hath married her. 
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd 
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge; 
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd 375 

That have on both sides pass'd. 
Oli. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee! 
Clo. Why, 'some are born great, some achieve 
greatness, and some have greatness thrown 



upon them.' I was one, sir, in this interlude; 
one Sir Topas, sir; but that's all one. 'By 
the Lord, fool, I am not mad.' But do you 
remember? 'Madam, why laugh you at such 
a barren rascal? and you smile not, he's 
gagged :' and thus the whirligig of time brings 
in his revenges. 385 

Mai. I'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of 
you. [Ea;it.'] 

Oli. He hath been most notoriously abus'd. 

Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace: 
He hath not told us of the captain yet. 390 

When that is known and golden time con- 
vents, 
A solemn combination shall be made 
Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister. 
We will not part from hence. Cesario, come; 
For so you shall be, while you are a man; 395 
But when in other habits you are seen, 
Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen. 

Exeunt [all except Clown']. 

Clown sings. 

'When that I was and a little tiny boy. 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
A foolish thing was but a toy, 400 

For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came to man's estate. 

With hey, ho, &c. 
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their 
gate. 

For the rain, &c. 40s 

But when I came, alas ! to wive, 

With hey, ho, &c. 
By swaggering could I never thrive. 

For the rain, &;c. 

But when I came unto my beds, ^lo 

With hey, ho, &c. 
With toss-pots still had drunken heads, 

For the rain, &c. 

A great while ago the world begun. 

With hey, ho, &c. 415 

But that's all one, our play is done. 

And we'll strive to please you every day.' 



FINIS 



436 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



37 



NOTES 



ACT I 

i. 4 fall, cadence, a musical term. 
12 validity, value. 

pitch, elevation, height. 

14 fancy, love. 

15 hi^h fantastical, highly imaginative. 

21 turn'd into a hart. An allusion to the story of 
Actaeon, who was changed by Diana into a hart 
and devoured by his own dogs. The legend is given 
in the third book of Ovid's Metamorphoses, which 
Shakespeare probably knew botli in the original and 
in Golding's translation. Orsino is punning on the 
two words, 'hart' and 'heart.' 

26 element, the air. 

heat. Whether this word is a noun or a parti- 
ciple (meaning 'heated') is doubtful. 

31 brother's dead love, love of a dead brother. 

33 frame, mold. 

35 g"olden shaft, the arrow of gold, with which Cu- 
pid inspired love: another borrowing, probably, 
from Ovid. 

38 fill'd, are filled. The subject is 'perfections.' 

39 self, single or same. 

ii. 10 those poor number, a collective singular: 'the 
poor number of those.^ 

15 ArionJ Pope; Orion F. 

25 A noble duke, a conventional phrase used of 
English lords with no reference to moral qualities: 
hence the captain adds the explanation that follows. 

42-44 delivered to the world . . . What my estate 
is, publicly known as regards my position in life. 
Line 43 is parenthetical. 

59 allow, approve. 

62 eunuch . . . mute, figures associated with ori- 
ental courts, especially that of Turkey. Viola, how- 
ever, changed her mind and entered Orsino's house- 
hold as a page. 

ill. 7 except, before excepted. Sir Toby repeats a 
legal phrase suggested to him by Maria's word, 'ex- 
ceptions.' 'Except before excepted' in contracts 
was an abbTeviated way of saying 'except those 
matters already stipulated as not covered by the 
contract.' 

12 and they, if they. Pope altered 'and' to *an' in 
all such cases, but the change is not justified by 
history or grammar. 

20 tali, fine. Maria, in her answer, takes the word 
in its ordinary sense. 

27 viol-de-gamboys, viol da gamba, violoncello. 
30 almost] F; 'all most' Upton. 

natural, like a 'natural' or fool. 

33 gust, taste. 

37 substractors, a drunken perversion of 'detrac- 
tors ' 

43 coistrel, knave. 

45 parish-top. 'A large top was formerly kept in 
every village, to be whipped in frosty weather, 
that the peasants might be kept warm by exercise.' 
(Steevens.) 



45 Castiliano vulg-o, an apparently meaningless in- 
terjection in mock-Italian. Warburton changed 'vul- 

go' to 'volto,' face. 

46 Agueface, probably an intentional corruption of 
Sir Andrew's name. 

65, 67 And. See note on line 12. 

74 buttery-bar, the bar over which ale is dispensed 

from the buttery or ale-cellar. 
85 canary, a sweet wine from the Canary Islands. 
97 tongues, pronounced like 'tongs' (curling-tongs) 

in Shakespeare's time. Hence Sir Toby's jest. 
105 curl by] Theobald; coole my F. 
113 count, Orsino (who has previously been called a 

duke). Count was not an English title and the 

word is used rather vaguely by Shakespeare. 

122 kicke-chawses, trifles; a pluralized corruption of 
French 'quelque chose.' See 2 Henry /F V. i. 29. 

127 galliard, a lively dance. 

130 the mutton to't, u» pun- on the association of 
mutton and caper-sauce. 

137 coranto, another active dance. 

139 sink-a-pace, cinque-pace, a dance. 

144 damn'd coloured stock. What color of stockings 
Sir Andrew refers to is doubtful. Rowe, followed 
by most modern editors, reads 'flame-colored'; 
while 'damson-colored' and 'dove-colored' are other 
conjectures. Probably no more is meant than a 
stocking of any 'loud' shade. 

148 Taurus! That's sides and heart. According 
to the old astrological theory of medicine, contin- 
ued in modern almanacs, the zodiacal sign of 
Taurus actually governed afi^ections of the neck and 
throat. 

iv. 13 no less but, no less than. 
15 gait, way; as in the Scotch 'gang thy ain gait.' 
21 civil bounds, bounds of civility. 
28 nuncio's, messenger's. 
32 rubious, ruby-like, red. 
34 semblative, similar to. 
41 barful, full of hindrances. 

V. 6 fear no colours, fear no enemies ; 'colours' in this 
stock phrase seems to have meant originally the en- 
signs of a hostile army. 
9 lenten, frugal, laconic. 

27 gaskins, breeches, supported by 'points' or laces. 

39 Quinapalus, an imaginary philosopher. 

47 madonna, my lady. 

52 botcher, an unskilful tailor 

61 misprision, misunderstanding. 

62 cucullus non facit monachum, the cowl does not 
make the monk. 

71 proof, trial. 

96 fools' zanies, fools of fools. Zanni (zany) was 
the conventional name of the fool in the Italian im- 
provised farces which had a great vogue in England 
in Shakespeare's time. 
105 leasing, lying. Mercury was the patron of ora- 
tors. 

123 pia mater, the covering of the brain; here used 
for the brain itself. 



437 



38 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



124 What, of what rank. 
136 and, if. See note on I. iii. 12. 
142 crowner, coroner. 

157 sheriff's post, a post set up before the residence 
of a sheriff for purposes of distinctioUo 

166 squash, unripe pea-pod. 

167 codling', immature apple. 

168, 169 well-favoured, good-looking. 

176 S. D. Enter Viola] Fo; Enter Violenta F^. 

187, 188 comptible, sensitive. 

214 skipping-, flight}'. 

217 swabber, a sailor who washes deck. 

hull, to lie in port with sails down. 
255 in grain, dyed in grain (cochineal), fast-dyed. 
268 praise, appraise, 
273 nonpareil, one having no equal. 
279 in voices well divulg'd, well spoken of by pub- 
lic report. 
289 cantons, cantos, songs. 
320 county's, count's. 
329 owe, possess. 

ACT II 

i. 11 determinate, intended. 
12 extravagancy, vagrancy. 

19 Messaline, an imaginary city. Perhaps Messina, 
in Sicily, the scene of Much Ado, was in Shake- 
speare's mind. 

ii.21 That] F^; that sure F2. 

29 preg-nant, resourceful. 

30 proper-false,, falsely handsome. 

34 fadge, fit. 

35 fond, dote. 

iii. 2, 3 diluculo surgere, to rise at dawn. Lilly's 
Grammar, the elementary Latin textbook of Shake- 
speare's time, gives the complete adage, diluculo 
surgere saluherrimuTn est. 
10 life] Rowe; lives F. 

17 the picture of *we three,' a picture of two fools; 
the spectator made the third. 

20 breast, voice. 

24, 25 Pigrogromitus . . , Queubus. If this is not 
utter nonsense. Sir Andrew has corrupted the mean- 
ing past discovery. The passage is suggestive of 
Rabelais. 

27 impeticos thy gratillity] F; impeticoat thy 
gratuity Johnson. The meaning of the clown's 
perversion is that he has pocketed the sixpence. 
The rest of this speech is intentionally mystifying. 

34 testril, a form of 'tester,' sixpence; so called 
after tlie analogy of a French coin which bore the 
head (Old French 'teste') of Louis XII. 

61 three souls out of one weaver. Weavers, mainly 
Protestant immigrants from the continent, were 
famous for their psalm-singing and their thinness. 

63 dog, very proficient; a slang expression. 

80 Catalan, Chinese. 

81 Peg-a-Ramsey, the title of an old song. 
97 coziers', cobblers'. 

101 Sneck up, go hang! 

124, 125 cakes and ale, the regular accompaniment of 
, the old churcli festivals, which Puritans like Mal- 
volio disapproved. 



128, 129 your chain. A gold chain was the steward's 
badge of oflice. Dried bread crumbs were used to 
polish chains. 

146 a nayword] Rowe; an ayword F. 'Nayword' 
means 'byword.' 

161 cons state, learns by heart stately demeanor. 

162 utters, displays publicly. 

swarths, swaths, sweeps of the scythe. 
189 let the fool make a third. It is really not the 

fool, Feste, but Fabian who makes the third. See 

II. V. 
193 Penthesilea, the queen of the Amazons; one of 

the many jokes inspired by Maria's small size. See 

I. V. Sfl8. 
203 cut, a bob-tailed nag. 

iv. 3 antic, quaint, old-fashioned. The modern 'an- 
tique,' which most editors substitute, has a different i' 
accent and significance. 

5 recollected. The precise meaning of this word 
has to be guessed; 'hackneyed' is perhaps the most 
likely. 

25 favour, face. In the next line Viola quibbles on 
the two meanings of the word. 

38 bent, strain, the extent to which a bow can be 
bent. 

47 silly sooth, simple truth. 

54 Fly away, fly] Rowe; Fye away, fie F. 
89 pranks, adorns. 

91 I] Hanmer; It F. 
127 denay, denial. 

V. 6 sheep-biter, a malicious sneak; Malvolio is com- 
pared to a sheep-killing dog. 
14 And, if. See note on I. iii. 12. 
17 metal of India; i. e., gold. 
36 jets, struts. 

48 blows, puffs up. 

55 day-bed, sofa. 

59 travel of regard, gaze around. ' 

92 gin, snare. | 
111, 112 the numbers, the meter. j 
114 brock, badger. > 
124 staniel] Hanmer; stallion F. Staniels were a 

poor species of hawk, much given to 'checking,' 
that is, deserting their proper prey for meaner 
game. 

135 Sowter, a dog's name; literally, cobbler. 

157 born] Rowe; become F. The main reason for 
Rowe's change is that 'born' is given in both the 
repetitions of this passage (III. iv. 45; V. i. 378). 

161 like, likely. 

174 champaign, open country. 

177, 178 point-devise, exactly. 

198 Sophy, the ruler of Persia. 

208 tray-trip, a game at dice. 

226 Tartar, Tartarus, Hell. 

ACT III 

i. 3 tabor, a small drum. 
13 cheveril, kid. 

40 pilchards, fish indistinguishable from herrings ex- 
cept in size — young herrings in fact. 
58 Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, Cressida's uncle and 



438 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



39 



the confidant of Troilus. Shakespeare's play, 
Troilus and Cressida, composed between 1599 and 
1603, is contemporary with Twelfth Night. 

62 Cressida was a beggar, not in Chaucer's tale of 
Troilus and Criseyde, which was Shakespeare's 
main source for the legend, but in a continuation 
of Chaucer in the Testament of Crisseid by the fif- 
teenth century poet Henryson. 

65 welkin, sky; used humorously as a synonym of 
'element,' which frequently had the special sense 
of 'sky.' See I. i. 26. 

71 haggard, an Untrained female hawk, 
check; see note on II. v. 124. 

86 list, limit. 

94 prevented, anticipated. 
102 all ready] Malone; already F. 
123 here] Warburton; hear F. 

131 receiving, understanding. 

132 cypress, a transparent fabric named from the 
island of Cyprus. 

135 grise, step; properly a plural, 'grees,' from 
French 'gre,' step. 

;i. 8 orchard, used in Shakespeare's time in the gen- 
eral sense of 'garden.' 

34 Brownist. Robert Brown (1550-1630-) was the 
founder of an important Puritan sect. 

46 curst, malignant. 

48 thou'st. The use of 'thou' instead of 'you' was 
often an insult. 

50, 51 bed of Ware. Ware in Hertfordshire, twenty 
miles north of London. The famous bed, ten feet 
and nine inches square, was sold at auction in 1864. 

56 cubiculo, probably Sir Andrew's chamber. 

70 youngest wren of mine. Theobald, followed by 
a gre'at many modern editors, changes 'mine' to 
'nine.' 

77 grossness, stupidity. 

85, 86 the new map . . . Indies, supposed to be a 
map published about 1599 in connection with Hak- 
luyt's Voyages and containing new information re- 
garding tiie East Indies. 

iii. 9 skilless, inexperienced. 
15 This line is hopelessly corrupt. The bracketed 
words were inserted by Theobald. It is evident 
that something has been omitted by the printer of 
the Folio. 

iv. 5 sad, serious-minded. 

9 possessed^ possessed of an evil spirit, mad. 
31 Roman hand. The Roman or Italian hand is 
the type of handwriting now universal in England, 
but it was new in Shakespeare's time and was not 
used by the poet. Copy-books of the time say that 
it was particularly favored by ladies. 

78 tang] F^, etc.; langer Fi. See II. v. 164. 
125 bawcock, from French 'beau coq,' fine fellow. 
129 cherry-pit, a child's game, played with cherry 

stones. 
145 taint, spoil, grow staleu 

156 May morning, the special season of merriment. 
194 bum-baily, sheriff's officer. 
209 clodpole, blockhead. 
215 cockatrices. The cockatrice or basilisk was a 



fabulous reptile, said to have the power of killing 
what it looked upon. 

222 unchary, unreservedly. 

out] Theobald; on't F. The latter reading is 
possible. 

227 Goes . . . griefs. Many editors substitute 'grief,' 
but Shakespeare often uses the old northern Eng- 
lish plural verb in -s. 

244 tuck, rapier. 

245 yare, active. 

257 unhatched, a form of 'unbacked,' unblunted. 

258 on carpet consideration. 'Carpet' knights were 
those dubbed on the carpet before the king's throne, 
not on the field of battle. 

263 Hob, nob, from 'hab, nab,' 'have or have not,' at 

random. 
268 quirk, peculiarity, whim. 
274 meddle, try conclusions, fight. Compare the 

Campbell song, 'Wha dare meddle wi' me?' 
302 firago, apparently a form of 'virago.' 
304 stuck, 'stoccado,' a thrust in fencing. 
322 as horribly conceited, filled with as horrible an 

idea. 
337 duello, dueling code. 
349 undertaker, one who performs another person's 

business, a meddler. The modern sense of the word 

is new. 
363 favour. See note on II. iv. 25. 
379 my having, what I have. 
399 vild, vile. 

ACT IV 

i. 19 foolish Greek. This phrase has been much dis- 
cussed, but no one appears to have suggested the 
simplest interpretation. Sebastian, presumably an 
Italian himself, alludes to the Illyrian Feste quite 
properly as a Greek, i. e., an easterner. 

55 Rudesby, rude fellow. 

ii. 41 clearstores, probably 'clerestories' ; but the 
clown is speaking intentional nonsense. The clere- 
story in churches is the highest part of the wall, 
above the aisles. 

56 haply] Capell; happily F. The two words were 
not distinguished in spelling in Shakespeare's time. 

99 propertied me, made a fixture of me. 
103 Malvolio, Malvolio. Here the clown, of course, 
drops his own personality and speaks like Sir Topas. 
112 shent, blamed. 

iii. 6 credit, report which can be credited. 
12 discourse, reason. 
21 deceivable, deceptive. 
29 whiles, until. 

ACT V 

i. 23 conclusions to be as kisses. 'As it takes two 
persons to make one kiss, so two premises are nec- 
essary for one conclusion.' (Wright.) 

57 bawbling, bauble-like, insignificant. 

58 unprizable, not valuable. 

67 desperate, reckless, state, propriety. 



439 



40 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



68 brabble, brawl. 

74 terms, circumstances, dear, dire. 

112 fat, dull. See 1 Henry IV II. iv. 1. 

121 the Egyptian thief. The allusion is to the rob- 
ber Thy amis in the romance of Theagines and 
Chariclea, translated from the Greek of Heliodorus. 
An English version was published in 1587. 

129 tender, regard, care for. 

136 to do yon rest, to give you relief. 

150 propriety, identity. 

160 joinder, joining. 

168 case, skin. 

198 othergates, otherwise. 

206,207 a passy-measures pavin] Malone; a passy 
measures panyn F. The pavin was a dignified 
dance; 'passy measures' is usually taken to be a cor- 
ruption of the Italian passamezzo, cinque-pace. For 
the latter see I. iii. 139 and note. 



224 perspective, perspective-glass; an optical instru- 
ment by means of which various illusions were 
produced. 

241 suited, clothed. 

244 dimension, bodily figure. 

245 participate, partake of, possess. 
256 lets, hinders. 

278 orbed continent, the sun. 

288 extracting, supposed to mean 'distracting.' 

302 and, if. 

307 perpend, consider. 

327 proper, own. 

351 geek, fool. 

371 Importance, importunity. 

391 convents, probably 'is convenient.' 

898-417 The closing song is generally regarded as an 
old one not written by Shakespeare. Another ver- 
sion is sung by the Fool in Lear III. ii. 74-77. 



440 



JULIUS C^SAR 



NORTH'S PLUTARCH— In few fields are Eliz- 
abethan enterprise and courage better manifested than 
in the activities of the publishers of the period. In 
their fine fearlessness of chance, their public spirit, 
and devotion to real essentials, as well as in their 
carelessness of petty scruple and not infrequent 
piracies, a true kinship exists between the booksellers 
who launched the most important literary undertak- 
ings of the day and the mariners who carried their 
adventures over hardly less secure or well charted 
seas. To the willingness of the members of the great 
Stationers' Company to undertake risks far larger, 
considering the difficulties of production and the small- 
ness of the reading public, than would to-day be 
thought reasonable we owe the Shakespeare Folio of 
1623 itself as well as the two earlier books which 
provided the foundation of nearly half the plays it 
contained: Holinshed's Chronicles of England, Scot- 
land, and Ireland (1578) and Sir Thomas North's 
translation of the Lives of Plutarch (1579). Appear- 
ing first when Shakespeare was fifteen years old. 
North's book, a sumptuous folio volume, was three 
times reprinted before the poet's death (1595, 1603, 
1612). From it Shakespeare derived the main essen- 
tials of Julius CcBsar and the later Roman plays of 
Antony and Cleopatra and Coriolanus, as well as the 
primary suggestion for Timon of Athens and possibly 
a hint for A Midsummer Night's Dream. 

North's Plutarch was based upon a French version 
by Jacques Amyot (1559), who in his turn translated 
from a Latin rendering of the original Greek. 
Amyot and North were both men of very strongly 
pronounced style and personality, typical examples in 
different ways of sixteenth century feeling; and the 
ultimate fruit of their labors. North's Lives of the 
Noble Grecians and Romans, has its high value less 
in its approximation to Plutarch's thought than as 
one of the most impressive pieces of English prose 
which the Elizabethan era can exhibit. It was as 
such that Shakespeare paid it a larger tribute of 
imitation than he offered during his maturity to any 
other work. Julius CcBsar is founded upon North's 
version of the life of Marcus Brutus and the last 



fifth of the life of Caesar. Of course, Shakespeare 
fills in the portraits of many characters very lightly 
sketched by Plutarch and he alters historic details in 
the interest of dramatic effect, as when in the first 
act he puts the triumph of Caesar and the feast of 
Lupercal on the same day and in the fifth throws 
together two engagements at Philippi really separated 
by about three weeks. On the whole, however, the 
story of the play is that of Plutarch, the scope of the 
former being determined mainly by the limits of the 
life of Brutus; and though the verbal echoes of 
North's prose are here rather less conspicuous than 
in the two Roman plays which followed, they are 
yet both numerous and striking. A good example of 
North's style is found in his brief account of Antony's 
speech over the dead Caesar, a passage that Shake- 
speare has elaborated with masterly sympathy and 
imagination. There is no ground for the idea that 
Antony's oration in Act III owes anything to the 
translation of Appia'n ("An Ancient History and ex- 
quisite Chronicle of the Romans' Wars . . . Trans- 
lated by W. B.," 1578) or to any other source than 
Shakespeare's original genius fired by the following 
words of North's life of Brutus: 

"The second fault (of Brutus) was when he agreed 
that Caesar's funerals should be as Antonius would 
have them: the which indeed marred all. For first 
o"f all, when Caesar's testament was openly read 
among them, whereby it appeared that he bequeathed 
unto every citizen of Rome 75 drachmas a man, and 
that he left his gardens and arbours unto the people, 
which he had on this side of the river of Tiber, in 
the place where now the temple of Fortune is built: 
the people then loved him and were marvellous sorry 
for him. Afterwards, when Caesar's body was brought 
into the market place, Antonius making his funeral 
oration in praise of the dead, according to the an- 
cient custom of Rome, and perceiving that his words 
moved the common people to compassion: he framed 
his eloquence to make their hearts yearn the more, 
and, taking Caesar's gown all bloody in his hand, he 
laid it open to the sight of them all, shewing what a 
number of cuts and holes it had upon it. Therewithal 



441 



2 



JULIUS C^SAR 



the people fell presently into such a rage and mutiny, 
that there was no more order kept amongst the com- 
mon people. For some of them cried out, 'Kill the 
murderers': others plucked up forms, tables, and stalls 
about the market place, as they had done before at 
the funerals of Clodius, and having laid them all on 
a heap together they set them on fire, and thereupon 
did put the body of Caesar, and burnt it in the midst 
of the most holy places. And furthermore, when the 
fire was thoroughly kindled, some here, some there, 
took burning firebrands, and ran with them to the 
murderers' houses that had killed him, to set them 
afire." 

Xo single short extract can adequately represent 
either the charm of North's style or the masterly 
manner in which Shakespeare has adapted it to dra- 
matic requirements. An edition of the lives of Cae- 
sar and Brutus, published in the Shakespeare Clas- 
sics series (1909) indicates by marginal symbols the 
passages used by the poet, and should be consulted 
by those interested in studying what is probably 
Shakespeare's finest achievement in the utilization of 
source material. 

SIXTEENTH CENTURY OPINION OF CE- 
SAR'S CHARACTER— It is entertaining to specu- 
late on the extent to which the play of Julius Ccesar 
might have been different, had Shakespeare, like 
present-day schoolboys, been early brought into con- 
tact with Caesar's impressive but modest delineation 
of himself in the Commentaries. The Gallic War 
had indeed been translated by Arthur Golding 
(1565), to whose version of Ovid the poet owes a 
considerable debt; but there is no evidence that 
Shakespeare knew Golding's Caesar. Nor, we may 
be sure, had he read any part of the Commentaries 
in the original, for Caesar, unlike Ovid, was not a 
usual subject of study in sixteenth century schools. 
The earliest Latin text of Caesar published in Eng- 
land, of which either the British Museum or Bodleian 
library possesses a copy, did not appear till just 
before the year 1700. 

The Caesar known to the ordinary Elizabethan was, 
like the very un-Homeric Achilles who figures in 
Shakespeare's play of Troilus and Cressida, not the 
real hero of antiquity, but a pompous braggart cre- 
ated in large part by the misconceptions of later 
writers. For any reader acquainted with the Caesar 
whom all modern historians unite with Professor Fer- 
rero in acclaiming as "a man whose powers have 
seldom or never been equaled in history," there is 
something almost shocking in the condescension of 
Shakespeare's earlier plays, which gibe at "the hook- 



nosed fellow of Rome" {2 Henry IV IV. iii. 45, 46) 
and repeatedly ridicule "Caesar's thrasonical brag* of 
'I came, saw, and overcame' " (As You Like It V. 
ii. 34, 35; Love's Labour's Lost IV. 1. 68-71). The 
same undervaluing of the hero — a trait in general 
quite foreign to Shakespeare's spirit — is found in the 
play which bears Caesar's name; and the fault can- 
not justly be ascribed to Plutarch, for the latter, 
though he manifests little personal enthusiasm for 
Caesar, is not essentially unfair in his portrait. 

In order to understand Shakespeare's treatment 
of Caesar we must consider the list of Renascence 
dramas which had introduced the Roman conqueror 
to the sixteenth century public. The first work of 
the kind was a Latin tragedy, Julius CcBsar, by a 
classically named Frenchman, Marc Antoine Muret, 
published in 1553, eleven years before Shakespeare's 
birth. Though Shakespeare most likely never heard 
of Muret or saw his drama, there is little doubt that 
his conception of Caesar was deeply impregnated 
with the ideas which Muret made conventional. Six- 
teenth century academic tragedy, both in France and 
England, developed in close discipleship to the luridly 
sensational Latin plays ascribed to the philosopher 
Seneca; and Professor H. M. Ayres has shown 
("Shakespeare's Julius Caesar in the Light of some 
other Versions," Publications of the Modern Lan- 
guage Association, 1910) that Muret's Caesar is essen- 
tially a replica of the boastful Hercules in Seneca's 
Hercules (Etoeus. It was not historic or psycholog- 
ical truth that Muret and the succeeding Senecan 
dramatists desired, but the opportunity for violent 
declamation and melodramatic horror. Caesar, there- 
fore, appealed to them, not because he was a great 
man, but because he gained spectacular successes and 
suffered a ghastly end. 

Jacques Grevin's Cesar, in French (acted 1558, 
printed 1561), followed Muret and maintained the 
same tradition, which rapidly passed to England. 
On February 1, 1563, a play of July us Sesar (now 
lost) was acted at court. In 1582 a Latin drama, 
Epilogus Caesaris Interfecti, by Richard Eedes (like- 
wise lost) was performed at Christ Church, Oxford. 
A later English play. Sir William Alexander's Trag- 
edy of Julius Cwsar, printed in 1607 and probably 
composed a few years after Shakespeare's like-named 
drama, shows the French-Senecan idea of Caesar as 
strong as ever: it owes nothing whatever to Shake- 
speare, but is deeply indebted to Grevin and another 
Gallic imitator of Seneca, Robert Garnier, whose 
Cornelie touches upon the story of Caesar and Pom- 
pey. A fourth English academic play. The Tragedy 



I 



442 



INTRODUCTION 



of Ccesar and Pompey, or Ccfsar's Revenge, acted at 
Trinity College, Oxford, and printed in the same year 
with Alexander's work (1607) is equally independent 
of Shakespeare, whose Casar it may have preceded 
in time of composition. It alone of the extant non- 
Shakespearean dramas carries the action beyond the 
assassination and funeral of Caesar to the death of 
Brutus. 

These plays show how predominant the idea of the 
Senecan Caesar was when Shakespeare conceived his 
subject. Most important of all in its bearing upon 
the Shakespearean tragedy was doubtless the lost 
double play, Ccesar and Pompey and The Second Part 
of Casar which Henslowe's company, the Lord Ad- 
miral's, acted publicly in London in 1594 and 1595. 
The growing point of Shakespeare's imagination was 
the actual theatre of his day. There, in the produc- 
tions of his rivals and associates, he seems to have 
secured most of his inspirations, which he later elab- 
orated out of the books he knew. And when he con- 
structed his play of Ccesar out of the material offered 
by North he carried into the work a prepossession 
concerning the boastful, rather ineffectual Caesar, 
which had become the conventional stage value of the 
character. 

D^r^— 1599 and 1600 are the two years to which 
it is now thought reasonable to assign Julius Ccesar. 
The failure of Francis Meres to mention so strik- 
ing a play in his list of Shakespeare's dramas {Pal- 
ladia Tamia, 1598) is good evidence that it had not 
been acted when Meres wrote. That it was well 
known in 1601 is conclusively shown by an allusion 
in John Weever's Mirror of Martyrs (1601): 

"The many-headed multitude were drawn 
By Brutus' speech that Caesar was ambitious; 
When eloquent ]Mark Antony had shown 
His virtues, who but Brutus then was vicious?" 

Weever's book is stated by the author to have 
been written two years before its publication, which, 
if true with reference to the lines quoted, would 
carry the date of the play back to 1599; and evi- 
dence for the same year is found in the apparent 
allusion to Antony's words, "O judgment, thou art 
fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their rea- 
son" (III. ii. 109) in Ben Jonson's Every Man out 
of his Humour (acted 1599), where one of the char- 
acters remarks, "reason long since is fled to animals, 
you know." The same lines from Antony's well- 
known speech appear to be again echoed in the 
anonymous Sir Giles Goosecap (printed 1600). 

TEXT — The first printed version of Julius Ccesar 
is that found in the 1623 Folio, which is the only 



basis for the modern editions. In such cases it is 
usual for editors to remark that the text is par- 
ticularly free from error, since there are compara- 
tiveh^ few Folio readings which cannot be given 
some sensible interpretation when no conflicting ver- 
sion exists. Only when there are several divergent 
texts is it possible to guess how far the Folio mis- 
represents the poet's manuscript. Several unsatis- 
factory passages are discussed in the notes. 

JULIUS CJESAR ON THE STAGE— Vnder the 
title, Ccesar's Tragedy, a play probably identical with 
this, was acted at court shortly before April 10, 1613. 
In some verses prefixed to the 1633 Folio Leonard 
Digges emphasizes the great stage effectiveness of the 
quarrel scene between Brutus and Cassius (IV. iii.): 

"Or till I hear a scene more nobly take 
Than when thy half-sword parlying Romans spake." 

This scene and the "passions of Juliet and her 
Romeo" Digges selects as illustrations of Shake- 
speare's popular success. In the nineteen years be- 
tween the appearance of the Folio' and the closing 
of the London theatres by the Puritans (1623-1642') 
Julius Ccesar is the only one of Shakespeare's plays 
recorded as acted at court. 

After the Restoration the famous actor and beau, 
Charles Hart (d. 1683), the grandson of Shake- 
speare's sister Joan, acted Brutus in Julius Ccesar. 
The part passed then to Betterton, whose perform- 
ances during the twenty-five years before his death 
in 1710 aroused the greatest enthusiasm. A curious 
attestation of the popular interest in Betterton's 
production of Julius Ccesar is found in the fact that 
six separate quarto editions of the play — the first 
ever printed — appeared between the years 1684 and 
1691, all bearing the names of Betterton's cast and 
intended for the use of play-goers. (See Miss H. C. 
Bartlett's valuable paper, "Quarto Editions of Julius 
Caesar," The Library, 1913.) Unlike most of Shake- 
speare's plays, Julius Casar has remained popular on 
the stage from the time it was first produced, and 
the true version has never been supplanted by spuri- 
ous revisions. The Duke of Buckingham's attempt 
to spin the plot out into two five-act dramas called 
Julius Ccesar and Marcus Brutus respectively (1722) 
and Aaron Hill's adaptation under the title of Bo- 
man Revenge (1753), like Voltaire's effort at im- 
provement in his "translation" of the first three acts 
and his Mort de C6sar, hardly checked the popular 
appeal of the original play. 

The famous Peg Woffington acted Portia in a 
number of performances about 1750. Mrs. Sid- 
dons's brother, J. P. Kemble, was famous as Brutus 



443 



JULIUS CiESAR 



between 1S12 and 1817, and the part was continued 
by his younger brother Charles till 1837. Macready 
first appeared in the play at the Covent Garden the- 
atre about 1818, taking the part of Cassius, which 
he later exchanged for that of Brutus. Of his last 
performance of Brutus, at the time of his retire- 
ment in 1851, he writes: "Acted Brutus as I never 
— no, never — acted it before, in regard to dignified 
familiarity of dialogue or enthusiastic inspiration of 
lofty purpose. ... I think the audience felt it." 
The scholarly revivals of Samuel Phelps at Sadler's 
Wells (London) concluded in a farewell perform- 
ance of Brutus, Nov. 6, 1862. In 1898 and again in 
1900, a magnificently staged production of the play 
was given at His Majesty's Theatre by Sir Herbert 
Tree, who chose the part of Antony, the latter acts 
being cut so as to accentuate the importance of that 
character. The same scenery and costumes were em- 
ployed in Richard Mansfield's production, which be- 
gan at Chicago, 1902, and continued in various Amer- 
ican cities. The first of the many American 
performances of the play was given in Charleston, 
S. C, April 20, 1774. During the third quarter of 
the nineteenth century Edwin Booth was famous in 
each of the three parts, Brutus, Antony, and Cassius, 
At present performances are frequently given in 
America by R. B. Mantell and by the Ben Greet 
players; through the English provinces by the excel- 
lent company of F. R. Benson. 

THE OPINION OF CRITICS— It is doubtful 
whether any of Shakespeare's plays is better known 
to the general unliterary public than Julius Ccesar. 
The striking nature of the plot; the obviousness of 
the great situations, such as the oration of Antony 
and the quarrel of Brutus and Cassius; and the high 
and simple moral plane of the whole have long made 
it a favorite subject of elementary study in schools. 
Vast numbers of persons probably commence their 
reading of Shakespeare with this play, and a great 



many, to whom Hamlet remains quite unintelligible, 
come easily to a deeply beneficial appreciation of Ju- 
lius Casar. This simplicity doubtless accounts for 
the coldness of some of the more subtle critics to- 
ward the play. The worst of English critics, Thomas 
Rymer (1641-1713), selected Ccesar and Othello as 
particular butts for his heavy ridicule of Shakespeare 
in his "Short View of Tragedy; Its Original, Ex- 
cellency, and Corruption. With some Reflections on 
Shakespeare and other Practitioners for the Stage" 
(1693). "Here," Rymer remarks of Julius Ccesar, 
"he (Shakespeare) sins not against nature and phi- 
losophy only, but against the most known history and 
the memory of the noblest Romans, that ought to 
be sacred to all posterity. . . . The truth is, this au- 
thor's head was full of villainous, unnatural images, 
and history has only furnish'd him with great names, 
thereby to recommend them to the world, by vrAl- 
ing over them. This is Brutus; this is Cicero; this is 
Caesar. But generally his history flies in his face, 
and comes in flat contradiction to the poet's imagina- 
tion." It is interesting to find Bernard Shaw virtu- 
ally repeating this attack, with rather more decency 
of expression, in the preface to his Caesar and Cleo- 
jjatra (Three Plays for Puritans). John Masefield, 
on the other hand, comes to the rescue of the play, 
which has had rather less than its due from the crit- 
ics and rather more perhaps from the common pub- 
lic, with some sensible remarks on the diff^erence be- 
tween the Elizabethan and the modern ideas of dra- 
matic construction. He summarizes: "The play is 
generally considered to be the earliest of the su- 
preme plays. Little more can be said of it at this 
time than that it is supreme. There is a majesty in 
the conception that makes it like gathering and 
breaking storm. The cause of the murder Is a great 
personal treachery inspired by an unselfish idea." 

B. 



444 



THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS C^SAR 



[Scene: To the close of Act IV, sc. i, Rome; in Act IV, sc. ii & iii, Sardis in Asia Minor ; 
in Act V, the plain of Philippi in Macedonia. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 



triumvirs after the death of Julius 
Caesar. 



senators. 



conspirators against Julius Cae- 
sar. 



Julius Cesar. 
OcTAVius Cesar,- 
Mark Axtoxy, 
Lepidus^ 

Cicero, -^ 

publius, i 

PopiEius Lexa, J 
Marcus Brutus, 
Caius Cassius, 
Casca, 
Trebonius, 

LiGARIUS, 

Decius Brutus, 
Metellus Cimber 

ClXXA, 

Flavius and Marullus, tribunes. 
Artemidorus, a sophist. 
A Soothsayer. 

ACT FIRST 



Scene I. — [Rome. A street.'] 

Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners 
over the stage. 

Flav. Hence ! home, you idle creatures, get you 
home: 
Is this a holiday.'* what! know you not. 
Being mechanical, you ought not walk 
Upon a labouring day without the sign 
Of your profession.^ Speak, what trade art 
thou? 5 

First Com. Why, sir, a carpenter. 

Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? 
What dost thou with thy best apparel on ? 
You, sir, what trade are you ? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine work- 



friends to Brutus and Cassius. 



Cinna, a poet. 
Another Poet. 
LuciLius, 

TiTINIUS, 

Messala, 

Young CatO; 

volumnius, 

Vaero, 

Clitus, 

Claudius, 

Strato, 

Lucius, 

Dardanius, ^ 

Pindarus, servant to Cassius. 

Calpurkia, wife to Caesar. 

Portia, wife to Brutus. 

Commoners, or Plebeians, of Rome, Soldiers, etc.] 



, servants to Brutus. 



man, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler, n 

Mar. But what trade art thou? answer me di- 
rectly. 

Sec. Com. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use 
with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a 
mender of bad soles. 15 

Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty 
knave, what trade ? 

Sec. Com. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out 
with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend 
you. 

Mar. What meanest thou by that? mend me, 
thou saucy fellow ! 21 

Sec. Com. Why, sir, cobble you. 

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with 
the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's mat- 
ters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I 
am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when 



445 



6 



JULIUS C^SAR 



[act I. SC. I. 



they are in great danger, I recover them. As 
proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather 
have gone upon my handiwork. 30 

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-da}^ ? 
Wliy dost thou lead these men about the 
streets ? 
Sec. Com. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to 
get myself into more w^ork. But, indeed, sir, 
we make holiday, to see Caesar and to rejoice 
in his triumph. 36 

Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest 
brings he home ? 
What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? 
You blocks, you stones, you worse than sense- 
less things ! 40 
O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and 

oft 
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The live-long day, with patient expectation, 46 
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome: 
And when you saw his chariot but appear. 
Have you not made an universal shout. 
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 50 
To hear the replication of your sounds 
Made in her concave shores? 
And do you now jDut on your best attire? 
And do you now cull out a holiday? 
And do you now strew flowers in his way 55 
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? 
Be gone ! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees. 
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
That needs must light on this ingratitude. 60 
Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this 
fault, 
Assemble all the poor men of your sort; 
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your 

tears 
Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. 65 

Exeunt all the Commoners. 
See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd ; 
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
Go you down that way towards the Capitol; 
This way will I : disrobe the images, 
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 70 
Mar. May we do so? 

You know it is the feast of Lupercal. 



Flav. It is no matter; let no images 

Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about. 
And drive away the vulgar from the streets : 75 
So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's 

wing 
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch. 
Who else would soar above the view of men 
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. 80 

Exeunt. 

[Scene II. — A public place.] 

Enter Ccesar; Antony, for the course; Calpurnia, 
Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, 
a Soothsayer [and a crowd of citizens] : after 
them Marullus and Flavius. 

Cces. Calpurnia! 

Casca. Peace, ho ! Caesar speaks. 

Cces. Calpurnia ! 

Cal. Here, my lord. 

Cobs. Stand you directly in Antonius' way. 

When he doth run his course. Antonius ! 
Ant. Caesar, my lord? 5 

Ca^s. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 

To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say. 

The barren, touched in this holy chase. 

Shake off their sterile curse. 
Ant. I shall remember: 

When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd. 10 
Cces. Set on; and leave no ceremony out. 
Sooth. Caesar ! 
Cces. Ha ! who calls ? 

Casca. Bid every noise be still : peace ^''et again ! 
Cces. Who is it in the press that calls on me? 15 

I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music. 

Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear. 
Sooth. Beware the Ides of March. 
Cces. What man is that ? 

Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the Ides of 

March. 
Cces. Set him before me; let me see his face. 20 
Cas. Fellow, come from the throng; look upon 

Caesar. 
Cces. What say'st thou to me now? speak once 

again. 
Sooth. Beware the Ides of March. 
Cces. He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass. 

Sennet. Exeunt all hut Brutus and Cassius. 
Cas. Will you go see the order of the course? 25 
Bru. Not I. 
Cas. I pray you, do. * 



446 



ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some part 
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
Let me not hinder, Cassius^, your desires ; 30 
I'll leave you. 

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: 
I have not from your eyes that gentleness 
And show of love as I was wont to have: 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Bru. Cassius, 36 

Be not deceiv'd: if I have veil'd my look, 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am 
Of late with passions of some difference, 40 
Conceptions only proper to myself. 
Which give some soil perhaps to my be- 
haviours ; 
But let not therefore my good friends be 

griev'd — 
Among which number, Cassius, be you one — 
Nor construe any further my neglect, 45 

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war. 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. 

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your 
passion; 
By means whereof this breast of mine hath 

buried 
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 50 
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face.^ 

Bru. No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself. 
But by reflection, by some other things. 

Cas. 'Tis just: 

And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 55 

That you have no such mirrors as will turn 
Your hidden worthiness into your eye. 
That you might see your shadow. I have 

heard, 
Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus 
And groaning underneath this age's yoke, 61 
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, 
Cassius, 
That you would have me seek into myself 
For that which is not in me ? 65 

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to 
hear: 
And since you know you cannot see yourself 
So well as by reflection, I, your glass. 
Will modestly discover to yourself 
That of yourself which you yet know not of. 70 
And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus : 



Were I a common laugher, or did use 

To stale with ordinary oaths my love 

To every new protester; if you know 

That I do fawn on men and hug them hard 75 

And after scandal them, or if you know 

That I profess myself in banqueting 

To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. 

Flourish, and shout. 

Bru. What means this shouting ? I do fear, the 
people 
Choose Caesar for their king. 

Cas. Ay, do you fear it.^ 80 

Then must I think you would not have it so. 

Bru. I would not, Cassius ; yet I love him well. 
But wherefore do you hold me here so long? 
What is it that you would impart to me ? 
If it be aught toward the general good, 85 

Set honour in one eye and death i' th' other. 
And I will look on both indifferently, 
For let the gods so speed me as I love 
The name of honour more than I fear death. 

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 90 
As well as I do know your outward favour. 
Well, honour is the subject of my story. 
I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life; but, for my single self, 
I had as lief not be as live to be 95 

In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Caesar; so were you: 
We both have fed as well, and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he : 
For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 100 

The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
Caesar said to me 'Barest thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me into this angry flood. 
And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word. 
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in 105 

And bade him follow ; so indeed he did. 
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside 
And stemming it with hearts of controversy; 
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, no 
Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink !' 
I, as ^Eneas, our great ancestor. 
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoul- 
der 
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of 

Tiber 
Did I the tired Caesar. And this man 115 

Is now become a god, and Cassius is 
A wretched creature and must bend his body, 
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 



447 



JULIUS C^SAR 



[act I. sc. 



He had a fever when fee was in Spain, 

And when the fit was on him, I did mark 120 

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did 

shake : 
His coward lips did from their colour fly. 
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the 

world 
Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: 
Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the 

Romans 125 

Mark him and write his speeches in their 

books, 
Alas, it cried 'Give me some drink, Titinius,' 
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me 
A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of the majestic world 130 

And bear the palm alone. Shout. Flourish. 
Bru. Another general shout ! 

I do believe that these applauses are 

For some new honours that are heap'd on 

Caesar. 
Cas. Wh}^, man, he doth bestride the narrow 

world 135 

Like a Colossus, and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
Men at some time are masters of their fates: 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 140 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that 

'Caesar'? 
Why should that name be sounded more than 

yours } 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name; 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 147 
Now, in the names of all the gods at once. 
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed. 
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art 

sham'd ! 150 

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
When went there by an age, since the great 

flood. 
But it was fam'd with more than with one 

man? 
When could they say till now, that talk'd of 

Rome, 
That her wide walks encompass'd but one 

man? 155 

Now is it Rome indeed and room enough. 
When there is in it but one only man. 



O, you and I have heard our fathers say. 
There was a Brutus once that would have 

brook'd 
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 
As easily as a king. 161 

Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; 
What you would work me to, I have some aim : 
How I have thought of this and of these times, 
I shall recount hereafter; for this present, 165 
I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
Be any further mov'd. What you have said 
I will consider; what you have to say 
I will with patience hear, and find a time 
Both meet to hear and answer such high 

things. 170 

Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this : 
Brutus had rather be a villager 
Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
Under these hard conditions as this time 
Is like to lay upon us. 175 

Cas. I am glad that my weak words 

Have struck but thus much show of fire from 

Brutus. 

Enter Ccesar and his Train. 

Bru. The games are done and Caesar is return- 
ing. 

Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve; 
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 180 
What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. 

Bru. I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, 
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, . 
And all the rest look like a chidden train: 
Calpurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero 185 

Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes 
As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 

Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 

Cces. Antonius ! 190 

Ant. Caesar? 

Cws. Let me have men about me that are fat: 
Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights: 
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; 
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. 

Ant. Fear him not, Caesar; he's not dangerous; 
He is a noble Roman and well given. 197 

Cws. Would he were fatter ! But I fear him 
not: 
Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
I do not know the man I should avoid 200 

So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads 
much; 



448 



ACT 



sc. 



II.] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



9 



He is a great observer and he looks 

Quite through the deeds of men; he loves no 

plays. 
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; 
Seldom he smiles^ and smiles in such a sort 205 
As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit 
That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
Such men as he be never at heart's ease 
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves. 
And therefore are they very dangerous. 210 
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd 
Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. 
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf. 
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 
Sennet. Exeunt Caesar and his Train. 

Casca. You pull'd me by the cloak; would you 
speak with me? 215 

Brii. Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanc'd to- 
^ay, 
That Csesar looks so sad. 

Casca. Why, you were with him, were you not? 

Bru. I should not then ask Casca w^hat had 
chanc'd. 219 

Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him: and 
being offered him, he put it by with the back 
of his hand, thus; and then the people fell 
a-shouting. 

Bru. What was the second noise for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 225 

Cas. They shouted thrice: what was the last cry 
for? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Bru. Was the crown offered him thrice ? 

Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, 
every time gentler than other, and at every 
putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted. 230 

Cas. Who offered him the crown? 

Casca. Why, Antony. 

Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 

Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the man- 
ner of it: it was mere foolery; I did not mark 
it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown ; — 
yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of 
these coronets; — and, as I told you, he put it 
by once: but, for all that, to my thinking, he 
would fain have had it. Then he offered it to 
him again ; then he put it by again : but, to my 
thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers 
off it. And then he offered it the third time; 
he put it the third time by: and still as he re- 
fused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped 
their chopped hands and threw up their sweaty 



night-caj)s and uttered such a deal of stinking 
breath because Caesar refused the crown that 
it had almost choked Caesar; for he swounded 
and fell down at it: and for mine own part, I 
durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips 
and receiving the bad air. 251 

Cas. But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar 
swound ? 

Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and 
foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 

Bru. 'Tis very like: he hath the falling sickness. 

Cas. No, Caesar hath it not; but you and I 256 
And honest Casca, we have the falling sick- 
ness. 

Casca. I know not what you mean by that; but 
I am sure Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag 
people did not clap him and hiss him, accord- 
ing as he pleased and displeased them, as they 
use to do the players in the theatre, I am no 
true man. 262 

Bru. What said he when he came unto himself? 

Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he per- 
ceived the common herd was glad he refused 
the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet and 
offered them his throat to cut. And I had 
been a man of any occupation, if I would not 
have taken him at a word, I would I might go 
to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. 
When he came to himself again, he said, If he 
had done or said any thing amiss, he desired 
their worships to think it was his infirmity. 
Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried 
'Alas, good soul !' and forgave him with all 
their hearts: but there's no heed to be taken 
of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, 
they would have done no less. 

Bru. And after that he came, thus sad, away? 

Casca. Ay. 280 

Cas. Did Cicero say any thing? 

Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 

Cas. To what effect? 

Casca. Nay, and I tell you that, I'll ne'er look 
you i' the face again: but those that under- 
stood him smiled at one another and shook 
their heads; but, for mine own part, it was 
Greek to me. I could tell you more news too : 
Marullus and Flavins, for pulling scarfs off 
Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you 
well. There was more foolery yet, if I could 
remember it. 291 

Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca ? 

Casca. No, I am promised forth. 



449 



10 



JULIUS C^SAR 



[act I. SC. II. 



Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow? 

Casca. Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold, 
and your dinner worth the eating. 296 

Cas. Good: I will expect you. 

Casca. Do so. FarcM^ell, both. Exit. 

Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ! 
He was quick mettle when he went to school. 

Cas. So is he now in execution 301 

Of any bold or noble enterprise, 
However he puts on this tardy form. 
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 
Which gives men stomach to disgest his 
words 305 

With better appetite. 

Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave 
you: 
To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
I will come home to you ; or, if you will. 
Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 310 

Cas. I will do so: till then, think of the world. 

Exit Brutus. 
Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see. 
Thy honourable metal may be wrought 
From that it is dispos'd: therefore it is meet 
That noble minds keep ever with their likes; 
For who so firm that cannot be seduc'd? 316 
Caesar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus. 
If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, 
He should not humour me. I will this night. 
In several hands, in at his windows throw, 320 
As if they came from several citizens. 
Writings all tending to the great opinion 
That Rome holds of his name; wherein ob- 
scurely 
Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at: 
And after this let Caesar seat him sure; 325 
For we will shake him, or worse days endure. 

Exit. 

[Scene III. — A street.'] 

Thunder and lightning. Enter [from opposite 
sides] Casca [with his sword drawn] and 
Cicero. 

Cic. Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar 

home ? 
Why are you breathless? and why stare you 

so? 
Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of 

earth 



Shakes lilce a thing unfirm? O Cicero, 
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
Have riv'd the knotty oaks, and I have seen 6 
Th' ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, 
To be exalted with the threatening clouds: 
But never till to-night, never till now. 
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 10 
Either there is a civil strife in heaven. 
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods. 
Incenses them to send destruction. 
Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? 
Casca. A common slave — you know him well by 
sight— IS 

Held up his left hand, which did flame and 

burn 
Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand. 
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
Besides — I ha' not since put up my sword — 
Against the Capitol I met a lion, 20 

Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by. 
Without annoying me: and there were drawn 
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women. 
Transformed with their fear; who swore they 

saw 
Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. 25 
And yesterday the bird of night did sit 
Even at noon-day upon the market-place. 
Hooting and shrieking. When these prodi- 
gies 
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 
'These are their reasons; they are natural;' 30 
For, I believe, they are portentous things 
Unto the climate that they point upon. 
Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: 

But men may construe things after their fash- 
ion. 
Clean from the purpose of the things them- 
selves. 35 
Comes Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow? 
Casca. He doth; for he did bid Antonius 

Send word to you he would be there to-mor- 
row. 
Cic. Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky 

Is not to walk in. 
Casca. Farewell, Cicero. Exit Cicero. 40 

Enter Cassius. 



Cas. Who's there? 

Casca. A Roman. 

Cas. 



Casca, by your voice. 



450 



ACT I. SC. 



III.] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



11 



Casca. Your car is good. Cassius^ what night 

is this ! 
Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. 
Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so? 
Cas. Those that have known the earth so full of 
faults. 45 

For my part, I have walk'd about the streets^, 
Submitting me unto the perilous night. 
And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see. 
Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone; 
And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to 
open so 

The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
Even in the aim and very flash of it. 
Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt 
the heavens ? 
It is the part of men to fear and tremble. 
When the most mighty gods by tokens send 55 
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 
Cas. You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of 
life 
That should be in a Roman you do want, 
Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze 
And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, 
To see the strange impatience of the heavens : 
But if you would consider the true cause 62 
Why all these fires, why all these gliding- 
ghosts, 
W^hy birds and beasts from quality and kind, 
Why old men fools, and children calculate, 65 
I Why all these things change from their ordi- 
nance. 
Their natures, and pre-formed faculties 
To monstrous quality, — why, you shall find 
That heaven hath infus'd them with these 

spirits. 
To make them instruments of fear and warn- 
ing 70 
Unto some monstrous state. 
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man 
Most like this dreadful night. 
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and 

roars 
As doth the lion in the Capitol, 75 

A man no mightier than thyself or me 
In personal action, yet prodigious grown 
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 
Casca. 'Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, 

Cassius? 
Cas. Let it be who it is: for Romans now 80 
Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors; 



But, woe the while ! our fathers' minds are 

dead. 
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits ; 
• Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. 

Casca. Indeed, they say the senators to-morrow 
Mean to establish Caesar as a king; 86 

And he shall wear his crown by sea and land. 
In every place, save here in Italy. 

Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger then ; 
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius : 90 
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most 

strong ; 
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: 
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass. 
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron. 
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; 95 
But life, being weary of these worldly bars. 
Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
If I know this, know all the world besides. 
That part of tyranny that I do bear 
I can shake off at pleasure. Thunder still. 

Casca. So can 1 : 100 

So every bondman in his own hand bears 
The power to cancel his captivity. 

Cas. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? 
Poor man ! I know he would not be a wolf. 
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: 105 
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
Those that with haste will make a might^T- fire 
Begin it with weak straws: what trash is 

Rome, 
What rubbish and what ofFal, when it serves 
For the base matter to illuminate no 

So vile a thing as Caesar ! But, O grief. 
Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this 
Before a willing bondman ; then I know 
My answer must be made. But I am arm'd. 
And dangers are to me indifferent. 115 

Casca. You speak to Casca, and to sucb a man 
That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand: 
Be factious for redress of all these griefs. 
And I will set this foot of mine as far 
As who goes farthest. 

Cas. There's a bargain made. 120 

Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already 
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans 
To undergo with me an enterprise 
Of honourable-dangerous consequence; 
And I do know, by this, they stay for me 123 
In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful 
night. 



451 



12 



JULIUS C^SAR 



[act I. SC. Ill 






There is no stir or walking in the streets; 
And the complexion of the element 
In favour's like the work we have in hand, 
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 

Enter Cinna. 



Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one 

in haste. 
Cas. 'Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait; 

He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so? 
Cin. To find out you. Who's that? Metellus 

Cimber ? 
Cas. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate 135 

To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna ? 
Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is 
this ! 
There's two or three of us have seen strange 
sights. 
Cas. Am I not stay'd for? tell me. 
Cin. Yes, you are. 

O Cassius, if you could 140 

But win the noble Brutus to our party — 
Cas. Be you conteirt: good Cinna, take this 
paper. 
And look you lay it in the praetor's chair. 
Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this 
In at his v/indow ; set this up with wax 145 

Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done. 
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall 

find us. 
Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? 
Cin. All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone 
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie. 
And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 151 
Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 

Exit Cinna. 
Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day 
See Brutus at his house: three parts of him 
Is ours already, and the man entire 155 

Upon the next encounter yields him ours. 
Casca. O, he sits high in all the people's hearts : 
And that which would appear offence in us. 
His countenance, like richest alchemy. 
Will change to virtue and to worthiness. i6o 
Cas. Him and his worth and our great need of 
him 
You liave right well conceited. Let us go. 
For it is after midnight; and ere day 
We will awake him and be sure of him. 

Ea;eunt. 



ACT SECOND 

[Scene I. — Brutus' s orchard.'] 

Enter Brutus, in his orchard. 

Bru. What, Lucius, ho ! 

I cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! 
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! whatj 
Lucius I 

Enter Lucius. 

Luc. Call'd you, my lord? 

Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: 

When it is lighted, come and call me here. 
Luc. I will, my lord. Exit. 

Bru. It must be by his death: and for my partj 
I know no personal cause to spurn at him. 
But for the general. He would be crown'd: 
How that might change his nature, there's th( 

question. 
It is the bright day that brings forth the 

adder ; 
And that craves wary walking. Crown 

him ? — that ; — 
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him. 
That at his will he may do danger with. 
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of 

Caesar, 

I have not known when his affections sway'd 
More than his reason. But 'tis a common 

proof. 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face ; 
But when he once attains the upmost round. 
He then unto the ladder turns his back. 
Looks in tlie clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend. So Caesar may. 
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the 

quarrel 
Will bear no colour for the thing he is, 
Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented, 30 
Would run to these and these extremities: 
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg 
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mis- 
chievous, 
And kill him in the shell. 



452 



ACT II. SC. I 



.] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



IS 



Enter Lucius. 

Luc. The taper burnetii in your closet, sir. 35 
Searching the window for a flint, I found 
This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure. 
It did not lie there when I went to bed. 

Gives him the letter. 

Bru. Get you to bed again; it is not day. 

Is not to-morrow, boy, the Ides of March .f* 40 

Luc. I know not, sir. 

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 

Luc. I will, sir. Exit. 

Bru. The exhalations whizzing in the air 

Give so much light that I may read by them. 45 
Opens the letter and reads. 
'Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake, and see thyself. 
Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress ! 
Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!' 
Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
Where I have took them up. 50 

'Shall Rome, &c.' Thus must I piece it out: 
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe.^ 

What, Rome? 
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
'Speak, strike, redress !' Am I entreated 55 
To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee 

promise ; 
If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 

Enter Lucius. 

\Luc. Sir, March is wasted fifteen days. 

Knock within. 

Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody 

knocks. 60 

Exit Lucius. 
Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 
I have not slept. 

Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
And the first motion, all the interim is 
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: 65 

The Genius and the mortal instruments 
Are then in council; and the state of man. 
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
The nature of an insurrection. 

Enter Lucius. 

Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door, 70 
Who doth desire to see you. 



Bru. Is he alone? 

Luc. No, sir, there arc moe with him. 

Bru. Do you know them? 

Luc. No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their 
ears. 
And half their faces buried in their cloaks, 
That by no means I may discover them 75 

By any mark of favour. 

Bru. Let 'em enter. \^Exit Lucius.^ 

They are the faction. O conspirac}^, 
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by 

night. 
When evils are most free ? O, then by day 
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 80 
To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, 

conspiracy ; 
Hide it in smiles and affability: 
For if thou path, thy native semblance on. 
Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
To hide thee from prevention. 85 

Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Casca, Decius, 
Cinna, Metellus, and Trebonius. 

Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest: 
Good morrow, Brutus ; do we trouble you ? 

Bru. I have been up this hour, awake all night. 
Know I these men that come along with you? 

Cas. Yes, every man of them, and no man here 90 
But honours you; and every one doth wish 
You had but that opinion of yourself 
Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
This is Trebonius. 

Bru. He is welcome hither. 

Cas. This, Decius Brutus. 

Bru. He is welcome too. 

Cas. This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metel- 
lus Cimber. 96 

Bru. They are all welcome. 

What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
Betwixt your eyes and night? 

Cas. Shall I entreat a word? 100 

[Brutus and Cassius'] whisper. 

Dec. Here lies the east: doth not the day break 
here? 

Casca. No. 

Cin. O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon grey lines 
That fret the clouds are messengers of day. 

Casca. You shall confess that you are both de- 
ceiv'd. 105 

Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises. 
Which is a great way growing on the south. 



45; 



14 



JULIUS CiESAR 



[act II. sc. r. 



Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
Some two months hence up higher toward the 

north 
He first presents his fire; and the high east no 
Stands^ as the Capitol^ directly here. 

Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one. 

Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 

Bru. No, not an oath: if not the face of men, 
The sufferance of our souls, the time's 
abuse, — 115 

these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
nd every man hence to his idle bed; 
So let high-sighted tyranny range on. 
Till each man drop l3y lottery. But if these. 
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 120 
To kindle cowards and to steel with valour 
The melting spirits of women, then, country- 
men. 
What need we any sjDur but our own cause. 
To prick us to redress ? what other bond 
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the 
word, 125 

And will not palter? and what other oath 
Than honesty to honesty engag'd. 
That this shall be, or we will fall for it.^^ 
Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous. 
Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls 
That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear 
Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain 
The even virtue of our enterprise, 133 

Nor th' insuppressive mettle of our spirits. 
To think that or our cause or our performance 
Did need an oath; when every drop of blood 
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 137 
Is guilty of a several bastardy. 
If he do break the smallest particle 
Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 140 

Cas. But what of Cicero? shall we sound him? 
I think he will stand very strong with us. 

Casca. Let us not leave him out. 

Cin. No, by no means. 

Met. O, let us have him, for his silver hairs 
Will purchase us a good opinion 145 

And buy men's voices to commend our deeds: 
It shall be said, his judgement rul'd our hands ; 
Our youths and wildness sliall no whit appear, 
But all be buried in his gravity. 

Bru. O, name liim not: let us not break with him ; 
For he will never follow any thing 151 

That other men begin. 

Cas. Then leave him out. 

Casca. Indeed he is not fit. 

4 



Dec, Shall no man else be touch'd but only 
Caesar? 

Cas. Decius, well urg'd: I think it is not meet, 155 
Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar, 
Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him 
A shrewd contriver ; and, you know, his means. 
If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
As to annoy us all: which to prevent, 160 

Let Antony and Caesar fall together. 

Brii. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius 
Cassius, 
To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, 
Like wrath in death and envy afterwards; 
For Antony is but a limb of Caesar: 165 

Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. 
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; 
And in the spirit of men there is no blood: 
O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit. 
And not dismember Caesar ! But, alas, 170 
Caesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends. 
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; 
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods. 
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds: 
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, 175 
Stir up their servants to an act of rage. 
And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make 
Our purpose necessary and not envious: 
Which so appearing to the common eyes. 
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 180 
And for Mark Antony, think not of him; 
For he can do no more than Caesar's arm 
When Caesar's head is off. 

Cas. Yet I fear him; 

For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar — 

Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: 
If he love Caesar, all that he can do 186 

Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar: 
And that were much he should ; for he is given 
To sports, to wildness, and much company. 

Treh. There is no fear in him; let him not die; 
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. 

Clock strikes. 

Bru. Peace! count the clock. 

Cas. The clock hath stricken three. 

Treh. 'Tis time to part. 

Cas. But it is doubtful yet, 

Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; 
For he is superstitious grown of late, 195 

Quite from the main opinion he held once 
Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: 
It may be, these apparent prodigies. 
The unaccustom'd terror of this night, 
54 



; 



ACT II. SC. 



!•] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



15 



And the persuasion of his augurers, 200 

May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 

Dec. Never fear that: if he be so resolv'd, 
I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear 
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, 
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes. 
Lions with toils and men with flatterers ; 206 
But when I tell him he hates flatterers. 
He says he does, being then most flattered. 
Let me work; 

For I can give his humour the true bent, 210 
And I will bring him to tlie Capitol. 

Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch 
him. 

Bru. By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost? 

Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 

Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, 215 
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey: 
I wonder none of you have thought of him. 

Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him: 
He loves me well, and I have given him rea- 
sons; 
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. 220 

Cas. The morning comes upon 's : we'll leave 
you, Brutus. 
And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all re- 
member 
What you have said, and show yourselves true 
Romans. 

Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; 
Let not our looks put on our purposes, 225 

But bear it as our Roman actors do. 
With untir'd spirits and formal constancy: 
And so good morrow to you every one. 

Exeunt all hut Brutus. 
Boy ! Lucius ! Fast asleep ? It is no matter ; 
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 230 
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, 
Which busy care draws in the brains of men; 
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 

Enter Portia. 

Por. Brutus, my lord ! 

Bru. Portia, what mean you ? wherefore rise you 
now? 
It is not for your health thus to commit 235 

Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. 
Por. Not for yours neither. You've ungently, 
Brutus, 
Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at sup- 
per. 



You suddenly arose, and walk'd about. 
Musing and sighing, with your arms across, 240 
And when I ask'd you what the matter was. 
You star'd upon me with ungentle looks ; 
I urg'd you further; then you scratch'd your 

head, 
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot; 
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, 245 

But, with an angry wafture of your hand, 
Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did; 
Fearing to strengthen that impatience 
Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal 
Hoping it was but an effect of humour, 250 
Which sometime hath his hour with every 

man. 
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep. 
And could it work so much upon your shape 
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my 
lord, 255 

Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 

Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 

Por. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, 
He would embrace the means to come by it. 

Bru. Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. 

Por. Is Brutus sick? and is it physical 261 

To walk unbraced and suck up the humours 
Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick. 
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, 
To dare the vile contagion of the night 265 

And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air 
To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; 
You have some sick off'ence within your mind. 
Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
I ought to know of: and, upon my knees, 270 
I charm you, by my once-commended beauty. 
By all your vows of love and that great vow 
Which did incorporate and make us one. 
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half. 
Why you are heavy, and what men to-night 275 
Have had resort to you: for here have been 
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
Even from darkness. 

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 

Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Bru- 
tus. 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Bru- 
tus, 280 
Is it excepted I should know no secrets 
That appertain to you? Am I yourself 
But, as it were, in sort or limitation. 
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed. 



455 



16 



JULIUS CiESAR 



[act II. sc. 






And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in 
the suburbs 285 

Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, 
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 

Bru. You are my true and honourable wife, 
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. 290 

For. If this were true, then should I know this 
secret. 
I grant I am a woman ; but withal 
A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife: 
I grant I am a woman; but withal 
A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. 295 
Think you I am no stronger than my sex. 
Being so father'd and so husbanded? 
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em : 
I have made strong proof of my constancy. 
Giving myself a voluntary wound 300 

Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with pa- 
tience, 
And not m}'- husband's secrets? 

Bru, O ye gods, 

Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 

Knock [within']. 
Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile; 
And by and by thy bosom shall partake 305 
The secrets of my heart. 

All my engagements I will construe to thee. 
All the charactery of my sad brows: 
Leave me with haste. Exit Portia. 

Enter Lucius with Ligarius. 

Lucius, who's that knocks ? 
Luc. Here is a sick man that would speak with 
you. 310 

Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. 

Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how ? 
Cai. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble 

tongue. 
Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, brave 
Caius, 

To wear a kerchief! Would you were not 
sick ! 315 

Cai. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand 

Any exploit worthy the name of honour. 
Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, 

Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. 
Cai. By all the gods that Romans bow before, 

I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! 

Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins ! 322 

Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up 

My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, 



And I will strive with things impossible; 3; 

Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? 
Bru. A piece of work that will make sick men 

whole. 
Cai. But are not some whole that we must make 

sick? 
Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius, 

I shall unfold to thee, as we are going 330 

To whom it must be done. 
Cai. Set on your foot. 

And with a heart new-fir'd I follow you, 

To do I know not what: but it sufficeth 

That Brutus leads me on. Thunder. 

Bru. . Follow me, then. Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — Ccesar's house.] 

Thunder and lightning. Enter Julius Ccesar, in 
his night-gown. 

Cces. Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace 

to-night : 
Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 
'Help, ho ! they murther Caesar !' Who's 

within ? 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. My lord? 

Cces. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice 

And bring me their opinions of success. 
Serv. I will, my lord. Exit 

Enter Calpurnia. 

Cai. What mean you, Caesar? think you to walk 

forth? 
You shall not stir out of your house to-day. 
Cces. Caesar shall forth: the things that threat- 

en'd me 10 

Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall 

see 
The face of Caesar, they are vanished. 
Cai. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies. 

Yet now they fright me. There is one within, 
Besides the things that we have heard and 

seen, is 

Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
A lioness hath whelped in the streets; 
And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their 

dead; 






456 



k 



ACT II. SC. II.] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



17 



Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds;, 
In ranks and squadrons and right form of 

war, 20 

Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; 
The noise of battle hurtled in the air, 
Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, 
And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the 

streets. 
O Caesar ! these things are beyond all use, 25 
And I do fear them. 
CcBs. What can be avoided 

Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods ? 
Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predic- 
tions 
Are to the world in general as to Caesar. 
Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets 

seen; 30 

The heavens themselves blaze forth the death 

of princes. 
Cces. Cowards die many times before their 

deaths ; 
The valiant never taste of death but once. 
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. 
It seems to me most strange that men should 

fear ; 35 

Seeing that death, a necessary end. 
Will come when it will come. 

Enter a Servant. 

What say the augurers ? 

Serv. They would not have you to stir forth to- 
day. 
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth. 
They could not find a heart within the beast. 40 

Cces. The gods do this in shame of cowardice: 
Caesar should be a beast without a heart. 
If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
No, Caesar shall not: danger knows full well 
That Caesar is more dangerous than he: 45 
We are two lions litter'd in one day. 
And I the elder and more terrible: 
And Caesar shall go forth. 

Cal. Alas, my lord. 

Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. 
Do not go forth to-day: call it my fear 50 
That keeps you in the house, and not your 

own. 
We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house; 
And he shall say you are not well to-day: 
Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. 

Cces. Mark Antony shall say I am not well; 55 



And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. 
Enter Decius. 

Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 

Dec. Caesar, all hail! good morrow, worthy 
Caesar: 
I come to fetch you to the senate-house. 

Cces. And you are come in very happy time, 60 
To bear my greeting to the senators 
And tell them that I will not come to-day: 
Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser: 
I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius. 

Cal. Say he is sick. 

Cces. Shall Caesar send a lie? 65 

Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far. 
To be afeard to tell greybeards the truth? 
Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. 

Dec. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some 
cause, 
Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. 70 

Cces. The cause is in my will: I will not come; 
That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
But for your private satisfaction. 
Because I love you, I will let you know: 
Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home: 75 
She dreamt to-night she saw my statue. 
Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, 
Did run pure blood; and many lusty Romans 
Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in 

it: 
And these does she apply for warnings, and 
portents, 80 

And evils imminent; and on her knee 
Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. 

Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted; 
It was a vision fair and fortunate : 
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 85 
In which so many smiling Romans bath'd. 
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck 
Reviving blood, and that great men shall press 
For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. 
This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. 90 

Cces. And this way have you well expounded it. 

Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can 
say: 
And know it now: the senate have concluded 
To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. 
If you shall send them word you will not 
come, 95 

Their minds may change. Besides, it were a 
mock 



457 



1 



18 



JULIUS C^SAR 



[act II. SC. II. 



Apt to be render'd, for some one to say 
'Break up the senate till another time. 
When Caesar's wife shall meet with better 

dreams.' 
If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whis- 
per 100 

'Lo, Caesar is afraid' } 

Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love 
To your proceeding bids me tell you this ; 
And reason to my love is liable. 
Cces. How foolish do j^our -fears seem now, Cal- 
purnia ! 105 

I am ashamed I did yield to them. 
Give me my robe, for I will go. 

Enter Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, Tre- 
honius, Cinna, and Publius. 

And look where Publius is come to fetch me. 

Pub. Good morrow, Caesar. 

Cces. Welcome, Publius. 

What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? no 
Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, 
Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy 
As that same ague which hath made you lean. 
What is 't o'clock.? 

Bru. Caesar, 'tis strucken eight. 

Cces. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 

Enter Antony. 

See! Antony, that revels long o' nights, 116 
Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, An- 
tony. 
Ant, So to most noble Caesar. 
Cces. Bid them prepare within: 

I am to blame to be thus waited for. 
Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Tre- 
bonius ! 120 

I have an hour's talk in store for you; 
Remember that you call on me to-day: 
Be near me, that I may remember you. 
Treb. Caesar, I will: [Aside] and so near will I 
be. 
That your best friends shall wish I had been 
further. 125 

Cces. Good friends, go in,^ and taste some wine 
with me; 
And we, like friends, will straightway go to- 
gether. 
Bru. [Aside] That every like is not the same, 
O Caesar, 
The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon ! 

Exeunt. 



[Scene III. — A street 



the Capitol.] 



Enter Artemidorus, [reading a paper]. 

Art. 'Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of 
Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye 
to Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark well 
Metellus Cimber: Decius Brutus loves thee 
not : thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There 
is but one mind in all these men, and it is 
bent against Caesar. If thou beest not im- 
mortal, look about you: security gives way to 
conspiracy. The migl ' y gods defend thee ! 
Thy lover, 

'Artemidorus.' 
Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, n 

And as a suitor will I give him this. 
My heart laments that virtue cannot live 
Out of the teeth of emulation. 
If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live; 15 
If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. 

Exit. 



[Scene IV. — Another part o.f the same street, 
before the house of Brutus.] 

Enter Portia and Lucius. 

Por. I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house; 
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: 
Why dost thou stay? 
Luc. ' To know my errand, madam. 

Por. I would have had thee there, and here 
again. 
Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do 
there. 5 

constancy, be strong upon my side. 

Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and 
tongue ! 

1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
How hard it is for women to keep counsel! 
Art thou here yet? 

L71C. Madam, what should I do? 10 

Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? 
And so return to you, and nothing else? 

Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look 
well. 
For he went sickly forth: and take good note 
What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. 15 
Hark, boy! what noise is that? 

Luc. I hear none, madam. 



458 



ACT II. SC, 



IV.] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



19 



Por. Prithee, listen well; 

I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray. 
And the wind brings it from the Capitol. 

Luc. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. 20 

Enter the Soothsayer, 

Por. Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou 

been } 
Sooth. At mine own house, good lady. 
Por. What is't o'clock.^ 

Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady. 

Por. Is Caesar 3'et gone to the Capitol? 
Sooth. Madam, not yet: I go to take my stand, 25 

To see him pass on to the Capitol. 
Por. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou 

not? 
Sooth. That I have, lady: if it will please 
Caesar 
To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, 
I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 30 
Por. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended 

towards him? 
Sooth. None that I know will be, much that I 
fear may chance. 
Good morrow to you. Here the street is nar- 
row: 
The throng that follows Caesar at the heels. 
Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, 35 
Will crowd a feeble man almost to death: 
I'll get me to a place more void, and there 
Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. 

Ej:it. 
Por. I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing 
The heart of woman is ! O Brutus, 40 

The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise ! 
Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit 
That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint. 
Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; 
Say I am merry: come to me again, 4S 

And bring me word what he doth say to thee. 

Exeunt. 

ACT THIRD 

[Scene I. — Rome. Before the Capitol.] 

Flourish. Enter Coesar, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, 
Decius, Metellus, Trehonius, Cinna, Antony, 
Lepidus, Artemidorus, Puhlius, and the Sooth- 
sayer. 

Cobs. [To the Soothsayer] The Ides of March 
are come. 



Sooth. Ay, Caesar; but not gone. 

Art. Hail, Caesar! read this schedule. 

Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read. 

At your best leisure, this his humble suit. 5 
Art. O Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a 
suit 

That touches Caesar nearer: read it, great 
Caesar. 
Coes. What touches us ourself shall be last serv'd. 
Art. Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. 
Cces. What, is the fellow mad? 
Puh. Sirrah, give place. 10 

Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the street ? 

Come to the Capitol. 

\_Coesar goes up to the Senate-House. Enter 
Popilius Lena.] 

Pop. I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. 
Cas. What enterprise, Popilius? 
Pop. Fare you well. 

\_Adva71ces to Ccesar.] 
Bru. What said Popilius Lena? 15 

Cas. He wish'd to-day our enterprise might 
thrive. 
I fear our purpose is discovered. 
Bim. Look, how he makes to Caesar : mark him. 
Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. 
Brutus, what shall be done? If this be 
known, 20 

Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back. 
For I will slay myself. 
Bru. Cassius, be constant: 

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; 
For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not 
change. 
Cas. Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, 
Brutus, 25 

He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 

[Exeunt Antony and Trebonius.] 
Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, 

And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. 
Bru. He is address'd: press near and second 

him. 
Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your 
hand. 30 

Ca^s. Are we all ready? What is now amiss 

That Caesar and his senate must redress? 
Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant 
Caesar, 
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
An humble heart,- — [Kneeling.] 



459 



20 



JULIUS C^SAR 



[act III. SC. I. 



I 



Cobs. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 35 

These couchings and these lowly courtesies 
Might fire the blood of ordinary men. 
And turn pre-ordinance and first decree 
Into the law of children. Be not fond. 
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood 40 
That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet 

words. 
Low-crooked court'sies and base spaniel-fawn- 
ing. 
Thy brother by decree is banished: 
If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for 
him, 45 

I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
Know, CtEsar doth not wrong, nor without 

cause 
Will he be satisfied. 

Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my 
own, 
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear 50 
For the repealing of my banish'd brother? 

Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar ; 
Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may 
Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 

C(BS. What, Brutus! 

Cas. Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon: 55 

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall. 
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 

Cobs. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you; 
If I could pray to move, prayers would move 

me: 
But I am constant as the northern star, 60 
Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality 
There is no fellow in the firmament. 
The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks. 
They are all fire and every one doth shine. 
But there's but one in all doth hold his place: 
So in the world; 'tis furnish'd well with men, 
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehen- 
sive ; 67 
Yet in the number I do know but one 
That unassailable holds on his rank, 
Unshak'd of motion: and that I am he, 70 
Let me a little show it, even in this, 
That I was constant Cimber should be ban- 
ish'd. 
And constant do remain to keep him so. 

Cin. O Caesar, — 

Cobs. Hence ! wilt thou lift up Olympus ? 

Dec. Great Caesar, — 

Cobs. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? 75 



Casca. Speak, hands, for me ! 

They stab Caesar. 
Cces. Et tu, Brute! Then fall, Caesar! Dies. 
Cin. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! 

Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets, 
Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out 

'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!' 81 
Bru. People and senators, be not affrighted; 

Fly not; stand still: ambition's debt is paid. 
Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 
Dec. And Cassius tool 

Bru. Where's Publius? 8^ 

Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. 
Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend o] 
Caesar's 

Should chance — 
Bru. Talk not of standing. Publius, gooc 
cheer ; 

There is no harm intended to your person, 90 

Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius. 
Cas. And leave us, Publius; lest that the peo- 
ple. 

Rushing on us, should do your age some mis- 
chief. 
Bru. Do so: and let no man abide this deed. 

But we the doers. 

Enter Trehonius. 

Cas. Where is Antony? 95: 

Tre. Fled to his house amaz'd: 

Men, wives, and children stare, cry out, and 

run 
As it were doomsday. 

Bru. Fates, we will know your pleasures: 

That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time 
And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 

Cas. Why, he that cuts oiF twenty years of life 
Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 102 

Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit: 
So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridg'd 
His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, 
stoop, 105 

And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: 
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place. 
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads. 
Let's all cry 'Peace, freedom, and liberty !' no 

Cas. Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages 
hence 
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over 
In states unborn and accents yet unknown ! 



460 



ACT III. 



SC. I.] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



21 



Bru. How many times «hall Caesar bleed in sporty 
That now on Pompey's basis lies along 115 

No worthier than the dust! 

Cas. So oft as that shall be. 

So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
The men that gave their country liberty. 

Dec. What, shall we forth? 

Cas. Ay, every man away: 

Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels 

With the most boldest and best hearts of 

Rome. 121 

Enter a Servant. 

Brii. Soft! who comes here? A friend of An- 
tony's. 

Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel ; 
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; 
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say : 125 
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; 
Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: 
Say I love Brutus, and honour him; 
Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him, and lov'd 

him. 
If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony 130 

May safely come to him, and be resolv'd 
How Caesar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
So well as Brutus living; but will follow 
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus 135 
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state 
With all true faith. So says my master An- 
tony. 

Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; 
I never thought him worse. 
Tell him, so please him come unto this place. 
He shaF be satisfied; and, by my honour, 141 
Depart untouch'd. 

Serv. I'll fetch him presently. 

Exit Servant. 

Bru, I know that we shall have him well to 
friend. 

Cas. I wish we may: but yet have I a mind 
That fears him much; and my misgiving still 
Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 146 

Enter Antony. 

Bru. But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark 

Antony. 
Ant. O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low? 
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils. 



Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee 
well. 150 

I know not, gentlemen, what you intend. 
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: 
If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
As Caesar's death's hour, nor no instrument 
Of half that worth as those your swords, made 
rich 155 

With the most noble blood of all this world. 
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard. 
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and 

smoke. 
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
I shall not find myself so apt to die: 160 

No place will please me so, no mean of death. 
As here by Caesar, and by you cut off. 
The choice and master spirits of this age. 
Bru. O Antony, beg not your death of us. 

Though now we must appear bloody and cruel. 
As, by our hands and this our present act, 166 
You see we do, yet see you but our hands 
And this the bleeding business they have done : 
Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; 
And pity to the general wrong of Rome — 170 
As fire drives out fire, so pity pity — 
Hath done this deed on Cassar. For your 

part. 
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark 

Antony : 
Our arms, in strength of malice, and our 

hearts 
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 175 

With all kind love, good thoughts, and rever- 
ence. 
Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's 

In the disposing of new dignities. 
Bru. Only be patient till we have appeas'd 
The multitude, beside themselves with fear, 180 
And then we will deliver you the cause, 
Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him. 
Have thus proceeded. 
Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. 

Let each man render me his bloody hand: 
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; 
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand; 186 
Now, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Me- 

tellus ; 
Yours, Cinna ; and, my valiant Casca, yours ; 
Though last, not least in love, yours, good Tre- 

bonius. 
Gentlemen all, — alas, what shall I say? 190 
My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 



461 



22 



JULIUS C^SAR 



[act III. SC. Ic 



That one of two bad ways you must conceit 

me. 
Either a coward or a flatterer. 
That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true: 
If then thy spirit look upon us now, 195 

Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death. 
To see thy Antony making his peace. 
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, 
Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ? 
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 200 
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy 

blood. 
It would become me better than to close 
In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 
Pardon me, Julius ! Here wast thou bay'd, 

brave hart; 
Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters 
stand, 205 

Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. 
O world, thou wast the forest to this hart; 
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. 
How like a deer, strucken by many princes. 
Dost thou here lie ! 210 

Cas. Mark Antony, — 

Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius: 

The enemies of Caesar shall say this; 
Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. 

Cas. I blame you not for praising Caesar so; 
But what compact mean you to have with us ? 
Will you be prick'd in number of our friends ; 
Or shall we on, and not depend on you ? 217 

Ant. Therefore I took your hands, but was, in- 
deed, 
Sway'd from the point by looking down on 

Caesar. 
Friends am I with you all and love you all, 220 
Upon this hope, that you shall give me rea- 
sons 
Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. 

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle: 
Our reasons are so full of good regard 
That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 225 
You should be satisfied. 

Ant. That's all I seek : 

And am moreover suitor that I may 
Produce his body to the market-place; 
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend. 
Speak in the order of his funeral. 230 

Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 

Cas. Brutus, a word with you. 

[Aside to Bru.] You know not what you do: do 
not consent 



240 



462 



That Antonj'^ speak in his funeral: 

Know you how much the people may be mov'd 

By that which he will utter.? 

Bru. By your pardon; 235 

I will myself into the pulpit first. 
And show the reason of our Caesar's death: 
What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
He speaks by leave and by permission. 
And that we are contented Caesar shall 
Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. 
It shall advantage more than do us wrong. 

Cas. I know not what may fall; I like it not. 

Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's bod3\ 
You shall not in your funeral speech blame 

us, 245 

But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, 
And say you do't by our permission; 
Else shall you not have any hand at all 
About his funeral: and you shall speak 
In the same pulpit whereto I am going, 250 
After my speech is ended. 

Ant. Be it so; 

I do desire no more. 

Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 

Exeunt all but Antony. 

Ant. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth. 
That I am meek and gentle with these butch- 
ers ! 255 
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man 
That ever lived in the tide of times. 
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! 
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, — 
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby 
lips, 260 
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue — 
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ; 
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife 
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; 
Blood and destruction shall be so in use 
And dreadful objects so familiar 
That mothers shall but smile when they 

hold 
Their infants quarter'd with the hands 

war; 
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds: 
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 270 
With Ate by his side come hot from hell. 
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice 
Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war; 
That this foul deed shall smell above the 

earth 
With carrion men, groaning for burial. 



265 



be- 



of 



275 



ACT III. SC. I.] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



23 



Enter Octavius's Servant. 

You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? 

Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 

Ant. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. 

Serv, He did receive his letters, and is coming; 
And bid me say to you by word of mouth — 280 
O Caesar!— 

Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. 
Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes. 
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, 
Began to water. Is thy master coming? 285 

Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of 
Rome. 

Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what 
hath chanc'd: 
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; 
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile ; 
Thou shalt not back till I have borne this 
corse 291 

Into the market-place: there shall I try. 
In my oration, how the people take 
The cruel issue of these bloody men; 
According to the which, thou shalt discourse 
To young Octavius of the state of things. 296 
Lend me your hand. 

Exeunt [with Caesar's body']. 



[Scene II. — The Forum.'] 

Enter Brutus and Cassius, with the Plebeians. 

Plebeians. We will be satisfied; let us be satis- 
fied. 
Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, 
friends. 
Cassius, go you into the other street, 
And part the numbers. 

Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay 
here ; 5 

Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; 
And public reasons shall be rendered 
Of Caesar's death. 
1st. Pie. I will hear Brutus speak. 

2nd. Pie. I will hear Cassius; and compare 
their reasons. 
When severally we hear them rendered. 10 
[Exit Cassius, with some of the Plebeians. 
Brutus goes into the pulpit.] 
3rd. Pie. The noble Brutus is ascended : silence ! 



Bru. Be patient till the last. 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me 
for my cause, and be silent, that you may 
hear: believe me for mine honour, and have 
respect to mine honour, that you may believe: 
censure me in your wisdom, and awake your 
senses, that you may the better judge. If 
there be any in this assembly, any dear friend 
of Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love 
to Caesar was no less than his. If then that 
friend demand why Brutus rose against 
Caesar, this is my answer: — Not that I loved 
Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had 
you rather Caesar were living and die all 
slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live 
all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep 
for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; 
as he was valiant, I honour him: but, as he 
was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears 
for his love; joy for his fortune; honour for 
his valour; and death for his ambition. Who 
is here so base that would be a bondman? If 
any, speak; for him have I offended. Who 
is here so rude that would not be a Roman? 
If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who 
is here so vile that will not love his country? 
If any, speak; for him have I offended. I 
pause for a reply. 
All. None, Brutus, none. 38 

Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done 
no more to Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. 
The question of his death is enrolled in the 
Capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he 
was worthy, nor his offences enforced, for 
which he suffered death. 44 

Enter Mark Antony, with Caesar's body. 

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark An- 
tony: who, though he had no hand in his 
death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, 
a place in the commonwealth ; as which of 
you shall not? With this I depart, — that, as 
I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, 
I have the same dagger for myself, when it 
shall please my country to need my death. 52 

All. Live, Brutus! live, live! 

1st. Pie. Bring him with triumph home unto his 
house. 

2nd. Pie. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 

Srd. Pie. Let him be Caesar. 

4^th. Pie. Caesar's better parts 



463 



54 



JULIUS CiESAR 



[act III. sc. 



Shall be crown'd in Brutus. 
1st. Pie. We'll bring him to his house 

With shouts and clamours. 
Bru. My countrymen, — 

2nd. Pie. Peace, silence ! Brutus speaks. 
1st. Pie. Peace, ho ! 

Bru. Good countrj^men, let me depart alone, 6o 

And, for my sake, stay here with Antony: 

Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his 
speech 

Tending to Caesar's glories; which Mark An- 
tony, 

By our permission, is allow'd to make. 

I do entreat you, not a man depart, 65 

Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. Exit. 
1st. Pie. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark An- 
tony. 
3rd. Pie. Let him go up into the public chair ; 

We'll hear him. Noble Antony, go up. 
Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you. 70 

[Goes into the pulpit.] 
Jfth. Pie. What does he say of Brutus? 
3rd. Pie. He says, for Brutus' sake. 

He finds himself beholding to us all. 
Jj.th. Pie. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Bru- 
tus here. 
1st. Pie. This Caesar was a tyrant. 
3rd. Pie. Nay, that's certain: 

We are blest that Rome is rid of him. 75 

2nd. Pie. Peace ! let us hear what Antony can 

say. 
Ant. You gentle Romans, — 

All. Peace, ho! let us hear him. 

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me 
your ears; 

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 

The evil that men do lives after them; 80 

The good is oft interred with their bones; 

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 

Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: 

If it were so, it was a grievous fai^ilt, 

And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 85 

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest — 

For Brutus is an honourable man ; 

So are they all, all honourable men — 

Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me: 90 

But Brutus says he was ambitious; 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 

He hath brought many captives home to 
Rome, 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: 

46 i 



95 
hath 



Did this in Caesar seem ambitious.'^ 
When that the poor have cried, Caesar 

wept: 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; 
And Brutus is an honourable man. 
You all did see that on the Lupercal 100 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown. 
Which he did thrice refuse : was this ambition ? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; 
And, sure, he is an honourable man. 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 105 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You all did love him once, not without cause: 
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for 

him } 

judgement! thou art fled to brutish beasts. 
And men have lost their reason. Bear with 

me; no 

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 
1st. Pie. Methinks there is much reason in his 

sayings. 
2nd. Pie. If thou consider rightly of the mat- 
ter, 
Caesar has had great wrong. 
Srd. Pie. Has he, masters? 115 

1 fear there will a worse come in his place. 
Jj,tli. Pie. Mark'd ye his words? He would not 

take the crown; 
Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. 
1st. Pie. If it be found so, some will dear abide 

it. 
2nd. Pie. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with 
weeping. 120 

Srd. Pie. There's not a nobler man in Rome than 

Antony. 
Ifth. Pie. Now rcark Lira, he begins again to 

speak. 
Ant. But yesterday tie word of Caesar might 
Have stood against the world; now lies he 

there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 125 

masters, if I were dispos'd to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honourable men: 
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose 130 
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you. 
Than I will wrong such honourable men. 
But here's a parchment with the seal of 

Caesar ; 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



JULIUS. C^SAR 



25 



I found it in his closet^ 'tis his will: 
Let but the commons hear this testament — 13s 
Which^ pardon me^ I do not mean to read — 
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's 

wounds 
And dip their napkins in his sacred bloody, 
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 
And, dying, mention it within their wills, 140 
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy 
Unto their issue. 
Ji.th. Pie. We'll hear the will : read it, Mark An- 
tony. 
All. The will, the will! we will hear Caesar's 

will. 

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not 

read it; 14s 

It is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd you. 

You are not wood, you are not stones, but 

men; 
And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad: 
'Tis good you know not that you are his 
heirs ; 150 

For, if you should, O, what would come of it ! 
Jfth Pie. Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony; 

You shall read us the will, Caesar's will. 
Ant. Will you be patient? will you stay awhile? 
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it: 155 
I fear I wrong the honourable men 
Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar; I do 
fear it. 
JftJi. Pie. They were traitors: honourable men! 
All. The will! the testament! 
2nd. Pie. They were villains, murderers: the 
will! read the will. 160 

Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will? 
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
And let me show you him that made the will. 
Shall I descend? and will you give me leave? 
All. Come down, 
2nd. Pie. Descend. 
3rd. Pie. You shall have leave. 

[Antony comes down.~\ 
Jfth. Pie. A ring; stand round. 
1st. Pie. Stand from the hearse, stand from the 

body. 
2nd. Pie. Room for Antony, most noble An- 
tony. 170 
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off. 
All. Stand back; room; bear back. 
Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them 
now. 



You all do know this mantle: I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on; 175 

'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent. 
That day he overcame the Nervii: 
Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger 

through : 
See what a rent the envious Casca made: 
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; 
And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 181 
Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd 
him ! 186 

This was the most unkindest cut of all; 
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab. 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms. 
Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty 
heart; 190 

And, in his mantle muffling up his face. 
Even at the base of Pompey's statue. 
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar 

fell. 
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! 
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 195 
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls, what, weep you when you but 

behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you 
here, 200 

Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with trai- 
tors. 

1st. Pie. O piteous spectacle ! 

2nd. Pie. O noble Caesar! 

3rd. Pie. O woeful day ! 

Jf-th. Pie. O traitors, villains ! 205 

1st. Pie. O most bloody sight! 

2nd. Pie. We will be reveng'd. 

[All.'] Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! 
Kill ! Slay ! Let not a traitor live ! 

Ant. Stay, countrymen. 210 

1st. Pie. Peace there ! hear the noble Antony. 

2nd. Pie. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll 
die with him. 

Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir 
you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 215 

They that have done this deed are honour- 
able: 



465 



26 



JULIUS CtESAR 



[act III. SC. II. 



What private griefs they have, alaS;, I know 

not, 
Tliat made them do it: they are wise and hon- 
ourable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 221 

But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, 
That love my friend; and that they know full 

well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him: 
P'or I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 227 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor 

dumb mouths, 
And bid them speak for me: but were I Bru- 
tus, 230 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
All. We'll mutiny. 235 
1st. Pie. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 
Srd. Pie. Away, then ! come, seek the conspira- 
tors. 
Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me 

speak. 
All. Peace, ho! Hear Antony. Most noble 

Antony ! 
Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not 
what : 240 

Wherein hath Caesar thus desery'd your loves ? 
Alas, you know not: I must tell you, then: 
You have forgot the will I told you of. 
All. Most true. The will! Let's stay and hear 

the will. 
Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 245 
To every Roman citizen he gives, 
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 
2nd. Pie. Most noble Caesar ! We'll revenge his 

death. 
Srd. Pie. O royal Caesar! 

Ant. Hear me with patience. 250 

All. Peace, ho! 

Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks. 
His private arbours and new-plnnted orchards. 
On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, 
And to your heirs for ever, common pleas- 
ures, 255 
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 



Here was a Caesar ! when comes such an- 
other ? 
1st. Pie. Never, never. Come, away, away ! 

We'll burn his body in the holy place. 

And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 

Take up the body. 261 

2nd. Pie, Go fetch fire. 
Srd. Pie. Pluck down benches. 
4th. Pie. Pluck down forms, windows, any 
thing. Exeunt Plebeians [^with the body]. 
Ant. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, 

Take thou what course thou wilt ! 266 

Enter Servant. 

How now, fellow ! 
Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 
Ant. Where is he? 

Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. 
Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him: 270 

He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, 
• And in this mood will give us any thing. 
Serv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius 
Are rid like madmen through the gates of 
Rome. 
Ant. Belike they had some notice of the peo- 
ple, 275 



How I had 
Octavius. 



mov'd them. Bring- 



me to 
Exeunt. 



[Scene III. — A street.] 

Enter Cinna the poet, and after him the 
Plebeians. 

Cin. I dreamt to-night that I did feast with 
Caesar, 
And things unluckily charge my fantasy: 
I have no will to wander forth of doors, 
Yet something leads me forth. 



[Enter Plebeians.] 

1st. Pie. What is your name? ^ 

2nd. Pie. Whither are you going? 
Srd. Pie. Where do you dwell ? 
4^th. Pie. Are you a married man or a bache- 
lor? 
2nd. Pie. Answer every man directly. ic 

1st. Pie. Ay, and briefly. 
4th. Pie. Ay, and wisely. 



4.66 



I 



ACT III. SC. III.] 



JULIUS CiESAR 



27 



8rd. Pie. Ay, and truly, j^ou were best. 

Cin. What is my name? Whither am I going .^ 
Where do I dwell .^ Am I a married man or 
a bachelor.'^ Then, to answer every man di- 
rectly and briefly, wisely and truly; wisely I 
say, I am a bachelor. i8 

2nd. Pie. That's as much as to say, they are 
fools that marry: j^ou'll bear me a bang for 
that, I fear. Proceed; directly. 21 

Cin. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral. 

1st. Pie. As a friend or an enemy? 

Cin. As a friend. 

2nd. Pie. That matter is answered directly. 25 

Jfth. Pie. For your dwelling,— briefly. 

Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. 

3rd. Pie. Your name, sir, truly. 

Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna. 

1st. Pie. Tear him to pieces; he's a conspira- 
tor. 31 

Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the 
poet. 

Jf.th. Pie. Tear him for his bad verses, tear 
him for his bad verses. 35 

Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 

Jfth. Pie. It is no matter, his name's Cinna; 
pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn 
him going. 

Srd. Pie. Tear him, tear him! Come, brands, 

ho! fire-brands: to Brutus', to Cassius'; burn 

all: some to Decius' house, and some to Cas- 

ca's; some to Ligarius': away, go! 43 

Exeunt all the Plebeians. 

ACT FOURTH 

[Scene I — A house in Rome.'] 

Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, [seated at a 

table]. 

• 

Ant. These many, then, shall die; their names 

are prick'd. 
Oct. Your brother too must die; consent you, 

Lepidus ? 
Lep. I do consent, — 

Oct. Prick him down, Antony. 

Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live. 

Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. 5 

Ant. He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn 
him 
But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house; 
Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine 



How to cut off some charge in legacies. 

Lep. What, shall I find you here? 10 

Oct. Or here, or at the Capitol. 

Exit Lepidus. 

Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man, 
Meet to be sent on errands: is it fit. 
The three-fold world divided, he should stand 
One of the three to share it? 

Oct. So you thought him; 

And took his voice who should be prick'd to 
die, 16 

In our black sentence and proscription. 

Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than you: 
And though we lay these honours on this man. 
To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads. 
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, 
To groan and sweat under the business, 22 
Either led or driven, as we point the way; 
And having brought our treasure where we 

will. 
Then take we down his load, and turn him 
off, 25 

Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears. 
And graze in commons. 

Oct. You may do your will ; 

But he's a tried and valiant soldier. 

Ant. So is my horse, Octavius; and for that 
I do appoint him store of provender: 30 

It is a creature that I teach to fight, 
To wind, to stop, to run directly on. 
His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so; 
He must be taught and train'd and bid go 
forth, 35 

A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds 
On abjects, orts, and imitations. 
Which, out of use and stal'd by other men. 
Begin his fashion: do not talk of him. 
But as a property. And now, Octavius, 40 
Listen great things : — Brutus and Cassius 
Are levying powers: we must straight make 

head: 
Therefore let our alliance be combin'd, 
Our best friends made, our means stretch'd; 
And let us presently go sit in council, 45 

How covert matters may be best disclos'd. 
And open perils surest answered. 

Oct. Let us do so: for we are at the stake. 
And bay'd about with many enemies; 
And some that smile have in their hearts, I 
fear, 50 

Millions of mischiefs. Exeunt. 



467 



28 



JULIUS C^SAR 



[act IV. SC. IT. 



[Scene II. — Near Sardis.'] 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, [Lucius,] and 
the Army; Titinius and Findarus meet them. 

Bru. Stand, ho ! 

Lucil. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 

Bru. What now, Lucilius ! is Cassius near ? 

Lucil. He is at hand; and Pindarus is come 

To do you salutation from his master. 5 

Bru. He greets me well. Your master, Pin- 
darus, 

In his own change, or by ill officers. 

Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 

Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand, 

I shall be satisfied. 
Pin. I do not doubt 10 

But that my noble master will appear 

Such as he is, full of regard and honour. 
Bru. He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius; 

How he receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd. 
Lucil. With courtesy and with respect enough; 

But not with such familiar instances, 16 

Nor with such free and friendly conference. 

As he hath us'd of old. 
Bru. Thou hast describ'd 

A hot friend cooling: ever note, Lucilius, 

When love begins to sicken and decay, 20 

It useth an enforced ceremony. 

There are no tricks in plain and simple faith ; 

But hollow men, like horses hot at hand. 

Make gallant show and promise of their met- 
tle; 

But when they should endure the bloody spur, 

They fall their crests, and, like deceitful 
jades, 26 

Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? 
Lucil. They mean this night in Sardis to be 
quarter'd ; 

The greater part, the horse in general, 

Are come with Cassius. 

Enter Cassius and his powers. 

Bru. Hark! he is arriv'd. 30 

March gently on to meet him. 
Cas. Stand, ho! 

Bru. Stand, ho! Speak the word along. 
1st. Sold. Stand ! 

2nd. Sold. Stand ! 35 

3rd. Sold. Stand ! 

Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me 
wrong. 



Bru. Judge me, you gods ! wrong I mine ene- 



mies 



And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother 



Cas, 



hides 

40 



Brutus, this sober form of yours 
wrongs ; 
And when you do them — 
BrUc Cassius, be content; 

Speak your griefs softly: I do know you 

well. 
Before the eyes of both our armies here, 
Which should perceive nothing but love from 

us. 
Let us not wrangle: bid them move away; 45 
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs. 
And I will give you audience. 
Cas. Pindarus, 

Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
A little from this ground. 
Bru. Lucilius, do you the like ; and let no man 50 
Come to our tent till we have done our con- 
ference. 
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our 



door. 
Exeunt. 



[Scene III. — Brutus's tent.] 
Enter Brutus and Cassius. 



have 



wrong a me 



'd 



doth 



appear 



Cas. That you 
in this: 

You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians; 
Wherein my letters, praying on his side. 
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 5 
Bru. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a 

case. 
Cas. In such a time as this it is not meet 

That every nice offence should bear his com- 
ment. 
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you .yourself 
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold n 

To undeservers. 
Cas. I an itching palm ! 

You know that you are Brutus that speaks 

this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your 
last. 
Bru, The name of Cassius honours this corrup- 
tion, IS 
And chastisement doth therefore hide his 
head. 



468 



ACT IV. SC. 



III.] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



29 



Cas, Chastisement! 

Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March re- 
member : 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? 
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 20 
And not for justice.^ What, shall one of 

us. 
That struck the foremost man of all this 

world 
But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes. 
And sell the mighty space of our large hon- 
ours 25 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus .^ 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon. 
Than such a Roman. 
Cas. Brutus, bait not me; 
I'll not endure it: you forget yourself. 
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I, 30 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 
Bru. Go to; you are not, Cassius. 
Cas. I am. 

Bru. I say you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget my- 
self; 35 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no 
farther. 
Bru. Away, slight man ! 
Cas. Is't possible? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 

Must I give way and room to your rash 

choler ? 
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? 40 
Cas. O ye gods, ye gods ! must I endure all 

this ? 
Bru. All this! ay, more: fret till your proud 
heart break; 
Go show your slaves how choleric you are. 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I 

budge ? 
Must I observe you? must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humour? By the gods, 46 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen. 
Though it do split you; for, from this day 

forth, 
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laugh- 
ter. 
When you are waspish. 
Cas. Is it come to this? 50 

Bru. You say you are a better soldier: 

Let it appear so; make your vaunting true. 



And it shall please me well: for mine own 

part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
Cas. You wrong me every way; you wrong me, 
Brutus ; 55 

I said, an elder soldier, not a better: 
Did I say 'better'? 
Bru. If you did, I care not. 

Cas. When Caesar liv'd, he durst not thus have 

mov'd me. 
Bru. Peace, peace! you durst not so have 

tempted him. 
Cas. I durst not! 60 

Bru. No. 

Cas. What, durst not tempt him! 
Bru. For your life you durst not. 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love; 

I may do that I shall be sorry for. 
Bru. You have done that you should be sorry 
for. 65 

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats. 
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty 
That they pass by me as the idle wind. 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied 
me: 70 

For I can raise no money by vile means: 
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart. 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to 

wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile 

trash 
By any indirection: I did send 75 

To you for gold to pay my legions. 
Which you denied me: was that done like 

Cassius ? 
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends. 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts; 81 
Dash him to pieces ! 
Cas. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cas. I did not: he was but a fool that brought 
My answer back. Brutus hath riv'd my 
heart : 85 

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities. 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they 
are. 
Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 
Cas. You love me not. 
Bru. I do not like your faults. 



469 



30 



JULIUS CiESAR 



[act IV. sc. 



I 



Cos. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 
Bill. A flatterer's would not, though they do ap- 
pear 91 
As huge as high Olympus. 
Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come. 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world; ' 95 
Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother; 
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults ob- 

serv'd, 
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and eonn'd by 

rote. 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My sjiirit from mine eyes ! There is my 
dagger, 100 

And here my naked breast; within, a heart 
Dearer than Pluto's mine, richer than gold: 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: 
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know. 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst 
him better 106 

Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 
Bru. Sheathe your dagger: 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; 
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb no 

That carries anger as the flint bears fire; 
Who, much enforced, show^s a hasty spark. 
And straight is cold again. 
Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexetli 
him? 115 

Bru. When 

too. 
Cas. Do you confess so much? 

hand. 
Bru, And my heart too. 
Cas. " O Brutus! 

Bru. What's the matter? 

Cas. Have not you love enough to bear with 
me. 
When that rash humour which my mother 
gave me 120 

IVIakes me forgetful? 
Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth. 

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you 
so. 
Poet. [Within'] Let me go in to see the gener- 



I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd 
Give me your 



There is some grudge between 



not 

125 



_ em, 'tis 

meet 
They be alone. 
Lucil. [JVitJiin] You shall not come to them. 
Poet. [Within] Nothing but death shall stay me. 

Enter Poet, [followed hy Lucilius, Titinius, and 
Lucius]. 

Cas. How now ! what's the matter ? 
Poet. For shame, you generals ! what do you 
mean ? 130 

Love, and be friends, as two such men should 

be; 
For I have seen more years, I'm sure, than 

ye. 

Cas. Ha, ha ! how vildly doth this cynic rhyme ! 
Bru, Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence! 
Cas. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion. 135 
Bmi. I'll know his humour, when he knows his 
time: 
What should the wars do with these jigging 

fools ? 
Companion, hence ! 
Cas. Away, awaj^, be gone! 

Exit Poet. 

Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders 

Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. 140 

Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala 

with you 

Immediately to us. 

[Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius.] 
Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine! [Exit Lucius.] 
Cas. I did not think you could have been so 

angry. 
Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 145 
Cas. Of 3^our philosophy you make no use. 

If you give place to accidental evils. 
Bru. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is 

dead. 
Cas. Ha! Portia! 
Srw. She is dead. 

Cas. How scap'd I killing when I cross'd you 

so? 150 

O insupportable and touching loss ! 

Upon what sickness? 

Bru. Impatient of my absence, 

And grief that young Octavius with Mark 

Antony 
Have made themselves so strong: — for with, 

her death 

That tidings came; — with this she fell dis- 
tract, iss 



470 



ACT IV. SC. III.] 



JULIUS C^SAR 



31 



And^ her attendants absent^ swallow'd fire. 
Cas. And died so? 
Bru, Even so. 

Cas. O ye immortal gods ! 

Enter Boy {^Liicius^, with wine and taper. 

Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl 

of wine. 
I In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. 

Drinks. 

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. 

Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; 

I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. 162 

Enter Titinius and Messala. 

Bru. Come in, Titinius ! Welcome, good Mes- 
sala. 
Now sit we close about this taper here. 
And call in question our necessities. 165 

Cas. Portia, art thou gone.^ 

Bru. No more, I pray you. 

M,essala, I have here received letters. 
That young Octavius and Mark Antony 
Come down upon us with a mighty power, 
Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 170 

Mes. Myself have letters of the selfsame tenour. 

Bru. With what addition? 

Mes. That by proscription and bills of out- 
lawry, ' 
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
Have put to death an hundred senators. 175 

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree ; 
Mine speak of seventy senators that died 
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 

Cas. Cicero one! 

Mes. Cicero is dead. 

And by that order of proscription. 180 

Had you vour letters from your wife, my 
lord? 

Bru. No, Messala. 

Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her ? 

Bru. Nothing, Messala. 

Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 

Bru. Why ask you? hear you aught of her in 



yours , 



185 



Mes. No, my lord. 

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 
Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: 
For certain she is dead, and by strange man- 
ner. 



Bru, Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, 
Messala : 190 

With meditating that she must die once, 
I have the patience to endure it now. 

Mes. Even so great men great losses should 
endure. 

Cas. I have as much of this in art as you. 

But yet my nature could not bear it so. 195 

Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you 
think 
Of marching to Philippi presently? 

Cas. I do not think it good. 

B7'u. Your reason ? 

Cas. This it is: 

'Tis better that the enemy seek us: 
So shall he waste his means, weary his sol- 
diers, 200 
Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still. 
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 

Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to 
better. 
The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground 
Do stand but in a forc'd affection; 205 

For they have grudg'd us contribution: 
The enemy, marching along by them. 
By them shall make a fuller number up. 
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encour- 

ag'd; 
From which advantage shall we cut him off, 
If at Philippi we do face him there, 211 

These people at our back. 

Cas. Hear me, good brother. 

Bru. Under your pardon. You must note be- 
side. 
That we have tried the utmost of our friend's, 
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe: 215 
The enemy increaseth every day; 
We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
There is a tide in the affairs of men. 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to for- 
tune; 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 220 

Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 
On such a full sea are we now afloat; 
And we must take the current when it serves. 
Or lose our ventures. 

Cas. Then, with your will, go on; 

We'll along ourselves, and meet them at 

Philippi. 225 

Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk. 
And nature must obey necessity, 
Which we will niggard with a little rest. 



471 



1 



32 



JULIUS CESAR 



[act IV. SC. III. 



Noble, noble Cassiiis^ 

repose. 

O my dear brother ! 



There is no more to say.'' 
Cas. No more. Good night: 

Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 230 

Enter Lucius. 

Bru. Lucius! My gown. [Ej:it Lucius.] Fare- 
well, good Messala: 

Good night, Titinius. 

Good night, and good 
Cas. 

This was an ill beginning of the 

Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 235 

Let it not, Brutus. 
Bru. Everything is well. 

Cas. Good night, my lord. 

Bru. Good night, good brother. 

Tit. Mes. Good night. Lord Brutus. 
Bru. Farewell, every one. 

Exeunt [all but B7'utus'\. 

Enter Lucius, with the gown. 

Where is thv instru- 



night : 



gown. 



Give me the 
ment? 
Luc. Here in the tent. 

Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? 240 

Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er- 

watch'd. 
Call Claudius and some other of my men; 
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 
Luc. Varro and Claudius ! 

Enter Varro and Claudius. 

Far, Calls my lord? 245 

Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep; 
It may be I shall raise you by and by 
On business to my brother Cassius. 
Far. So please you, we will stand and watch 

your pleasure. 
Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs; 
It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. 251 
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for 

so; 
I put it in the pocket of my gown. 

[Far. and Clan, lie down.'] 
Luc. I was sure your lordship did not give it 

me. 
Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much for- 
getful. 255 
Canst tliou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile. 



And touch thy instrument a strain or two? 
Luc. Ay, my lord, an't please you. 
Bru. It does, my boy: 

I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 
Luc. It is my dut}^, sir. 260 

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; j 

I know young bloods look for a time of rest. 
Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 
Bru. It was well done; and thou shalt sleep 
again ; 
I will not hold thee long: if I do live, 265 

I will be good to thee. Music, and a song. 
This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber, 
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy. 
That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good 

night; 
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake 

thee : 
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy 

ment; 
I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good 

night. 
Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd 

down 
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. 

Enter the Ghost of Ccesar. J 



270 j 
instru- 



comes 

275 



How ill this taper burns ! Ha ! who 
here ? 

I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 

That shapes this monstrous apparition. 

It comes upon me. Art thou any thing? 

Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 

That makest my blood cold and my hair to 
stare ? 280 

Speak to me what thou art. 
Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
Bru. Why comest thou? 
Ghost. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Phil- 

ippi. 
Bru. Well; then I shall see thee again? 285 
Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. 
Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then. 

[Exit Ghost.] 

Now I have taken heart thou vanishest: 

111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. 

Boy, Lucius ! Varro ! Claudius ! Sirs, awake ! 

Claudius ! 291 

L^uc. The strings, my lord, are false. 
Bru. He thinks lie still is at his instrument. 

Lucius, awake ! 



472 



ACT IV. SC. III.] 



JULIUS CiESAR 



33 



Luc. My lord? 

Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so 

criedst out? 295 

Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 
Bru. Yes, that thou didst: didst thou see any 

thing ? 
Luc. Nothing, ray lord. 

Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius ! 
[To Far.] Fellow thou, awake! 301 

Var. My lord? 
Clau. My lord? 
Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your 

sleep ? 
Var. Clau. Did we, my lord? 



Bru. 



Ay: saw you any thing! 



Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 
Clau. Nor I, my lord. 

Bi'u. Go and commend me to my brother Cas- 
sius; 
Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
And we will follow. 
Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. 309 

Ea:eunt. 

ACT FIFTH 

[Scene I. — The plains of Philippi.'\ 
Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army. 

Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered: 
You said the enemy would not come down, 

. But keep the hills and upper regions; 
It proves not so : their battles are at hand ; 
They mean to warn us at Philippi here, 5 
Answering before we do demand of them. 

Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I knov/ 
Wherefore they do it: they could be content 
To visit other places ; and come down 
With fearful bravery, thinking by this face 10 
To fasten in our thoughts that they have 

courage ; 
But 'tis not so. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Prepare you, generals: 

The enemy comes on in gallant show; 
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, 
And something to be done immediately. 15 

Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on. 
Upon the left hand of the even field. 



Oct. Upon the right hand I; keep thou the left. 
Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent? 
Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. 20 

Mai'ch. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army; 
[Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, and others^. 

Bru. They stand, and would have parley. 
Cas. Stand fast, Titinius: we must out and talk. 
Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of bat- 
tle? 
Ant. No, Cassar, we will answer on their charge. 

Make forth; the generals would have some 
words. 25 

Oct. Stir not until the signal. 
Bru. Words before blows: is it so, countrymen? 
Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 
Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, 

Octavius. 
Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good 
words : 30 

Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart. 

Crying 'Long live ! hail, Caesar !' 
Cas. Antony, 

The posture of your blows are yet unknown; 

But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees. 

And leave them honeyless. 



Ant. 



Not stingless too? 



35 



Bru. O, yes, and soundless too; 

For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, 

And very wisely threat before you sting. 
Ant. Villains, you did not so, when your vile 
daggers 

Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar: 40 

You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd 
like hounds. 

And bov/'d like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet; 

Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind 

Struck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers ! 
Cas. Flatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself: 

This tongue had not offended so to-day, 46 

If Cassius might have rul'd. 
Oct. Come, come, the cause: if arguing make us 
sweat, 

The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 

Look ; 50 

I draw a sword against conspirators; 

When think you that the sword goes up 



again ? 



Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds 
Be well aveng'd ; or till another Caesar 



473 



34 



JULIUS CiESAR 



[act v. SC. I. 



Have added slaughter to the sword of trai- 
tors. 55 

Bru. Ccvsar, thou canst not die by traitors' 
hands. 
Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 

Oct. So I hope; 

I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 

Bru. O, if tliou wert the noblest of thy strain, 
Young man, thou couldst not die more hon- 
ourable. 60 

Cas. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such 
honour, 
Join'd with a masker and a reveller ! 

Ant. Old Cassius still! 

Oct. Come, Antony, away ! 

Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth: 
If you dare fight to-day, come to the field; 65 
If not, when you have stomachs. 

Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and Army. 

Cas. Why, now, blow wind, swell billow, and 
swim bark! 
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. 

Bru. Ho, Lucilius ! hark, a word with you. 

Lucil. [Standing forth] My lord? 

[Brutus and Lucilius converse apart.] 

Cas. Messala ! 

Mes. [Standing forth] What says my general? 

Cas. Messala, 71 

This is my birth-day; as this very day 
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Mes- 
sala: 
Be thou my witness that against my will. 
As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 75 

Upon one battle all our liberties. 
You know that I held Epicurus strong 
And his opinion : now I change my mind, 
And partly credit things that do presage. 
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign 80 
Two mighty eagles fell, and there they 

perch'd. 
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands ; 
Who to Philippi here consorted us : 
This morning are they fled away and gone ; 
And in their steads do ravens, crows, and 
kites, 85 

Fly o'er our heads and downward look on us. 
As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem 
A canopy most fatal, under which 
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. 

Mes. Believe not so. 

Cas. I but believe it partly; 90 

For I am fresh of spirit and resolv'd 



To meet all perils very constantly. 

Bru. Even so, Lucilius. 

Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, 

The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may. 
Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! 95 
But since the affairs of men rest still incer- 

tain. 
Let's reason with the w^orst that may befall. 
If we do lose this battle, then is this 
The very last time we shall speak together: 
What are you then determined to do? 100 

Bi'U. Even by the rule of that philosophy 
By which I did blame Cato for the death 
Which he did give himself, I know not how, 
But I do find it cowardly and vile. 
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 105 
The time of life: arming myself with patience 
To stay the providence of some high powers 
That govern us below. 

Cas. Then, if we lose this battle. 

You are contented to be led in triumph 
Thorough the streets of Rome? no 

Bru. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble 
Roman, 
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome; 
He bears too great a mind. But this same 

day 
Must end that work the Ides of March be- 
gun; 
And whether we shall meet again I know 
not. 115 

Therefore our everlasting farewell take: 
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius ! 
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; 
If not, why then, this parting was well made. 

Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus ! 
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed; 121 
If not, 'tis true this parting was well made. 

Bru, Why, then, lead on. O, that a man might 
know 
The end of this day's business ere it come ! 
But it sufficeth that the day will end, 125 

And then the end is known. Come, ho ! away ! 

Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — The same. The field of battle.] 
Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. 

Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these 
bills 



474 



r V. sc. 



11.] 



JULIUS CESAR 



35 



Jnto the legions on the other side. 

Loud alarum. 
!.et them set on at once ; for I perceive 
3ut cold demeanour in Octavius' wing, 
Vnd sudden push gives them the overthrow. 5 
ilide, ride, Messala: let them all come down. 

Exeunt. 



[Scene III. — Another 'part of the field.'] 

Alarums. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 

?. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly ! 
^lyself have to mine own turn'd enemy: 
riiis ensign here of mine was turning back; 
' slew the coward, and did take it from him. 
. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early; 
iVho, having some advantage on Octavius, 6 
Fook it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil, 
^Vhilst we by Antony are all enclos'd. 

Enter Pindarus. 

',. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off"; 
^lark Antom^ is in your tents, my lord: 10 
^ly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off. 
i. This hill is far enough. Look, look, 

Titinius ; 
^re those my tents where I perceive the fire? 
. They are, my lord. 

?. Titinius, if thou lovest me, 

^lount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in 

him, 15 

Pill he have brought thee up to yonder troops, 
^nd here again; that I may rest assur'd 
Vhether yond troops are friend or enemy. 
. I will be here again, even with a thought. 

Exit, 
i. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill; 20 
^ly sight was ever thick; regard Titinius, 
^nd tell me what thou not'st about the field. 
[Pindarus ascends the hill.] 
rhis day I breathed first: time is come round, 
Vnd where I did begin, there shall I end; 
^ly life is run his compass. Sirrah, what 

news ? 25 

I. Above. O my lord! 
?. What news ? 

I [Above] Titinius is enclosed round about 
iVith horsemen, that make to him on the spur ; 
fet he spurs on. Now they are almost on 

him. 



Now, Titinius ! Now some light. O, he 

lights too. 
He's ta'en. Shout. 

And, hark, they shout for joy. 
Cas. Come down, behold no more. 
O, coward that I am, to live so long, 
To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 35 

Enter Pindarus [beloiv]. 

Come hither, sirrah. 

In Parthia did I take thee prisoner; 

And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, 

That whatsoever I did bid thee do. 

Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep 

thine oath; 40 

Now be a freeman: and with this good sword. 
That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this 

bosom. 
Stand not to answer : here, take thou the hilts ; 
And, when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now. 
Guide thou the sword. [Pindarus stabs him.] 
Csesar, thou art reveng'd, 45 

Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies.] 
Pin. So, I am free; yet would not so have been, 
Durst I have done ray will. O Cassius, 
Far from this country Pindarus shall run. 
Where never Roman shall take note of him. 50 



[Exit.] 



Enter Titinius with Messala. 



Mes. It is but change, Titinius ; for Octavius 
Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power. 
As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 

Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 

Mes. Where did you leave him? 

Tit. All disconsolate, 55 

With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. 

Mes. Is not that he that lies upon the ground? 

Tit. He lies not like the living. O my heart ! 

Mes. Is not that he? 

Tit. No, this was he, Messala, 

But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, 60 
As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night. 
So in his red blood Cassius' day is set. 
The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone; 
Clouds, dews, and dangers come ; our deeds 

are done ! 
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed, 65 

Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this 
deed. 



475 



36 



JULIUS CiESAR 



[act v. SC. Ill.i 



O hateful error, melancholy's child, 

Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of 

men 
The things that are not? O error, soon con- 

ceiv'd, 
Thou never com'st unto a happy birth, 70 

But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee ! 
Tit. What, Pindarus ! where art thou, Pindarus ? 
Mes. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet 
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
Into his ears; I may say, thrusting it; 75 

For piercing steel and darts envenomed 
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus 
As tidings of this sight. 
Tit. Hie you, Messala, 

And I will seek for Pindarus the while. 

[Exit Messala.] 
Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cas- 

sius ? 80 

Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they 
Put on my brows this wreath of victory. 
And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not 

hear their shouts? 
Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing! 
But, hold thee, take this garland on thy 

brow ; 85 

Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I 
Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace. 
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. 
By your leave, gods: — this is a Roman's 

part: 
Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' 

heart. Dies. 90 

Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, young Cato, 
Strata, Volumnius, and Lucilius. 

Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie? 
Mes. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it. 
Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 
Cato. He is slain. 

Bru. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet! 

Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our 
swords 9K 

In our own proper entrails. Low alarums. 
Cato. Brave Titinius ! 

Look, whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cas- 
sius ! 
Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these? 

The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 

It is impossible that ever Rome 100 

Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe moc 
tears 



To this dead man than you shall see me pay. 
I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. 
Come, therefore, and to Thasos send his body: 
His funerals shall not be in our camp, 105 
Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come; 
And come, young Cato; let us to the field. 
Labeo and Flavins, set our battles on: 
'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night 
We shall try fortune in a second fight. Exeunt. 



[Scene IV. — Another part of the field.] 

Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, young Cato, 
Lucilius, and Flavius. 

Bru. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your ^ 

heads ! 
Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will go 
with me? 
I will proclaim my name about the field: 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend ; s 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 

Enter Soldiers, and fight. 

Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I ; 

Brutus, my country's friend; know me for 
Brutus! [Exit.] 

Lucil. O young and noble Cato, art thou down? 
Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius ; 10 
And mayst be honour'd, being Cato's son. 
1st. Sold. Yield, or thou diest. 
Lucil. Only I yield to die: 

There is so much that thou wilt kill me 
straight; [Offering money.] 

Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his deatli. 
1st. Sold. We must not. A noble prisoner ! 
2nd. Sold. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is 

ta'en. 
1st. Sold. I'll tell the news. Here comes the 
general. 

Enter Antony. 

Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 

Ant. Where is he? 

Lucil. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough: 20 
I dare assure thee that no enemy 
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus: 
The gods defend him from so great a shame! 



476 



A.CT IV. SC. IV.] 



JULIUS CiESAR 



37 



When you do find him^ or alive or dead. 
He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 25 
Ant. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure 
you, 
A prize no less in worth: keep this man safe; 
Give him all kindness: I had rather have 
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on, 
And see whe'r Brutus be alive or dead; 30 
And bring us word unto Octavius' tent 
How every thing is chanc'd. Exeunt. 



[Scene V. — Another part of the field.^ 

Enter Brutus, Dardanius, CUtus, Strato, and 
Volumnius. 

Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this 

rock. 

Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light, but, my 
lord. 

He came not back: he is or ta'en or slain. 
Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word; 

It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. 5 

[Whispers.] 
Cli. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the 

world. 

Bru. Peace then ! no words. . 

Cli. I'll rather kill myself. 

B7^u. Hark thee, Dardanius. [Whispers.] 

Dar. Shall I do such a deed? 

Cli. O Dardanius ! 
Dar. O Clitus ! 

Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? 
Dar. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates. 
Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, 

That it runs over even at his eyes. 
Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word. 
Vol. What says my lord? 
Bru. Why, this, Volumnius: 16 

The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me 

Two several times by night; at Sardis once. 

And, this last night, here in Philippi fields: 

I know my hour is come. 
Vol. Not so, my lord. 20 

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 

Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes ; 

Our enemies have beat us to the pit: 

Lore alarums. 

It is more worthy to leap in ourselves. 

Than tarry till they push US, Good Volum- 
nius, 35 



Thou know'st that we two went to school to- 
gether : 
Even for that our love of old, I prethee, 
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. 
Vol. That 's not an office for a friend, my lord. 

Alarum still. 
Cli. Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here. 
Bru. Farewell to you ; and you ; and you, Volum- 
nius. 31 
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep ; 
Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen, 
My heart doth joy that yet in all my life 
I found no man but he was true to me. 35 
I shall have glory by this losing day 
More than Octavius and Mark Antony 
By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
So fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue 
Hath almost ended his life's history: 40 
Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would 

rest. 
That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 

Alarum. Cry within, 'Fly, fly, fly!' 
Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 

Bru. Hence ! I will follow. 

[Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius.] 
I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord: 
Thou art a fellow of a good respect; 45 

Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in 

it: 
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face. 
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato? 
Strd. Give me your hand first. Fare you well, 

my lord. 
Bru. Farewell, good Strato. [Runs on his 
sword.] Caesar, now be still: 50 

I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. 

Dies. 

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octavius, 
Messala, Lucilius, and the army. 

Oct. What man is that? 

Mes. My master's man. Strato, where is thy 

master? 
Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Mes- 
sala: 
The conquerors can but make a fire of him; 55 
For Brutus only overcame himself, 
And no man else hath honour by his death. 
Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank 
thee, Brutus, 
That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true. 



477 



38 



JULIUS C^SAR 



[act IV. SC. V. 



Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain 
them. 60 

Fellow, wilt thou bestow thj'^ time with me? 
Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 
Oct. Do so, good Messala. 
Mcs. How died my master, Strato? 
Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. 65 
Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee. 

That did the latest service to my master. 
Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all: 

All the conspirators save only he 

Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; 70 



He only, in a general honest thought 
And common good to all, made one of them. 
His life was gentle, and the elements 
So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up 
And say to all the world 'This was a man!' 75 
Oct. According to his virtue let us use him. 
With all respect and rites of burial. 
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie. 
Most like a soldier, order'd honourably. 
So call the field to rest; and let's away, 80 
To part the glories of this happy day. 

Exeunt omnes. 



FINIS. 



NOTES 



ACT I 

i. S. D. Marullusl Theobald; Murellus F. Through- 
out the play, the Folio persists in this incorrect 
spelling. 

3 mechanical, belonging to the artisan class. 
4, 5 without the sign Of your profession. Shake- 
speare is thinking of contemporary London, where 
each trade had its peculiar mark of identification. 
See line 7. 

16 Mar.] Capell; Fla. F. 

26 with awl] Farmer; withal F (omitting the fol- 
lowing full stop). The pun is meant for the ear, 
and it is not easy to represent it satisfactorily in 
print. 

29 neat's leather, ox-hide. 

36 his triumph, Cgesar's fifth triumph, celebrating 
his victory over the sons of Pompey at the battle 
of Munda (near Malaga in Spain), Mar. 17, B. C. 
45. This was the first time that the victory of 
Romans over Romans became the occasion of a 
triumph. 

56 Pompey's blood. Cneius Pompey, eldest son of 
Pompey the Great, was wounded at Munda and 
slain shortly after. 'Blood' is probably used, how- 
ever, in the sense of kindred. 

66 whe'r, whether; a common abbreviation (spelled 
*where' in F). 

70 ceremonies, ceremonious ornaments. 

72 the feast of Lupercal, an ancient Italian re- 
ligious festival of purification, occurring February 
15. Another name of the feast was Februa, from 
'februo,' purify; whence the designation of the 
month 'Februarius.' 

78 pitch, height of a hawk's flight. 

ii. 3 Antonius'] Pope; Antonio's F. The Folio 
printers were more accustomed to Italian than to 
Roman proper names. In lines 4 and (> 'Antonio' 
again occurs, and later in the play 'Octavio,' 'Fla- 
viO;,' and 'Claudio' are substituted for the proper 



Latin forms in -us. The names may have been ab- 
breviated in the original manuscript. 

18 Ides of March, March 15. 

24 S. D. Sennet, a trumpet call to signal the march 
of a procession. 

Exeunt all but] Capell; Exeunt. Manet F. 

34 as, which. 

54 'Tis just, it is true. 

71 jealous on, suspicious of. 

72 laug'her] Rowe; laughter F. 

76 scandal, defame; a noun made to do duty as 
verb. 

77 profess myself, declare myself, expose my secret 
thoughts. 

87 indifferently, unconcernedly. 

88 speed, assist. 
91 favour, countenance, face. 

109 hearts of controversy, contending hearts. 

122 coward lips did from their colour fly, a far- 
fetched military metaphor. Caesar's lips, losing 3 
color from disease, are likened to cowardly soldiers 
deserting their 'colors' or banner. 

123 bend, glance. 

124 his, its. 'His' is Shakespeare's usual form of 
the neuter as well as the masculine possessive; 'its,' 
a new formation, occurs very seldom. 

129 temper, constitution. 

136 Colossus, a brazen figure, more than a hundred 
feet high, which bestrode the entrance to the har- 
bor of Rhodes. It was accounted by the Greeks 
one of the seven wonders of the world. 

155 wide walks, the broad avenues and boulevards 
which marked the outskirts of Imperial Rome. 
The visitor, walking the circling streets of the great 
city, would be viewing the manifestations of Cae- 
sar's single personality. Most modern editors fol- 
low Rowe in changing 'walks' to the more obvious 
and commonplace 'walls.' 

156 Rome . . . room. In the usual pronunciation of 
Shakespeare's time these words were identical. 
The present sound of 'Rome,' like 'roam/ which 



478 



JULIUS C^SAR 



39 



Shakespeare also knew, was introduced by travel- 
ers acquainted with the French and Italian names 
of the city. 

160 state, sovereignty. 

162 nothing, not at all; a common adverbial use. 
jealous. See note on line 71. 

186 ferret, ferret-like, i. e., red. 

188 conference, debate. 

197 well given, well-disposed. 

204 he hears no music. Caesar's suspicion of the 
leanness of Cassius is taken from Plutarch, but 
the allusion to the treachery of men who have no 
music in their souls is an original touch based ap- 
parently on the poet's personal belief. Compare 
Lorenzo's famous words in The Merchant of Venice, 
V. i. 83-88. 

255 like, hkely. 

falling sickness, epilepsy. 

266 plucked me ope. Shakespeare is very fond of 
this vague use of the dative 'me,' especially in 
narrative. The purpose is generally to emphasize 
slightly the speaker's feeling of the importance of 
the action referred to. 

267 And, if. So in line 284. 

268 occupation, mechanical trade. 
303 tardy form, apparent inertia. 
305 disgest, digest. 

317 doth bear me hard, is ill-disposed to me. 

319 He, Brutus; not Caesar, as some commentators 
explain. The main purpose of the scene has been 
to show how Cassius 'humours' Brutus into a course 
of action which the wily Cassius, had he Brutus's 
opportunity to profit by the friendship of Caesar, 
would never permit himself to be beguiled into. 

iii. 21 glar'd] Rowe; glaz'd F. 
26 the bird of night, the owl. 
37 Antonius] Pope; Antonio F. See note on I. ii. 3. 

48 thus unbraced, with the doublet open. Costume 
on the Elizabethan stage was frankly that of con- 
temporary England, whatever the period repre- 
sented. The anachronism involved is particularly 
striking in this play. See the references in the 
previous scene to the nightcaps of the Roman mob 
and to Caesar's doublet (246, '2QQ). 

49 thunder-stone. Thunder was supposed to be ac- 
companied by the fall of stones from the sky, 

60 cast yourself. 'Case yourself,' dress yourself, 
has been proposed as a substitute for this rather 
unsatisfactory phrase. 

64 quality, disposition, kind, nature. 

65 A very difficult line, here printed as in F, ex- 
cept that the latter gives a comma after 'men.' 
Many recent editors substitute 'fool' for 'fools,' 
taking the word as a verb, but the change makes 
little improvement. Probably a verb is to be sup- 
plied, as in line 64: 'Why old men (turn) fools and 
children calculate (i. e., show the prudence of age).' 

117 fleering, sneering. 

128 element, sky. 

129 In favour's] Johnson; Is Favors F. See note on 
I. ii. 91. 

135 incorporate, affiliated, joined. 

152 Pompey's theatre, in the Campus Martins, the 



first stone theatre erected in Rome; built at the 
expense of the great Pompey and opened with 
magnificent dramatic and gladiatorial displays B. C. 
65, ten years before the period represented in this 
scene. Pompey's porch, mentioned in lines 126 and 
147, was a large portico adjoining. 
162 conceited, conceived. 

ACT II 

i. 12 general, the public, or common, cause. 

19 remorse, compassion. 

20 affections, personal inclinations. 

26 degrees, steps; used here in its literal sense. 

29 colour, pretext, justification. 

35 closet, study or private sitting-room. 

40 Ides] Theobald; first F. See note on I. ii. 18. 

44 exhalations, meteors. 

59 fifteen days, i. e., this is the morning of the fif- 
teenth. Theobald, followed by nearly all modern 
editors, changes to 'fourteen days,' on the ground 
that the fifteenth is only beginning — a remarkable 
piece of pedantry. 

65 phantasma, nightmare. 

66 The Genius and the mortal instruments. A pe- 
culiar feature of Roman religion was the belief 
that each man's career was directed by a 'genius' 
or daemon born with him, but independent of his 
mortal attributes. The 'mortal instruments' are the 
physical and mental forces which the controlling 
genius set in operation. 

70 your brother Cassius. Cassius had married 
Brutus's sister, Junia. The lady appears in Buck- 
ingham's adaptation, Marcus Brutus. See Intro- 
duction, 'Julius Ccesar on the Stage.' 
72 moe, more. 

76 favour. See note on I. ii. 91. 
83 path, walk; a very rare use. 

95 Decius Brutus, properly Decimus Brutus; Shake- 
speare derived the erroneous form from North. 
100 S. D. Brutus and Cassius] They F. 
104 fret, mark with fret-work tracery. 
106 as, where. 
115 sufferance, suffering. 
125 secret, secret-keeping, not garrulous. 

129 cautelous, crafty. 

130 carrions, carcases. 

134 insuppressive, insuppressible. 

135 or . . . or, either ... or. 
150 break, open negotiations. 

166 A six-foot line. So perhaps also line 178. 

196 main, general. 

198 apparent, obvious, evident. 

205 glasses, looking-glasses, used to distract the at- 
tention of the bears from their hunters. 

215 Caius Ligarius. This is the form of the name 
in North's translation of the life of Brutus, though 
North adds a marginal note, 'In another place they 
call him Quintus.' Quintus was the real name of 
Ligarius. 

218 by him, by his house; 'by' having here a force 
resembling the Latin 'apud,' French 'chez.' 

227 formal, dignified, self-possessed. 

246 wafture] Rowe; wafter F. 



479 



40 



JULIUS C^SAR 



261 physical, healthful. 

271 charm, conjure, entreat. 

289, 290 the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart. 
There has been much misphiced interest in these 
words as anticipating Harvey's discovery of the 
circulation of the blood (1616). 

308 charactery, writing. 

ii. S. D, nig-ht-gown, dressing gown; an Elizabethan, 
not Roman, garment. 
5 present, inunediate. 
13 stood on ceremonies, laid stress on omens. 
19 fought] Dyce; fight F. 
23 did neig"hj ^Nlalone; do neigh F. 
25 use] custom, experience. 
46 We are] Upton; We heare F. 
89 tinctures, handkerchiefs dipped in the blood of 
martyrs. 

cognizance, heraldic emblem. 
104 liable, subject. 

128 That every like is not the same, alluding to 
Caesar's words, 'like friends.' Brutus means, 'That 
every one like a friend is not really one.' 

129 yearns] Theobald; earnes F. The meaning of 
this old word, which appears elsewhere in tlie Folio 
both as 'yearn' and 'earn,' is 'grieve.' 

iii. S. D. Enter Artemidorus. Of this character 
North says (Life of Coesar) : 'And one Artemi- 
dorus also, born in the Isle of Gnidos (Cnidos), a 
Doctor of Rhetoric in the Greek tongue, who by 
means of his profession was very familiar with 
certain of Brutus' confederates, and therefore knew 
the most part of all their practices against Caesar, 
came and brought him a little bill, written with 
his own hand, of all that he meant to tell him.' 

ACT III 

i. 29 address'd, prepared. 

39 law] Johnson; lane F. fond, foolish. 

54 freedom of repeal, free recall. 

67 apprehensive, endowed with apprehension or un- 
derstanding. 

77 Et tu, Brute. These now famous words are not 
ascribed to Caesar in any of the classical accounts 
of his death, but they occur in two other English 
works slightly earlier than Julius Ccesar. It has 
been suggested that the original source is a Latin 
drama on Caesar's death, acted at Oxford in 1583. 
See Introduction. 

80 common pulpits. An Englishman of Shake- 
speare's time would be reminded by this phrase 
of Paul's Cross, an out-door pulpit beside St. 
Paul's Church, from which much English history 
had been made. Shakespeare refers to it fre- 
quently in Richard III. North, likewise thinking 
probably of London practice, speaks of the 'pulpit 
for orations.' The Roman 'rostra' are meant. 

94 abide, used for 'a})y,' pay for. 

115 Pompey's basis, the base of Pompey's statue. 
Caesar's assassination occurred, not at the Capitol, 
as Shakespeare represents it, but in the portico of 
Pompey's Theatre. 



131 resolv'd, satisfied, convinced. 

157 bear me hard. See I. ii. 317 and note. 

160 apt, ready. 

174 Our arms, in strength of malice: 'our arms, 
even now engaged in the strongest show of hostility 
to Caesar's partisans.' 

204 bay'd, brought to bay. 

206 sign'd, marked with blood. 

lethe, death; apparently from Latin letum, de- 
struction. 

253 S. D. Exeunt . . . Antony] Exeunt. Manet An- 
tony F. 

271 Ate, goddess of discord and vengeance. 

273 Cry 'Havoc,' to give the signal for indiscriminate 

slaughter. 
283 for] F2; from F^. 
288, 289 Rome . . . Rome . . . Rome. See note on 

I. ii. 156. 

ii. S. D. Enter Brutus] Enter Brutus and goes into 
the Pulpit F. 
17 censure, judge. 
41 question, legal question, examination. 

43 enforced, exaggerated. 
70 beholding", indebted. 

119 abide. See note on III. i. 94. 

138 napkins, handkerchiefs. 

177 That day he overcame the Nervii, B. C. 57, thir- 
teen years previous to Caesar's death. The Nervii 
were the most warlike tribe of the Belgae. 

183 resolv'd. See note on III. i. 131. 

225 wit] F2; writ F^. 

247 seventy-five drachmas. The nominal value of 
the drachma was about that of the French franc 
(twenty cents) but seventy-five drachmas would 
purchase considerably more in Caesar's time than 
fifteen dollars to-day. 

254 On this side Tiber. Caesar's orchards or gardens 
were really on the far bank of the Tiber. North 
refers to the gardens as being 'on this side of the 
river of Tiber,' meaning the northern side nearest 
to France and England. Shakespeare transfers the 
phrase incorrectly to the speech of Antony, who is 
speaking on the strictly Roman or southern bank. 

264 forms, benches. 

ACT IV 

i. 12 unmeritable, undeserving. 

14 The three-fold world, the Roman world with 
its continental divisions of Europe, Asia, and 
Africa. 

37 abjects, orts] Staunton; Objects, Arts F. 'Ab- 
jects' means things thrown away as useless, 'orts' 
broken scraps of food. The emendation is by no 
means certain, but it seems rather more satisfac- 
tory than the Folio reading. 

44 our means stretch'd] Fj; and our best means 
stretch'd out Fg. The reading of F^ completes the 
line which is defective in Fi, but it sounds more 
like the work of a metrical reviser than like that 
of Shakespeare. 

48, 49 at the stake, and bay'd about, a metaphor 
from the Elizabethan sport of bear-baiting, an 
amusement which rivaled theatrical entertainments 



480 



JULIUS C^SAR 



41 



in attractiveness for the general public. The bear 
was fastened to a stake in the center of the bear- 
garden or amphitheatre and attacked by a number 
of dogs. The best-known bear-garden was very- 
near the Globe Theatre. 

ii. 16 familiar instances, instances of familiarity. 

23 hot at hand, fiery at the start. 

26 fall, let fall. 

46 enlarge, set free, give free expression to. 
50-52 Lucilius . . . Lucius. It has been plausibly 
suggested that these names have been transposed 
and that we should read 'Lucius' in line 50 and 
'Lucilius' in 52. 

52 S. D. Exeunt. This is one of the numerous cases 
where no new scene was contemplated by the au- 
thor, F has the stage direction, 'Exeunt. Manet 
(sic) Brutus and Casshis'; that is, the attendants 
go out, leaving Brutus and Cassius alone on the 
stage, which is now supposed to represent the in- 
terior of Brutus's tent, though the two main figures 
have not shifted their position. 

iii. 2 noted, branded, made notorious. 
8 nice, trivial. 

10 condemned to have, blamed for having. 
13 speaks. A relative pronoun is often felt as be- 
ing in the third person, though referring to an 
antecedent in the first or second. So regularly in 
modern German. Many modern ' editors make the 
unnecessary alteration to 'speak.' 
28 bait. See note on IV. i. 48, 49. Brutus's allu- 
sion to himself as a dog suggests to Cassius the 
idea of bear-baiting, Cassius being, of course, the 
•bear. Theobald, not seeing the point, altered 'bait' 
to 'bay,' which he thought repeated from the line 
above. 
45 observe, do observance to, pay court to. 
69 respect, care for. 
75 indirection, unjust practice. 

102 PlutO^s. Perhaps Shakespeare meant to refer to 
Plutus, god of riches, but Plutus and Pluto were 
very often confounded even by classic writers. 

137 jig-ging", writing jigs or doggerel verses. Eliz- 
abethan dramatic performances often ended with a 
'jig,' that is, a dance and rude song. 

152 Impatient. Logically one would expect the 
noun, 'impatience,' which is perhaps avoided be- 
cause of its unpleasant assonance with 'absence.' 

171 tenour] Theobald; tenure F. 

184 Nothing-, Messala. This speech is, of course, 
untrue in the light of what Brutus has said above 
(148-166). Various explanations have been at- 
tempted, the most satisfactory being that of J. 
Resch, that two alternative versions of Brutus's 
speech on Portia's death have been amalgamated. 
An undoubted instance of the confusion of two 
separate versions of the same scene is found in 
Love's Laboui'^s Lost. 

196 alive, while alive, as living men. Brutus means 
that the living have work to do from which the 
dead, like Portia, are happily released. 

228 niggard, provide grudgingly. 

238 S. D. Enter . . gown. F inserts this stage di- 
rection between the two halves of line 2S6, 



242, 244 Claudius, Varro. F spells these names 
'Claudio' and 'Varrus' throughout the scene. The 
correction is due to Rowe. 

ACT V 

i. 4 battles, lines of battle, armies. 
5 warn, summon. 

19 exigent, extremity, emergency. 

24 answer on their charge, respond to their attack; 
i. e., allow them the initiative. 

33 posture, nature. 

53 three and thirty. The number of wounds re- 
corded by Plutarch is three-and-tw enty , and Theo- 
bald altered this passage accordingly. 

66 stomachs, appetites. 

69 After a word with you F gives the stage direc- 
tion: 'Lucillius and Messala stand forth.' 

72 as this very day. In early English 'as' fre- 
quently has a mildly intensive force without 
further significance. The use remains in the mod- 
ern 'as for,' 'as to,' 'as yet'; it was particularly 
common in connection with words denoting time. 

77, 78 Epicurus . . . And his opinion. 'Epicurus 
had said that if there were gods they must be 
happy, and so necessarily unconcerned with the af- 
fairs of men; so that portents and omens would be 
impossible' ( Beeching) . 

80 former, foremost. 

96 rest] Rowe; rests F. 

105 prevent, anticipate. 

106 The time of life, the natural life-time. 

Ill No, Cassius, no, etc. Brutus's contradiction 
here of his attitude in the previous speech (101- 
108) is due to an interesting misunderstanding of 
North's Plutarch. In the latter work Brutus says 
quite consistently that he had once blamed Cato 
for taking his own life, while he was 'yet but a 
young man, and not over greatly experienced in 
the world'; but he adds 'being now in the midst 
of danger I am of a contrary mind.' North's 
phraseology is rather obscure and it appears to 
have misled Shakespeare, who in the play makes 
the words of Cassius (108-110) eff'ect the change in 
Brutus's attitude toward suicide really due to the 
latter's experience of life. 

ii. 1 "bills, instructions, messages. 

iii. 42 search, probe, penetrate ; a gentler word than 
'pierce': usually employed of cleansing a wound. 
43 hilts, the two projecting guards of a cross- 
handled sword. 

97 whe'r, whether; spelled 'where' in F. 
101 moe, more. 

104 Thasos] Theobald; Tharsus F. Thasos is a small 
island off the coast of Thrace. Three weeks ac- 
tually intervened between the battle in which Cas- 
sius died and the second battle of Philippi. Had 
the second fight occurred the same day as the 
first, as Shakespeare indicates for dramatic pur- 
poses, there would have been no reason or oppor- 
tunity to remove Cassius's body. 

108 Labeo and Flavins] Labio and Flavio F. 

109 'Tis three o'clock. Shakespeare is tampering 



4^81 



42 



JULIUS CJESAR 



with the progress of time. In line 60 the sun was 
already setting with 'red rays.' See also note on 
line 104. 

iv. 7 Bru. The speaker's name is omitted in F and 
was first supplied by Rowe. Some critics have pro- 
posed giving lines 7 and 8 to Lucilius, who is im- 
personating Brutus, but such an arrangement 
w^ould leave the exit of Brutus unexplained. 



17 the news] Pope; thee newes F. 

17 S. D. Enter Antony, follows 15 in F. 

V. 33 to thee too, Strato] Theobald; to thee, to 
Strato F. 

46 smatch, smack, touch. 

71, 72 in a general honest thought And common 
good to all, a species of hendiadys: 'in a thought 
of general honor and common good to all,' 



48^ 



HAMLET 



HAMLET THE DANE— Like Beowulf, the most 
significant hero of Old English poetry, Hamlet is a 
product of mythical Scandinavian history. Though 
vaguely recognizable in Icelandic sagas reaching 
even farther into the past, the figure first comes 
clearly into view under the name of Amleth in the 
Latin Historia Danica of Saxo Grammaticus (Saxo 
the Scholar), compiled about 1200 and printed in 
Paris in 1514. A French translation of Saxo's tale 
of Amleth in the fifth volume of Franyois de Belle- 
forest's collection of Histoires Tragiques (1570) made 
the legend easily accessible to English readers, for 
Belleforest's volumes were the dear delight of the 
Elizabethan public and a favorite field for play- 
wrights in search of plots. An English rendering 
from Belleforest, called The History of Hamblet, ap- 
peared in 1608, too late to be of interest in connec- 
tion with the dramatic use of the story. From it are 
taken the quotations which follow. 

Belleforest's narrative, which conscientiously rep- 
resents Saxo except for a few trifling details, is in 
several essential points the complete antithesis of 
the story one reads in Shakespeare's tragedy. As 
regards the hero, the part that concerns us cele- 
brates the triumph of practical energy and clever 
plotting. As regards the atmosphere, it reproduces 
the stern Scandinavian realism of the Icelandic sagas. 
The plot runs thus, the bracketed names being those 
of Shakespeare's corresponding figures: — 

Two brothers, Horvendile (the elder Hamlet) and 
Fengon (Claudius), govern the province of Dit- 
marsh in the present Schleswig-Holstein as representa- 
tives of Roderick, King of Denmark. In single com- 
bat Horvendile slays the King of Norway (the elder 
Fortinbras) and is rewarded by marriage to Rod- 
erick's daughter Geruthe (Gertrude). Their son is 
Hamlet (Amleth in Saxo and Belleforest). Later 
the jealous younger brother Fengon (Claudius) 
openly attacks and murders Horvendile, as he is sit- 
ting at a banquet with his friends. Fengon justi- 
fies the crime before the people by falsely charging 
Horvendile with cruelty to Geruthe, whom Fengon 
afterward marries himself. Hamlet, a boy, is, like 



the general public, quite aware of the murder, and 
he thirsts for vengeance; but Fengon guards him- 
self carefully and prepares to kill Hamlet as soon 
as the latter's age or conduct shall give promise 
of danger. Hamlet feigns idiocy in order to escape 
the murderer's watchfulness, but Fengon suspects the 
trick and attempts to trap him into a manifesta- 
tion of sanity by preparing an apparently accidental 
meeting in the woods between him and a court lady 
(Ophelia) with whom he is in love. Spies are hid- 
den in the bushes to observe his behavior; but Ham- 
let, warned secretly by the lady and by a friend 
of his boyhood (Horatio) avoids discovery. Another 
test is arranged, when Hamlet is brought to an in- 
terview with his mother in her chamber while one 
of Fengon's counselors (Polonius) hides behind the 
hangings to observe his actions. But the prince, 
"doubting some treason, and fearing if he should 
speak severely and wisely to his mother touching 
his secret practices he should be understood, and 
by that means intercepted, used his ordinary man- 
ner of dissimulation, and began to come like a cock 
beating with his arms (in such manner as cocks use 
to strike with their wings) upon the hangings of 
the chamber; whereby, feeling something stirring un- 
der them, he cried, *A rat, a rat !' and presently draw- 
ing his sword thrust it into the hangings, which 
done, pulled the counselor (half-dead) out by the 
heels, made an end of killing him, and being slain, 
cut his body in pieces, which he caused to be boiled, 
and then cast into an open vault or privy, that so 
it might serve for food to the hogs." Returning he 
reasons so effectively with his mother that he wins 
her to his side. Fengon, alarmed at the disappear- 
ance of the counselor, yet fearing to murder the 
prince openly, sends him to England. "Now to bear 
him company were assigned two of Fengon's faith- 
ful ministers (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern), bear- 
ing letters engraved in wood, that contained Hamlet's 
death, in such sort as he had advertised the king 
of England. But the subtle Danish prince (being at 
sea) whilst his companions slept, having read the let- 
ters, and known his uncle's great treason, with the 



483 



2 



HAMLET 



■'.vic'ked and villainous minds of the two courtiers that 
led him to the slaughter, razed out the letters that 
concerned his death, and instead thereof graved 
others, with commission to the king of England to 
hang his two companions." 

The ministers are accordingly executed soon after 
their arrival, and Hamlet remains a year in Eng- 
land, where he further proves his marvelous astute- 
ness and secures the hand of the English king's 
daughter. At the year's end, he suddenly returns to 
Denmark, with the connivance of his mother, "arriv- 
ing the same day that the Danes were celebrating his 
funerals, supposing him to be dead in England." 
Thus finally he takes the crafty Fengon unawares 
and slays him, -whereupon he makes a great oration 
to the Danes and is by them proclaimed King of Den- 
mark. 

THE PLAY OF HAMLET BEFORE SHAKE- 
SPEARE — As early as 1589, when Shakespeare's dra- 
matic career was only just beginning or about to 
begin, the satirist Thomas Nashe (introductory epis- 
tle to Robert Greene's Menaphon) alludes to "whole 
Hamlets, I should say Handfuls of tragical speeches," 
in a connection which proves the notoriety of a 
sensational play of that title, full of ranting speeches 
and composed in imitation of the Senecan melo- 
drama. Further allusions in the passage are fairly 
interpreted as meaning that Nashe understood the 
writer of this Hamlet to be Thomas Kyd, the known 
author of a very similar kind of play: The Spanish 
Tragedy (1587). Special features of Kyd's Senecan 
melodrama are: (1) the presence of the ghost; (2) 
the extended use of impassioned soliloquy; (3) the 
presentation of real (not merely feigned) insanity. 
Another element which Kyd employed with much ef- 
fect in The Spanish Tragedy is (4) the device of 
the play within the play (see Hamlet III. ii.). It 
is fair to assume that these four new features, all 
unknown to Saxo and Belle forest, were present in 
the Hamlet drama of 1589 and that they passed 
from it to Shakespeare. It was most likely this 1589 
play, though perhaps in a revised form, which Hens- 
lowe's Diary shows to have been acted on June 9, 
1594, by the Lord Admiral's Company and Shake- 
speare's (the Lord Chamberlain's) in conjunction. 
That Shakespeare acted one of the parts in this pro- 
duction is not at all unlikely, and it is pretty cer- 
tain that he got from it his first strong interest in 
the subject. Of all the great losses which Eliz- 
abethan literature has suffered hardly any is so 
deplorable as that of the pre-Shakespearean Hamlet. 
That it was in itself a shoddy piece of work, notable 



mainly for its sensationalism, is fully proved by the 
allusions of the time; but it carried with it to its 
well merited oblivion the key to many of the now in- 
soluble difficulties in Shakespeare's greatest drama. 
A brief German prose play, dating in its present form 
from about 1710 and entitled Der Bestrafte Bruder- 
mord (Fratricide Punished), is supposed to repre- 
sent roughly the text of the pre-Shakespearean Ham- 
let as acted in Germany by English actors about the 
year 1600. 

DATE — Hamlet opens Shakespeare's great tragic 
period, the period of his most impressive intellectu- 
ality, and the date of this play is therefore par- 
ticularly important. Fortunately, the year 1601 can 
be assumed with more than ordinary positiveness as 
the period of the tragedy's first production on the 
stage. Many kinds of evidence indicate the unlike- 
lihood of earlier composition. Meres, in 1598, is 
silent concerning Hamlet, and the play's close rela- 
tionship to JuUiis Cwsar suggests strongly that it 
immediately followed the latter tragedy. The con- 
nection is apparent not merely in verbal parallels 
like the repetition of the description of the omens 
presaging Caesar's death {Julius Cwsar, II. ii. 17-24) 
in the first scene of Hamlet (112-135), but even 
more strongly in the fact that Brutus and Hamlet 
are . companion sketches, Hamlet being the more 
elaborate and mature. Both plays are based upon 
the dilemma that confronts an imaginative, contem- 
plative, and highly moral student when his conscience 
seems to require him to correct an intolerable state 
of affairs by a deed of ruthless violence. Brutus 
chooses the more obvious alternative, perfornis at 
once the bloody duty he perceives, and perishes in 
consequence. Hamlet, with more subtle instinct, de- 
lays and perishes likewise. For a personality of the 
type of Brutus and Hamlet, either outlet from the 
situation is fatal, but the course of Hamlet is the 
nobler and the more humanly inceresting, 

Hamlet is the richest of Shal^espeare's plays in con- 
temporary allusion. The clear statement of the the- 
atrical problems of the time (II. ii. and III. ii.) 
fixes the tragedy as one of the latest documents in 
the so-called "War of the Theatres" of 1601. Any 
date for Hamlet later than 1601 is precluded by the 
entry on the Stationers' Register, July 26 of the 
following year (1602) of "A book called the Re- 
venge of Hamlet Prince of Denmark, as it was lately 
acted by the Lord Chamberlain his Servants." There 
is no doubt that Shakespeare's play is here referred 
to and that its first run on the stage was then 
over. 



484 



INTRODUCTION 



3 



THE TEXT— The first edition of Hamlet ap- 
peared in 1603 with the title: "The Tragical His- 
tory of Hamlet Prince of Denmark. By William 
Shakespeare. As it hatli been divers times acted 
by his Highness' servants in the City of London: 
as also in the two Universities of Cambridge and Ox- 
ford and elsewhere." This first quarto of Hamlet is 
the most puzzling of all the early representations of 
Shakespeare's work, but the modern texts of the 
play owe practically nothing to it. It is now gen- 
erally agreed that it is based upon rough short-hand 
reports of the speeches as they were delivered on 
the stage, eked out perhaps by the text of the old 
pre-Shakespearean Hamlet. In this quarto are found 
little over half the number of lines in the authori- 
tative versions; several passages are so confused as 
to be quite meaningless; and in a number of cases 
both the incidents and the names of characters differ 
from those in the standard text. It is particularly 
noteworthy that Shakespeare's Polonius is known here 
as Corambis, and appears as Corambus in the Ger- 
man Hamlet (Fratricide Punished). Such may have 
been the counselor's name in the old English tragedy 
of 1589. 

Modern texts of Hamlet are made up from the 
second quarto edition, printed in 1604, and from the 
Folio version of 1633. Four later quartos, published 
between 1605 and 1637, have no independent author- 
ity. The 1604 text contains over two hundred lines 
not found in the Folio, The Folio, on the other 
hand, is the only authority for about eighty-five 
other lines, mainly of a local nature which it would 
doubtless have been injudicious to print in 1604. 
No question of the genuineness of any of these lines 
has been raised, and modern editions include them all, 
though they thus make the play a good deal longer 
than Shakespeare probably intended that it should 
be. In the present text the commencement of pas- 
sages not found in the Folio is indicated by a dag- 
ger, an asterisk being inserted opposite the line at 
wliich the Folio text resumes. In the many cases 
of doubt, the readings of the Folio are generally 
preferred as probably best representing the poet's 
final text of the play. The notes seek to indicate 
all important deviations from the Folio. It is note- 
worthy that most of the insoluble textual difficulties 
occur in lines for which the quartos are our only 
authority. 

STAGE HISTORY— Speaking of Shakespeare's 
career as an actor, his first biographer, Nicholas 
Rowe says (1709) that "the top of his performance 
was the Ghost in his own Hamlet." The part of 



Hamlet himself was created by Richard Burbage, 
the greatest tragedian of Shakespeare's company; 
and there is reason for believing that a number of 
pieces of the original stage business have been orally 
transmitted from Burbage down to the actors of 
the present day. The great popularity of Hamlet 
with the Elizabethans is attested by copious refer- 
ences in the literature of the period and by the 
sudden production after 1601 of a large number of 
other plays on the revenge theme. During the Puri- 
tan ascendancy, when the public theatres were sup- 
pressed (1642-1659) a version of the grave-diggers' 
scene. The Grave-Makers, appears to have been sur- 
reptitiously acted. It was later published, with other 
"drolls," in Francis Kirkman's collection. The Wits, 
or Sport upon Sport (1663). 

On August 34, 1661, two months after the Duke of 
York's Theatre had been opened by Sir William 
Davenant, Hamlet was played with Thomas Better- 
ton in the title r61e. Betterton had been trained in 
the part, it is said, by Davenant, Avho had studied 
the playing of Taylor, a member of Shakespeare's 
own company at the old Blackfriars Theatre. From 
this time till Betterton's final triumphant perform- 
ance nearly fifty years later (Sept. 30, 1T09), Ham- 
let was his greatest part; and Betterton's masterly 
interpretation of the character did much to prevent 
Restoration society from losing taste for Shake- 
speare. In the first year of the revival (Nov. 26, 
1661), John Evelyn expresses the prevalent coldness 
for Elizabethan drama: "I saw Hamlet Prince of 
Denmark played, but now the old plaj^s began to 
disgust this refined age, since his Majesty's being 
so long abroad." A year and a half later, however, 
even the usually unsympathetic Pepys had been won 
by Betterton's acting. "To the Duke's house," he 
writes in his diary. May 38, 1663, "and there saw 
'Hamlet'. done, giving us fresh reason never to think 
enough of Betterton." Five years later Pepys was 
yet more enthusiastic (Aug. 31, 1668) : "To the 
Duke of York's playhouse, and saw Hamlet, which 
we have not seen this year before or more; and 
mightily pleased with it, but above all with Better- 
ton, the best part, I believe, that ever man acted." 

David Garrick, the most famous Hamlet of the 
eighteenth centuiy, altered the conclusion of the play. 
"He cut out the voyage to England. . . . He omitted 
the funeral of Ophelia, and all the wisdom of the 
Prince and the rude jocularity of the Grave-dig- 
gers. I-Iamlet bursts in upon the King and his court, 
and Laertes reproaches him with his father's and his 
sister's deaths. The exasperation of both is at its 



48; 



4 



HAMLET 



height when the King interposes; he had commanded 
Hamlet to depart to England, and declares that he 
will no longer bear this rebellious conduct, but that 
his wrath will at length fall heavy on the Prince. 
'First,' exclaims Hamlet, 'feel you mine!' and he 
instantly stabs him. The Queen rushes out, implor- 
ing the attendants to save her from her son. Laertes, 
seeing treason and murder before him, attacks Ham- 
let to revenge his father, his sister, and his King. 
He wounds Hamlet mortally, and Horatio is on the 
point of making Laertes accompany him to the shades, 
when the Prince commands him to desist, assuring 
him that it was the hand of Heaven, which admin- 
istered by Laertes 'that precious balm for all his 
wounds.' We then learn that the miserable mother 
had dropped in a trance ere she could reach her 
chamber door, and Hamlet implores for her 'an hour 
of penitence ere madness end her.' He then joins the 
hands of Laertes and Horatio, and commands them 
to unite their virtues to 'calm the troubled land.' " 
(Boaden, Life of J. P. Kemhle, 1835, i. 110.) 

During the early part of the nineteenth century 
the most striking interpretations of Hamlet were the 
strongly contrasted performances of J. P. Kemble 
and Edmund Kean. Kemble, brother of Mrs. Sid- 
dons, succeeded to the Garrick tradition of the play 
and gave a very polished, refined presentation of the 
hero. Kean, on the other hand, made his revival 
famous for its daring innovations and imaginative 
brilliance. Hazlitt (1817) expresses an unfavorable 
judgment of both interpretations. "We do not like 
to see our author's plays acted," he remarks, "and 
least of all Hamlet. There is no play that suffers so 
much in being transferred to the stage. Hamlet him- 
self seems hardly capable of being acted. Mr. Kem- 
ble unavoidably fails in this character from a want 
of ease and variety. The character of Hamlet is 
made up of undulating lines; it has the yielding flex- 
ibility of 'a wave o' the sea.' Mr. Kemble plays 
it like a man in armor, with a determined invet- 
eracy of purjDOse, in one undeviating straight line, 
which is as remote from the natural grace and refined 
susceptibility of the character as the sharp angles 
and abrupt starts which Mr. Kean introduces into 
the part. Mr. Kean's Hamlet is as much too sple- 
netic and rash as Mr. Kemble's is too deliberate and 
formal. His manner is too strong and pointed. He 
throws a severity, approaching to virulence, into the 
common observations and answers. There is nothing 
of this in Hamlet." 

From Kemble the part passed to Macready, whose 
first performance in 1812, at the age of eighteen, 



was a success, and who a half-century later (18G1) 
quoted as one of the highest compliments of his ca- 
reer the saying of a critical observer, "Yours is the 
only intelligible Hamlet I have ever seen." From 
Macready the Hamlet tradition of Garrick and Kem- 
ble descended to Samuel Phelps, the inaugurator of 
the great Sadler's Wells Shakespearean revivals of 
the mid-nineteenth century; and from Phelps to his 
disciple. Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson, the most 
notable exponent of the character in the immediate 
present. In 1874 and at intervals during the next 
fifteen or twenty years. Sir Henry Irving played 
Hamlet with much applause to the Ophelia of Ellen 
Terry. Irving had earlier taken the part of Laertes 
in the Hamlet performances of both Edwin Booth 
(18G1) and Fechter (1865). Miss Terry records her 
special appreciation of the opportunity for delicate 
"cumulative" effects in the comparatively small part 
of Ophelia. In more recent years Hamlet has been 
successfully acted in London by Sir Herbert Tree, 
both with elaborate scenery and with none, and 
throughout the English county-towns by F. R. Ben- 
son. A production without scenery at the Little 
Theatre, London, in 1913 was highly praised by con- 
noisseurs, but proved "caviare to the general." 

Most of the great English Hamlets have played 
in America, the tours of Edmund Kean, Irving, and 
Forbes-Robertson being particularly noteworthy; btit 
the native American stage has contributed an unus- 
ually rich offering to the interpretation of this play. 
The first recorded performance was given by Hallam 
in Philadelphia, 1759. On Feb. 22, 1788, the occa- 
sion of General Washington's fifty-sixth birthday, 
the tragedy was acted in New York with the altera- 
tions of Garrick. Edwin Forrest did for the part 
of Hamlet in America much that Kean did for it 
in England, and his influence was by no means re- 
stricted to the land of his birth. The greatest of 
all American Hamlets was Edwin Booth (1833-1893), 
whose first production of the play in New York ran 
for the then unprecedented number of one hundred 
consecutive nights (Nov. 26, 1864-Mar. 24, 1865). In 
1880 and the following year Booth successfully acted 
Hamlet in England, and in 1883 in Germany. On 
April 4, 1891, he took his farewell of the stage in 
the part of Hamlet at the Brooklyn Academy of 
Music. Richard Mansfield declined to act Hamlet 
on the ground that it was imj^ossible for him to add 
anything of importance to Booth's conception of the 
figure. E. H. Sothern's popular production was put 
on in 1900. The play is frequently acted at present 
by Robert Mantell. 



486 



INTRODUCTION 



HAMLET CRITICISM— The lasting and quite un- 
paralleled popularity of Hamlet both on the stage 
and off is a tremendous fact of dramatic history for 
which it is not easy to give a satisfactory theoretical 
explanation. The supremacy of the play over all the 
other works of Shakespeare has apparently always been 
felt and recognized, notwithstanding that it lies more 
open probably than any of the other major dramas 
to the charge of obscurity and technical imperfec- 
tion. The secret of the tragedy's unfading interest 
is perhaps best stated by Hazlitt. Hamlet's speeches 
and sayings, he remarks, "are as real as our own 
thoughts. Their reality is in the reader's mind. It 
is we who are Hamlet. This play has a prophetic 
truth, which is above that of history. Whoever has 
become thoughtful and melancholy through his own 
mishaps or those of others; whoever has borne about 
with him the clouded brow of reflection, and thought 
himself 'too much i' the sun'; whoever has seen the 
golden lamp of day dimmed by envious mists rising 
in his own breast, and could find in the world be- 
fore him only a dull blank with nothing left re- 
markable in it; whoever has known 'the pangs of 
despised love, the insolence of office, or the spurns 
which patient merit of the unworthy takes'; he who 
has felt his mind sink within him, and sadness cling 
to his heart like a malady, who has had his hopes 
blighted and his youth staggered by the apparitions 
of strange things; who cannot be well at ease, while 
he sees evil hovering near him like a specter; whose 
powers of action have been eaten up by thought, he 
to whom the universe seems infinite, and himself 
nothing; whose bitterness of soul makes him careless 
of consequences, and who goes to a play as his best 
resource to shove off, to a second remove, the evils 
of life by a mock representation of them — this is the 
true Hamlet." 

The problems of Hamlet's personality and mental 
condition have agitated critics from the time of the 
play's appearance, and the mass of literature on the 
subject has long been so large as to defy perusal. 
It cannot be said that the central mystery has been 
cleared up, though many of the subsidiary inquiries 
have been answered. Much that puzzled earlier com- 
mentators — Hamlet's perfunctory assumption of mad- 
ness, for example — is now explained as the result, 
not of the poet's settled design, but of the influence 
of pre-Shakespearean conceptions of the subject. 
The best treatment of the play from this historical 
or evolutionary aspect is found in compact form in 
The Genesis of Hamlet (1907) by Professor C. M. 
Lewis, who summarizes thus: "In the existing trag- 



edy we find two distinct heroes imperfectly melted 
into one. Kyd's Hamlet and Shakespeare's Hamlet, 
taken separately, are comparatively simple and in- 
telligible persons; but the Kyd-Shakespeare com- 
pound is a 'monstr'-horrend'-inform'-ingendous' mys- 
tery, cui lumen ademptum. Kyd's Hamlet does 
most of the deeds of the play, and Shakespeare's 
Hamlet thinks most of the thoughts. Kyd is respon- 
sible for most of the plot, and Shakespeare for most 
of the characterization; Kyd for the hero's actual 
environment, Shakespeare for the imperfect descrip- 
tion of his environment that has come down to us. 
Thus the Kyd-Shakespeare composite hero follows up 
one man's thoughts with another man's deeds, and 
confronts with Shakespeare's soul a situation of Kyd's 
devising." 

The most persuasive recent attempt to explain the 
personality of the Shakespearean Hamlet as he stands 
is given in Professor A. C. Bradley's Shakespearean 
Tragedy (1904). The two chapters on Hamlet in 
this book — presenting both a new theory of Hamlet's 
disposition and an acute discussion of previous views 
— should be read by all students of the play. The 
common idea that Hamlet was a mere thinker, es- 
sentially incapable of practical activity, degrades 
Hamlet, Bradley insists, and travesties the play. 
"For Hamlet, according to all the indications in the 
text, was not naturally or normally such a man, but 
rather, I venture to affirm, a man who at any other 
time and in any other circumstances than those pre- 
sented would have been perfectly equal to his task; 
and it is, in fact, the very cruelty of his fate that 
the crisis of his life comes on him at the one mo- 
ment when he cannot meet it, and when his highest 
gifts, instead of helping him, conspire to paralyze 
him." It is not any inherent quality of Hamlet's 
mind, Bradley thinks, which produces his inability 
to act, but a temporary melancholy due to the shock 
of his father's sudden death and his mother's scan- 
dalous marriage. "Suppose that violent shock to his 
moral being of which I spoke; and suppose that 
under this shock, any possible action being denied 
to him, he began to sink into melancholy; then, no 
doubt, his imaginative and generalizing habit of 
mind might extend the effects of this shock through 
his whole being and moral world. And if, the state 
of melancholy being thus deepened and fixed, a sud- 
den demand for difficult and decisive action in a mat- 
ter connected with the melancholy arose, this state 
might well have for one of its symptoms an end- 
less and futile mental dissection of the required deed. 
And, finally, the futility of this process, and the 



487 



6 



HAMLET 



shame of his delay, would further weaken him and 
enslave him to his melancholy still more." 

It is not likely that any single logical interpreta- 
tion can fully account for the complex and illogical 
character of Hamlet. Bradley's exposition can profit- 
ably be studied in connection with the diametrically 
opposed treatment in Shakesjjeare's Hamlet: a New 
Commentary by W. F. Trench (1913). In making 
the mind of Hamlet more normal and intelligible, 
it may be said that Bradley makes it rather less 
romantic and picturesque. The picturesque Hamlet, 
the dreamer and poet, weak in action but charming 
beyond any other figure of the stage, has been elo- 
quently described by Coleridge and Schlegel, but best 
of all, perhaps, by Goethe, who in Wilhehn Meister 
approached the character from the most auspicious 
angle, that of his hero, an actor studying the part 
for presentation. "I sought for every indication," 
Goethe makes Wilhelm say, "of what the character 
of Hamlet was before the death of his father; I 
took note of all that this interesting youth had been, 
independently of that sad event, independently of 
the subsequent terrible occurrences, and I imagined 
what he might have been without them. Tender and 
nobly descended, this royal flower grew up under 
the direct influences of majesty; the idea of the right 
and of princely dignity, the feeling for the good 
and the graceful, with the consciousness of his high 
birth, were unfolded in him together. He was a 
prince, a born prince. Pleasing in figure, polished 
by nature, courteous from the heart, he was to be 
the model of youth and the delight of the world. 
. . . Figure to yourselves this youth, this son of 



princes, conceive him vividly, bring his condition be- 
fore your eyes, and then observe him when he learns 
that his father's spirit walks; stand by him in the 
terrible night when the venerable Ghost itself ap- 
l^ears before him. A horrid shudder seizes him; he 
speaks to the mysterious form; he sees it beckon 
him; he follows it and barkens. The fearful accu- 
sation of his uncle rings in his ears; the summons 
to revenge and the i3iercing reiterated prayer: 'Re- 
member me !' . . . In this view I find the piece com- 
posed throughout. Here is an oak tree planted in 
a costly vase, which should have received into its 
bosom only lovely flowers; the roots spread out, the 
vase is shivered to pieces. A beautiful, pure, noble, 
and most moral nature, without the strength of nerve 
which makes the hero, sinks beneath a burden which 
it can neither bear nor throw ofi^; every duty is holy 
to him, — this too hard. The impossible is required 
of him, — not the impossible in itself, but the impos- 
sible to him. How he winds, turns, agonizes, ad- 
vances, and recoils, ever reminded, ever reminding 
liimself, and at last almost loses his purpose from 
his thoughts, without ever again recovering his peace 
of mind." 

It by no means detracts from the value of this 
fine piece of appreciative criticism that Goethe thirty 
years later felt the mystery of the play to be still 
unsolved. "After all is said," he confessed in 1828, 
"that weighs upon one's soul as a gloomy problem." 
It was doubtless the unconquerable psychological 
problem incarnate in Hamlet that drove Shakespeare 
to compose the tragedy and has since given it its 
matchless vitality and human appeal. B. 



488 



THE TRAGEDY OF 
HAMLET, ^PRINCE OF DENMARK 

[Scene: Elsinore, the ancient capital of Denmark, and adjoining country. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 



Claudius, king of Denmark, 

Hamlet, son to the late, and nephew to the present 
king. 

PoLoxius, lord chamberlain. 

Horatio, friend to Hamlet. 

Laertes, son to Polonius. 

VOLTIMAXD, 



CORXELIUS, 
ROSEXCRAXTZ, 
GUILDENSTERX, 
OSRIC, 

A Priest. 



courtiers. 



Marcellus, "j 
Berxardo, |- officers. 

FrAX CISCO, J 

Reyxaldo, servant to Polonius. 
Players. 

Two Clowns, grave-diggers. 
FoRTixBRAs, prince of Norway. 
A Captain under Fortinbras. 
English Ambassador. 

Gertrude, queen of Denmark, and mother to Hamlet. 
Ophelia, daughter to Polonius. 

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, 

and other Attendants. 

Ghost of Hamlet's Father.] 



ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [Elsinoj-e. A platform before the 
castle.'\ 

[Francisco at his post. Enter to him Bernardo.^ 

Ber. Who's there? 

Fran. Nay^ answer me: stand, and unfold your- 
self. 

Ber. Long live the king ! 

Fran. Bernardo? 

Ber. He. 5 

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. 

Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, 
Francisco. 

Fran. For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter 
cold. 
And I am sick at heart. 

Ber. Have you had quiet guard? 



Fran. Not a mouse stirring. lo 

Ber. Well, good night. 

If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 

The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 

Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's 
there ? 14 

Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 

Hor. Friends to this ground. 

Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. 

Fran. Give you good night. 

Mar. ~ O, farewell, honest soldier: 

Who hath reliev'd you? 
Fran. Bernardo has my place. 

Give you good night. Exit Fran. 

Mar. Holla ! Bernardo ! 

Ber. Say, 

What, is Horatio there? 



489 



8 



HAMLET 



[act 



SC. 1. 



jf/or. A piece of him. 

Ber. Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Mar- 
cellus. 20 

Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again to- 
night ? 

Ber. I have seen nothing. 

Mar. Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy, 
And will not let belief take hold of him 
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : 
Therefore I have entreated him along 26 

With us to watch the minutes of this night; 
That if again this apparition come. 
He may approve our eyes and speak to it. 

Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear. 

Ber. Sit down awhile; 30 

And let us once again assail your ears. 
That are so fortified against our story. 
What we have two nights seen. 

Hor. Well, sit we down, 

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 

Ber. Last night of all, 35 

When yond same star that's westward from 

the pole 
Had made his course t' illume that part of 

heaven 
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself. 
The bell then beating one, — 

Enter the Ghost. 

Mar. Peace, break thee off. Look, where it 
comes again ! 40 

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's 
dead. 

Mar. Thou art a scholar ; speak to it, Horatio. 

Ber. Looks it not like the king? mark it, Ho- 
ratio. 

Hor. Most like: it harrows me with fear and 
wonder. 44 

Ber. It would be spoke to. 

Mar. Question it, Horatio. 

Hor. What art thou that usurp'st this time of 
night, 
Together with that fair and warlike form 
In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge 
thee, speak ! 

Mar. It is offended. 



Ber. 



See, it stalks away 



50 



Hor. Stay ! speak, speak ! I charge thee, 
speak! Exit the Ghost. 

Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. 



Ber. How now, Horatio ! you tremble and look 

pale: 
Is not this something more than fantasy? 
What think you on't? 55 

Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe 
Without the sensible and true avouch 
Of mine own eyes. 
Mar. Is it not like the king? 

Hor. As thou art to thyself: 

Such was the very armour he had on 60 

When he th' ambitious Norway combated; 
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle. 
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. 
'Tis strange. 
Mar. Thus twice before, and jump at this dead 

hour, 65 

With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 

Hor. In what particular thought to work I know 

not; 
But in the gross and scope of my opinion, 
This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that 

knows, 70 

Why this same strict and most observant 

watch 
So nightly toils the subject of the land. 
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon. 
And foreign mart for implements of war; 
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore 

task 75 

Does not divide the Sunday from the week ; 
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the 

day: 
Who is't that can inform me? 
Hor. That can I ; 

At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king. 
Whose image even but now appear'd to us, 81 
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, 
Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant 

Hamlet — 
For so this side of our known world esteem'd 

him — 85 

Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd 

compact. 
Well ratified by law and heraldry. 
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands 
Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror: 
Against the which, a moiety competent 90 

Was gaged by our king; which had return'd 
To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 



490 



ACT I. SC. I.] 



HAMLET 



Had he been vanquisher; aS;, by the same 

covenant, 
And carriage of the article design'd, 
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortin- 

bras, 95 

Of unimproved mettle hot and full, 
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there 
Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes. 
For food and diet, to some enterprise 
That hath a stomach in't; which is no other — ■ 
As it doth well appear unto our state — loi 

But to recover of us, by strong hand 
And terms compulsative, those foresaid lands 
So by his father lost: and this, I take it. 
Is the main motive of our preparations, 105 
The source of this our watch and the chief 

head 
Of this post-haste and romage in the land. 
"I" Ber. I think it be no other but e'en so : 
Well may it sort that this portentous figure 
Comes armed through our watch; so like the 

king 110 

That was and is the question of these wars. 
Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye. 
In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell. 
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted 

dead 115 

Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets: 
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood. 
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star 
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire 

stands 
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse : 120 
And even the like precurse of fierce events. 
As harbingers preceding still the fates 
And prologue to the omen coming on. 
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
Unto our climatures and countrymen. — 125 

* Enter Ghost again. 

But soft, behold ! lo, where it comes again ! 
I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illu- 
sion ! f It spreads his arms. 
* If thou hast any sound, or use of voice. 
Speak to me: 

If there be any good thing to be done, 130 

That may to thee do ease and grace to me 
Speak to me: 
If thou art privy to thy country's fate. 



Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 

O, speak! 135 

Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 

Extorted treasure in the womb of earth. 

For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in 

death, 
Speak of it. f The cock crows. 

* Stay, and speak ! Stop it, Marcellus. 

Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan? 140 

Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 

Ber. 'Tis here! 

Hor. 'Tis here! 

Mar. 'Tis gone! Exit Ghost, 

We do it wrong, being so majestical. 
To offer it the show of violence; 
For it is, as the air, invulnerable, 145 

And our vain blows malicious mockery. 

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. 

Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard. 
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, 150 
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding 

throat 
Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning, 
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
Th' extravagant and erring spirit hies 
To his confine: and of the truth herein 155 

This present object made probation. 

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated. 
The bird of dawning singeth all night long: 160 
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad ; 
The nights are wholesome; then no planets 

strike. 
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to 

charm. 
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 

Hor. So have I heard and do in part believe it. 
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 166 
AValks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill : 
Break we our watch up ; and by my advice. 
Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life, 170 
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. 
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it. 
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? 

Mar. Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning 
know 
Where we shall find him most conveniently. 

Exeunt. 



491 



10 



HAMLET 



[act I. SC. II. 



Scene II. — [Interior of the castle.'\ 

Enter Claudius King of Denmark, Gertrude the 
Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, and his 
sister Ophelia, [ivith Voltimand and Cor- 
nelius,^ Lords Attendant. 



King, Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's 
death 
The memory be green, and that it us befitted 
To bear our hearts in grief and our whole 

kingdom 
To be contracted in one brow of woe^ 
Yet so far hath discretion fought with na- 
ture 5 
That we with wisest sorrow think on him. 
Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, 
Th' imperial jointress of this warlike state. 
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated j oy, — lo 
With one auspicious and one dropping eye. 
With mirth in funeral and with dirge in mar- 
riage. 
In equal scale weighing delight and dole, — 
Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
With this affair along. For all, our thanks. i6 
Now follows, that you know, young Fortin- 

bras. 
Holding a weak supposal of our worth. 
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death 
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 20 
Colleagued with the dream of his advantage. 
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message. 
Importing the surrender of those lands 
Lost by his father, with all bonds of law, 
To our most valiant brother. So much for 
him. 25 

Now for ourself and for this time of meet- 
ing: 
Thus much the business is: we have here writ 
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, — 
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
Of this his nephew's purpose, — to suppress 30 
His further gait herein; in that the levies. 
The lists and full proportions, are all made 
Out of his subject: and we here despatch 
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway; 35 
Giving to you no further personal power 
To business with the king, more than the 
gcope 



Of these dilated articles allow. 
Farewell, and let your haste commend your 
duty. 
Vol, In that and all things will we show our 
duty. ' 40 

King, We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. 

Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? 
You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes ? 
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, 
Laertes, 45 

That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? 
The head is not more native to the heart. 
The hand more instrumental to the mouth. 
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
What wouldst thou have, Laertes ? 
Laer, Dread my lord, 50 

Your leave and favour to return to France ; 
From whence though willingly I came to Den- 
mark, 
To show my duty in your coronation. 
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done. 
My thoughts and wishes bend again towards 
France 55 

And bow them to your gracious leave and par- 
don. 
King. Have you your father's leave? What 

says Polonius? 
Pol, He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow 
leave 
By laboursome petition, and at last 
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: 60 

I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be 
thine. 
And thy best graces spend it at thy will ! 
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, — 
Ham. [Aside'] A little more than kin, and less 
than kind. 65 

King. How is it that the clouds still hang on 

you? 
Ham. Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun. 
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour 
off. 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Den- 
mark. 
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids 70 

Seek for thy noble father in the dust: 
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must 

die. 
Passing through nature to eternity. 



492 



II.] 



HAMLET 



11 



\m. Ay^ madam, it is common. 
een. If it be, 

Why seems it so particular with thee.^ 75 

\m. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not 

'seems.' 
Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
SFor customary suits of solemn black, 
SJ^or windy suspiration of forc'd breath, 
So, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 80 

STor the dejected haviour of the visage, 
Fogether with all forms, moods, shapes of 

grief, 
rhat can denote me truly : these indeed seem. 
For they are actions that a man might play: 
But I have that within which passeth show ; 85 
rhese but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
tg. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your na- 
ture, Hamlet, 
Fo give these mourning duties to your father: 
But, you must know, your father lost a father ; 
Fhat father lost, lost his, and the survivor 
bound 90 

[n filial obligation for some term 
Fo do obsequious sorrow: but to persever 
[n obstinate condolement is a course 
3f impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief; 
[t shows a will most incorrect to heaven, 95 
\ heart unfortified, a mind impatient, 
\n understanding simple and unschool'd: 
For what we know must be and is as common 
\s any the most vulgar thing to sense, 
Nhj should we in our peevish opposition 100 
Fake it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven, 
\ fault against the dead, a fault to nature, 
Fo reason most absurd; whose common theme 
[s death of fathers, and who still hath cried, 
From the first corse till he that died to-day, 105 
This must be so.' We pray you, throw to 

earth 
Fhis unprevailing woe, and think of us 
\s of a father: for let the world take note, 
f ou are the most immediate to our throne ; 
\nd with no less nobility of love no 

Fhan that which dearest father bears his son. 
Do I impart towards you. For your intent 
[n going back to school in Wittenberg, 
[t is most retrograde to our desire: 
\nd we beseech you, bend you to remain 115 
^ere, in the cheer and comfort of our eye, 
3ur chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 
een. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, 
Hamlet : 



I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Witten- 
berg. 
Ham. I shall in all my best obe}'' you, madam. 120 
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply: 
Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come; 
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet 
Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof. 
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to- 
day, 125 
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell. 
And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit 

again. 
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away^ 

Flourish. Exeunt all hut Hamlet. 

Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, 

Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! 130. 

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O 

God! 
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable, 
Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
Fie on't ! O fie ! 'tis an unweeded garden, 135 
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in 

nature 
Possess it merely. That it should come to 

this! 
But two months dead: nay, not so much, not 

two: 
So excellent a king ; that was, to this, 
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother 
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and 
earth ! 142 

Must I remember? why, she would hang on 

him. 
As if increase of appetite had grown 
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month — 
Let me not think on't — Frailty, thy name is 
woman ! — 146 

A little month, or ere those shoes were old 
With which she follow'd my poor father's 

body. 
Like Niobe, all tears: — why she, even she — 
O God ! a beast, that wants discourse of rea- 
son, 150 
Would have mourn'd longer — married with 

my uncle, 
My father's brother^ but no more lil^e my 

father 
Than I to Hercules: within a month: 
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, 15s 



493 



12 



HAMLET 



[act I. sc. 



She married. O, most wicked speed, to post 
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! 
It is not nor it cannot come to good : 
But break, my heart; for I must hold my 
tongue. 

Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus. 

Her. Hail to your lordship ! 

Ham. I am glad to see you well. i6o 

Horatio, — or I do forget myself. 
Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant 

ever. 
Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that 
name with you: 

And what make you from Wittenberg, Ho- 
ratio ? 

Marcellus ? 165 

Mar. My good lord — 

Ham. I am very glad to see you. [To Bernardo'] 
Good even, sir. 

But \vhat, in faith, make you from Witten- 
berg? 
Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 
Ham. I would not have your enemy say so, 170 

Nor shall you do mine ear that violence. 

To make it truster of your own report 

Against yourself: I know you are no truant. 

But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 

We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 
Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's 
funeral. 176 

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow- 
student ; 

I think it was to see my mother's wedding. 
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd 
meats 180 

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 

Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 

Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! 

My father ! — methinks I see my father. 
Hor. O where, my lord ? 

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 185 

Hor. I saw him once; he was a goodly king. 
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 

I shall not look upon his like again. 
Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 
Ham. Saw? who? 190 

Hor. My lord, the king your father. 
Ham. The king my father ! 

Hor. Season your admiration for a while 



With an attent ear, till I may deliver. 
Upon the witness of these gentlemen. 
This marvel to you. 

Ham. For God's love, let me hear. 195 

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch. 
In the dead waste and middle of the night, 
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your 

father. 
Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe, 200 

Appears before them, and with solemn march 
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he 

walk'd 
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes. 
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, 

distill'd 
Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 205 

Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to 

me 
In dreadful secrecy impart they did; 
And I with them the third night kept the 

watch : 
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, 
Form of the thing, each word made true and 
good, 210 

The apparition comes : I knew your father ; 
These hands are not more like. 

Ham. But where was this ? 

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we 
watch'd. 

Ham. Did you not speak to it ? 

Hor. My lord, I did; 

But answer made it none : yet once methought 
It lifted up it head and did address 216 

Itself to motion, like as it would speak; 
But even then the morning cock crew loud. 
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away. 
And vanish'd from our sight. 

Ham. 'Tis very strange. 220 

Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true ; 
And we did think it writ down in our duty 
To let you know of it. 

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
Hold you the watch to-night ? 

Mar. \ 

Ber. j 

Ham. Arm'd, say you? 

Ber. J ^^"^'^^ ™y lo^^- 
Ham. From top to toe? 
Mar. 1 



We do, my lord. 225 



Ber. 



My lord, from head to foot. 



494 



ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



HAMLET 



13 



Ham. Then saw you not his face? 

Hor, O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up. 230 

Ham. What, look'd he frowningly? 

Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in 

anger. 
Ham. Pale or red? 
Hor. Nay, very pale. 

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you? 

Hor. Most constantly. 

Ham. I would I had been there. 

Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. 236 

Ham. Very like, very like. Stay'd it long? 
Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell 

a hundred. 
Mar. \ ^ . 

Ber. J Lo^g^^^ longer. 

Hor. Not when I saw't. 

Ham. His beard was grizzled, — no? 240 

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
A sable silver 'd. 

Ham. I'll watch to-night; 

Perchance 'twill walk again. 

Hor. I warrant it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape 
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, 247 
Let it be tenable in your silence still; 
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night. 
Give it an understanding, but no tongue: 250 
I will requite your loves. So, fare you well: 
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
I'll visit you. 

All. Our duty to your honour. 

Ham. Your love, as mine to you: farewell. 

Exeunt [aZZ hut Hamlef]. 
My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 255 
I doubt some foul play: would the night were 

come ! 
Till then sit still, my soul : foul deeds will rise, 
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's 
eyes. Exit. 



Scene III. — \^The house of Polonius.'] 
Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd: farewell: 
And, sister, as the winds give benefit 
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep. 
But let me hear from you. 

Oph, Do you doubt that? 



Laer. For Hamlet and the trifling of his favours. 
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, 6 

A violet in the youth of primy nature. 
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting. 
The perfume and suppliance of a minute; 
No more. 

Oph. No more but so? 

Laer. Think it no more: 10 

For nature crescent does not grow alone 
In thews and bulk, but, as his temple waxes. 
The inward service of the mind and soul 
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you 

now. 
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch 15 
The virtue of his will: but you must fear. 
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own ; 
For he himself is subject to his birth: 
He may not, as unvalued persons do. 
Carve for himself ; for on his choice depends 20 
The sanctity and health of the whole state; 
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd 
Unto the voice and yielding of that body 
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he 

loves you. 
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it 25 

As he in his peculiar sect and force 
May give his saying "deed; which is no further 
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
Then weigh what loss your honour may sus- 
tain. 
If with too credent ear you list his songs, 30 
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure 

open 
To his unmaster'd importunity. 
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister. 
And keep you in the rear of your aff*ection. 
Out of the shot and danger of desire. 35 

The chariest maid is prodigal enough, 
If she unmask her beauty to the moon: 
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes: 
The canker galls the infants of the spring. 
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd, 40 
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
Be wary then ; best safety lies in fear : 
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 

Oph. I shall th' eff*ect of this good lesson keep. 
As watchman to my heart. But, good my 
brother, 46 

Do not, as some ungracious pastors do. 
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; 
Whilst, like a pufF'd and reckless libertine. 



495 



14 



HAMLET 



[act 



I. SC. III. 



Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads. 
And recks not his own rede. 
Laer, O, fear me not. 

Enter Polonitis. 

I stay too long: but here my father comes. 52 
A double blessing is a double grace; 
Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 
Pol. Yet here, Laertes ! aboard, aboard, for 
shame ! S5 

The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail. 
And you are stay'd for. There; my blessing 

with you ! 
And these few j^recepts in thy memory 
See thou character. Give thy thoughts no 

tongue. 
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 60 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption 

tried. 
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Be- 
ware 65 
Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, 
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. 
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; 
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy 

j udgement. 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 70 

But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; 
For the apparel oft proclaims the man, 
And they in France of the best rank and sta- 
tion 
Are of a most select and generous chief in 

that. 
• Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; 75 

For loan oft loses both itself and friend, 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all: to thine own self be true, 
And it must follow, as the night the day. 
Thou canst not then be false to any man. 80 
Farewell : my blessing season this in thee ! 
Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 
Pol. The time invites you; go; your servants 

tend. 
Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well 

What I have said to you. 
Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd. 

And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 86 
Laer. Farewell. Exit Laertes. 



Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? 
Oph. So please you, something touching the 

Lord Hamlet. 
Pol. Marry, well bethought: 90 

'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late 
Given private time to you ; and j'-ou yourself 
Have of your audience been most free and 

bounteous : 
If it be so, as so 'tis put on me. 
And that in way of caution, I must tell you, 95 
You do not understand yourself so clearly 
As it behoves my daughter and your honour. 
What is between you ? give me up the truth. 
Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many ten- 
ders 
Of his affection to me. 100 

Pol. Affection ! pooh ! you speak like a green 
girl. 
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them ? 
Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should 

think. 

Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a 

baby ; 105 

That you have ta'en his tenders for true pay, 

Which are not sterling. Tender yourself 

more dearly; 
Or — not to crack the wind of the poor phrase. 
Running it thus — you'll tender me a fool. 
Oph. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love 
In honourable fashion. m 

Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to. 
Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, 
my lord. 
With almost all the holy vows of heaven. 
Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do 
know, IIS 

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daugh- 
ter, 
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both. 
Even in their promise, as it is a-making, 
You must not take for fire. From this time, 
daughter, 120 

Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence ; 
Set your entreatments at a higher rate 
Than a command to parley. For Lord Ham- 
let, 
Believe so much in him, that he is young. 
And with a larger tether may he walk 125 

Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia, 
Do not believe his vows ; for they are brokers. 



496 



ACT I. SC. 



III.] 



HAMLET 



15 



Not of that dye which their investments show, 
But mere implorators of unholy suits, 
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds, 130 
The better to beguile. This is for all : 
I would not, in plain terms, from this time 

forth. 
Have you so slander any moment leisure, 
As to give words or talk with the Lord Ham- 
let. 
Look to't, I charge you: come your ways. 135 
Oph. I shall obey, my lord. Exeunt. 



[Scene IV. — The platform.'] 

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus. 

Ham, The air bites shrewdly ; is it very cold ? 
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 
Ham. What hour now } 

Hor. I think it lacks of twelve. 

Mar. No, it is struck. 

Hor. Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws 
near the season 5 

Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 

I A flourish of trumpets, and two pieces 

go off \_within]. 

* What does this mean, my lord ? 

Ham. The king doth wake to-night and takes 

his rouse. 

Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 

reels ; 
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish 
down, 10 

The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
The triumph of his pledge. 
Hor. Is it a custom? 

Ham. Ay, marry, is't: 

But to my mind, though I am native here 
And to the manner born, it is a custom 15 

More honour'd in the breach than the ob- 
servance. 
f This heavy-headed revel east and west 
Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations: 
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish 

phrase 
Soil our addition ; and indeed it takes 20 

From our achievements, though perform'd at 

height. 
The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
So, oft it chances in particular men. 
That for some vicious mole of nature in them. 



As, in their birth — wherein they are not 
guilty, 25 

Since nature cannot choose his origin — 
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion. 
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of rea- 
son. 
Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens 
The form of plausive manners, that these men. 
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, 31 
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 
Their virtues else — be they as pure as grace,. 
As infinite as man may undergo — 
Shall in the general censure take corruption 35 
From that particular fault: the dram of eale 
Doth all the noble substance of a doubt 
To his own scandal. 

* Enter Ghost. 

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! 

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! 
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd, 40 
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts 

from hell. 
Be thy intents wicked or charitable. 
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape 
That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Ham- 
let, 
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me! 43 
Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell 
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, 
Have burst their cerements; why the sepul- 
chre. 
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd. 
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, 50 
To cast thee up again. What may this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel 
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon. 
Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature 
So horridly to shake our disposition 55 

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our 

souls ? 
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we 
do? Ghost beckons Hamlet. 

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it. 
As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 60 

It waves you to a more removed ground: 
But do not go with it. 

Hor. No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak; then will I follow it. 



497 



16 



HAMLET 



[act I. SC. IV. 



Hor. Do not^ my lord. 

Ham. ^Vhy, what should be the fear ? 

I do not set my life at a pin's fee; 65 

And for my soul, what can it do to that, 
Being a thing immortal as itself? 
It waves me forth again: I'll follow it. 

Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my 
lord, 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliiF 70 

That beetles o'er his base into the sea. 
And there assume some other horrible form. 
Which might deprive your sovereignty of rea- 
son 
And draw you into madness? think of it: 
t The very place puts toys of desperation, 75 
Without more motive, into every brain 
That looks so manj^ fathoms to the sea 
And hears it roar Ijeneath. 

* Ham. It waves me still. 

Go on; I'll follow thee. 

Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 

Ham. Hold off your hand. 80 

Hor. Be rul'd; you shall not go. 

Ham. My fate cries out. 

And makes each petty artery in this body 
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. 
Still am I call'd? Unhand me, gentlemen. 
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets 
me! 85 

I say, away! Go on; I'll follow thee. 

Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. 

Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. 

Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. 

Hor. Have after. To what issue will this 
come? 

Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Den- 
mark. 90 

Hor. Heaven will direct it. 

Mar. Nay, let's follow him. Exeunt. 



[Scene V. — Another part of the platform.'] 

Enter Ghost and Hamlet. 

Ham. Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go 

no further. 
Ghost. Mark me. 
Ham. I will. 

Ghost. My hour is almost come. 

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 

Must render up myself. 
Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 



Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hear- 
ing 5 
To what I shall unfold. 
Ham. Speak; I am bound to hear. 
Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt 

hear. 
Ham. What? 
Ghost. I am thy father's spirit, 

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, 10 
And for the day confin'd to fast in fires. 
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature 
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am 

forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word 15 
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young 

blood. 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from 

their spheres. 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part 
And each particular hair to stand an end. 
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine: 20 
But this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, 

list! 
If thou didst ever thy dear father love — 
Ham. O God! 

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural 
murther. 25 

Ham. Murther ! 

Ghost. Murther most foul, as in the best it is ; 
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 
Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with wings 
as swift 
As meditation or the thoughts of love, 30 

May sweep to my revenge. 
Ghost. I find thee apt; 

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed 
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, 

hear: 
'Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard, 
A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Den- 
mark 36 
Is by a forged process of my death 
Rankly abus'd : but know, thou noble youth. 
The serpent that did sting thy father's life 
Now wears his crown. 
Ham. O my prophetic soul I 40 

Mine uncle! 
Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate 
beast, 



498 



ACT I. SC. v.] 



HAMLET 



17 



With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous 

gifts,— 
O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power 
So to seduce ! — won to his shameful lust 45 

The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen: 

Hamlet, what a falling-ofF was there ! 
From me, whose love was of that dignity 
That it went hand in hand even with the vow 

1 made to her in marriage, and to decline 50 
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor 
To those of mine ! 

But virtue, as it never will be moved, 

Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven. 

So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, 55 

Will sate itself in a celestial bed. 

And prey on garbage. 

But, soft ! methinks I scent the morning air ; 

Brief let me be. Sleeping within mine 

orchard, 
My custom always in the afternoon, 60 

Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole. 
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial. 
And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
The leperous distilment; whose effect 
Holds such an enmity with blood of man 65 
That swift as quicksilver it courses through 
The natural gates and alleys of the body, 
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset 
And curd, like eager droppings into milk. 
The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine ; 
And a most instant tetter bark'd about, 71 

Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, 
All my smooth body. 

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand 
Of life, of crown, and queen, at once de- 

spatch'd : 75 

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd. 
No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
With all my imperfections on my head: 
O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrible ! 80 

If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; 
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
But, howsoever thou pursuest this act. 
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
Against thy mother aught: leave her to 

heaven 86 

And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge. 
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at 

once ! 
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near. 



And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire: 90 

Adieu, adieu ! Hamlet, remember me. Exit. 

Ham. O all you host of heaven ! O earth ! what 

else? 
And shall I couple hell? O, fie ! Hold, hold, 

my heart; 
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old. 
But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee ! 95 
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a 

seat 
In this distracted globe. Remember thee ! 
Yea, from the table of my memory 
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records. 
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures 

past, 100 

That youth and observation copied there; 
And thy commandment all alone shall live 
Within the book and volume of my brain, 
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, yes, by 

heaven ! 
O most pernicious woman ! 105 

villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! 
My tables, — meet it is I set it down, 

That one may smile, and smile, and be a vil- 
lain; 
At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark: 

[Writing.] 
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; 
It is 'Adieu, adieu! remember me.' m 

1 have sworn 't. 

Hor. (^ Mar. Within. My lord, my lord, — 
Mar. [Within] Lord Hamlet, — 

Hot. [Within] Heaven secure him! 

Ham. So be it! 

Hor. [Within] Hillo, ho, ho, my lord! 115 

Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come. 

Enter Horatio a7id MarcelluSo 

Mar. How is't, my noble lord ? 
Hor. What news, my lord ? 

Ham. O, wonderful ! 

Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 

Ham. No ; you'll reveal it. 
Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
Mar. Nor I, my lord. 120 

Ham. How say you, then; would heart of man 
once think it? 

But you'll be secret? 
Both. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 

Ham. There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all 
Denmark 

But he's an arrant knave. 



499 



18 



HAMLET 



[act I. SC. Vc 



II or. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from 
the grave 125 

To tell us this. 
Ham. Why, right; you are i' the right; 

And so, without more circumstance at all. 

I hold it iit that we shake hands and part: 

You, as your business and desires shall point 
you ; 

For every man has business and desire, 130 

Such as it is; and for mine own poor part. 

Look you, I'll go pray. 
Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, 

my lord. 
Ham. I'm sorry they offend you, heartily; 

Yes, 'faith, heartily. 
Hor. There's no offence, my lord. 135 

Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Ho- 
ratio, 

And much offence too, touching this vision 
here. 

It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you: 

For your desire to know what is between us, 

O'ermaster 't as you may. And now, good 
friends, 140 

As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers. 

Give me one poor request. 
Hor. What is't, my lord? we will. 
Ham. Never make known what you have seen 

to-night. 
Both. j\Iy lord, we will not. 
Ham. Nay, but swear 't. 

Hor. In faith, 

My lord, not I. 
Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 145 

Ham. Upon my sword. 

Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. 

Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 
Ghost. Swear. Ghost cries under the stage. 

Ham. Ah, ha, boy ! saj^'st thou so ? art thou 
there, truepenny.'^ 150 

Come on — you hear this fellow in the cel- 
larage — 

Consent to swear. 
Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen. 

Swear by my sword. 
Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. 155 

Ham. Hie et uhique? then we'll shift our ground. 

Come hither, gentlemen. 

And lay your hands again upon my sword: 

Never to speak of this that you have heard. 

Swear by my sword. 160 



Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. 

Ham. Well said, old mole ! canst work i' the 
ground so fast? 
A worthy pioner ! Once more remove, good 
friends. 
Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous 

strange ! 
Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it wel- 
come. 165 
There are more things in heaven and earth, 

Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in our philosophy. 
But come; 

Here, as before, never, so help you mercy. 
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, 170 
As I perchance hereafter shall think meet 
To put an antic disposition on. 
That you, at such times seeing me, never shall, 
With arms encumber'd thus, or thus, head 

shake. 

Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase. 

As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, and if 

we would,' 176 

Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, and if 

they might,' 
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
That you know aught of me: this not to do. 
So grace and mercy at your most need help 
you, 180 

Swear. 
Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. 

Ha7n. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentle- 
men. 
With all my love I do commend me to you : 
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 185 

May do, to express his love and friending to 

you, 
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in to- 
gether ; 
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
The time is out of joint: O cursed spite. 
That ever I was born to set it right ! 190 

Nay, come, let's go together. Exeunt. 



ACT SECOND 

[Scene I. — House of Polonius.] 

Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. 

Pol. Give him this money and these notes, 

Reynaldo. 
Rey. I will, my lord. 
00 



ACT II, SCo I.] 



HAMLET 



19 



Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good 
Reynaldoj, 
Before you visit him;, to make inquire 
Of his behaviour. 

Rey. My lord^, I did intend it. 5 

Pol. Marry, well said; very well said. Look 
you, sir, 
Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; 
And how, and who, what means, and where 

they keep. 
What company, at what expense; and finding 
By this encompassment and drift of question 
That they do know my son, come you more 
nearer u 

Than your particular demands will touch it: 
Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge 

of him; 
As thus, 'I know his father and his friends, 
And in part him :' do you mark this, Reynaldo ? 

Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. 16 

Pol. 'And in part him; but' you may say *not 
well : 
But, if't be he I mean, he's very wild; 
Addicted so and so:' and there put on him 
What forgeries you please; marry, none so 
rank 20 

As may dishonour him ; take heed of that ; 
But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips 
As are companions noted and most known 
To youth and liberty. 

Rey. As gaming, my lord. 

Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quar- 
relling, 25 
Drabbing: you may go so far. 

Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him. 

Pol. 'Faith, no; as you may season it in the 
charge. 
You must not put another scandal on him, 
That he is open to incontinency ; 30 

That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults 

so quaintly 
That they may seem the taints of liberty. 
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind, 
A savageness in unreclaimed blood. 
Of general assault. 

Rey. But, my good lord, — 35 

Pol. Wherefore should you do this ? 

Rey. Ay, my lord, 

I would know that. 

Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift; 

And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant: 
You laying these slight sullies on my son, 



As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the work- 
ing, 40 
Mark you. 

Your party in converse, him you would sound. 
Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes 
The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd 
He closes with you in this consequence: 45 
'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman,' 
According to the phrase and the addition 
Of man and country, 

Rey. Very good, my lord. 

Pol. And then, sir, does he this — he does — - 
what was I about to say ? By the mass, I was 
about to say something: where did I leave? 51 

Rey. At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend 
or so,' and 'gentleman.' 

Pol. At 'closes in the consequence,' ay, marry ; 
He closes with you thus: 'I know the gentle- 
man ; 55 
I saw him yesterday, or t'other day. 
Or then, or then ; with such, and such ; and, as 

you say. 
There was he gaming; there o'ertook in 's 

rouse ; 
There falling out at tennis:' or perchance, 
'I saw him enter such a house of sale,' 60 

Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth. 
See you now; 
Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of 

truth : 
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach. 
With windlasses and with assays of bias, 65 
By indirections find directions out: 
So by my former lecture and advice. 
Shall you my son. You have me, have you 
not.? 

Rey. My lord, I have. 

Pol. God be wi' you ; fare you well. 

Rey. Good my lord ! 70 

Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. 

Rey. I shall, my lord. 

Pol. And let him ply his music. 

Rey. Well, my lord. Exito 

Pol. Farewell! 

Enter Ophelia. 

How now, Ophelia ! what's the matter ? 
Oph. Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted ! 75 
Pol. With what, i' the name of God ? 
Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber. 
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd; 



501 



20 



HAMLET 



[act II. SC. 1 



No hat upon his head; his stockings foiil'd, 
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ankle; 80 
Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each 

other ; 
And with a look so piteous in purport 
As if he had been loosed out of hell 
To speak of horrors, — he comes before me, 

Pol. Mad for thy love? 

Oph. My lord, I do not know; 

But truly, I do fear it. 

PoL What said he? 86 

Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me hard; 
Then goes he to the length of all his arm; 
And, Avith his other hand thus o'er his brow. 
He falls to such perusal of my face 90 

As he would draw^ it. Long stay'd he so; 
At last, a little shaking of mine arm 
And thrice his head thus waving up and down. 
He raised a sigh so piteous and profound 
That it did seem to shatter all his bulk 95 

And end his being: that done, he lets me go: 
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd, 
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes ; 
For out o' doors he went without their help. 
And, to the last, bended their light on me. 100 

Pol. Come, go with me: I will go seek the king. 
This is the very ecstasy of love. 
Whose violent property fordoes itself 
And leads the will to desperate undertakings 
As oft as any passion under heaven 105 

That does afflict our natures. I am sorry. 
What, have you given him any hard words of 
late? 

Oph. No, my good lord, but, as you did com- 
mand, 
I did repel his letters and denied 
His access to me. 

Pol. That hath made him mad. no 

I am sorry that with better heed and judge- 
ment 
I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but 

trifle. 
And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my 

j ealousy ! 
By heaven, it is as proper to our age 
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions us 
As it is common for the younger sort 
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king: 
This must be known ; which, being kept close, 

might move 
More grief to hide than hate to utter love. 

Exeunt. 



Scene II. — \_A room in the castle.'] 

Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, 
cum aliis. 

King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guilden- 
stern ! 
Moreover that we much did long to see you. 
The need we have to use you did provoke 
Our hasty sending. Something have you 

heard 
Of Hamlet's transformation; so I call it^ 5 
Since not th' exterior nor the inward man 
Resembles that it was. What it should be. 
More than his father's death, that thus hath 

put him 
So much from the understanding of himself, 
I cannot deem of, I entreat you both, 10 

That, being of so young days brought up with 

him. 
And since so neighbour'd to his youth and 

humour. 
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
Some little time: so by j^our companies 
To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather, 15 
So much as from occasions you may glean, 
f Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him 

thus, 
* That, open'd, lies within our remedy. 
Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of 
you; 
And sure I am two men there are not living 20 
To whom he more adheres. If it will please 

you 
To show us so much gentry and good will 
As to expend your time with us awhile. 
For the supply and profit of our hope, 
Your visitation shall receive such thanks 25 
As fits a king's remembrance. 
Ros. Both your majesties 

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
Put your dread pleasures more into command 
Than to entreaty. 
Guil. But we both obey. 

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent 30 
To lay our services freely at your feet. 
To be commanded. 
King. Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guilden- 
stern. 
Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosen- 
crantz : 
And I beseech you instantly to visit 35 



502 



ACT II. SC. 



11.] 



HAMLET 



21 



My too much changed son. Go^ some of ye, 
And bring the gentlemen where Hamlet is. 
Guil. Heavens make our presence and our prac- 
tices 
Pleasant and helpful to him ! 
Queen. Ay, amen ! 

[^Exeunt Rosencrantz, Gidldenstern, and 
some Attendants.^ 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good 
lord, 40 

Are joyfully return'd. 
King. Thou still hast been the father of good 

news. 
Pol. Have I, my lord.^ Assure you, my good 
liege, 
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, 
Both to my God and to my gracious king: 45 
And I do think, or else this brain of mine 
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
As it hath us'd to do, that I have found 
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 
King. O, speak of that ; that do I long to hear. 50 
Pol. Give first admittance to th' ambassadors; 
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. 
King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring 
them in. [Exit Polonius.] 

He tells me, my sweet queen, that he hath 

found 
The head and source of all your son's distem- 
per. 55 
Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main: 
His father's death, and our o'erhasty mar- 
riage. 
King. Well, we shall sift him. 

Enter Polonius, Voltimand, and Cornelius. 

Welcome, good friends ! 
Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Nor- 
way.^ 
Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires. 
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 61 

His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd 
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack; 
But, better look'd into, he truly found 
It was against your highness : whereat 
grieved, 65 

That so his sickness, age, and impotence 
Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests 



On Fortinbras ; which he, in brief, obeys ; 
Receives rebuke from Norway, and in fine 
Makes vow before his uncle never more 70 
To give th' assay of arms against your maj- 
esty. 
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy. 
Gives him three thousand crowns in annual 

fee. 
And his commission to employ those soldiers. 
So levied as before, against the Polack: 75 

With an entreaty, herein further shown. 

[Giving a paper.] 
That it might please you to give quiet pass 
Through your dominions for his enterprise. 
On such regards of safety and allowance 
As therein are set down. 

King. It likes us well ; 80 

And at our more consider'd time we'll read. 
Answer, and think upon this business. 
Meantime we thank you for your well-took 

labour. 
Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together: 
Most welcome home! Exeunt Ambassadors. 

Pol. This business is well ended. 

My liege, and madam, to expostulate 86 

What majesty should be, what duty is. 
Why day is day, night night, and time is time. 
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and 

time. 
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, 90 
And tediousness the limbs and outward 

flourishes, 
I will be brief: your noble son is mad. 
Mad call I it; for, to define true madness. 
What is't but to be nothing else but mad ? 
But let that go. 

Queen. More matter, with less art. 95 

Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all. 
That he is mad, 'tis true : 'tis true 'tis pity ; 
And pity 'tis 'tis true: a foolish figure; 
But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
Mad let us grant him, then: and now remains 
That we find out the cause of this effect, loi 
Or rather say, the cause of this defect. 
For this effect defective comes by cause: 
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
Perpend. 105 

I have a daughter — have whilst she is mine — 
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark. 
Hath given me this: now gather, and surmise. 
[Reads'] The Letter* 
'To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most 



503 



HAMLET 



[act Ho SC. IIo 



beautified Ophelia/ — no 

That's an ill phrase^ a vild phrase; 'beautified' 
is a vild phrase: but you shall hear. Thus: 

[Reads.] 
'In her excellent white bosom, these/ 
Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her? 
Pol. Good madani;, stay awhile; I will be faith- 
ful. [Reads.] 115 
'Doubt thou the stars are fire ; 

Doubt that the sun doth move; 
Doubt truth to be a liar; 

But never doubt I love. 119 

'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers ; I 
have not art to reckon my groans: but that I 
love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. 
'Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this 
machine is to him, Hamlet.' 
This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown 
me, 125 

And, more above, hath his solicitings. 
As they fell out by time, by means and place. 
All given to mine ear. 
King. But how hath she 

Receiv'd his love? 
Pol. What do you think of me ? 

King. As of a man faithful and honourable. 130 
Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might 
you think. 
When I had seen this hot love on the wing — 
As I perceived it, I must tell you that. 
Before my daughter told me — what might you. 
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, 135 
If I had play'd the desk or table-book. 
Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb. 
Or look'd ui3on this love with idle sight; 
What might you think? No, I went round to 

work. 
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak : 140 
'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star; 
This must not be:' and then I precepts gave 

her. 
That she should lock herself from his resort. 
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice ; 
And he, repulsed — a short tale to make — 146 
Fell into a sadness, then into a fast. 
Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness. 
Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension. 
Into the madness wherein now he raves, 150 
And all we mourn for. 
King. Do you think 'tis this ? 

Queen. It may be, very likely. 



Pol. Hath there been such a time — I'd fain 
know that — 

That I have positively said ' 'Tis so,' 

When it prov'd otherwise? 
King. Not that I know. 155 

Pol. [Pointing to his head and shoulder] Take 
this from this, if this be otherwise: 

If circumstances lead me, I will find 

Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 

Within the centre. 
King. How may we try it further ? 

Pol. You know, sometimes he walks four hours 
together 160 

Here in the lobby. 
Queen. So he does indeed. 

Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to 
him: 

Be you and I behind an arras then; 

Mark the encounter: if he love her not 

And be not from his reason fall'n thereon, 165 

Let me be no assistant for a state. 

But keep a farm and carters. 
King. We will try it. 

Enter Hamlet, reading on a hook. 

Queen. But, look, where sadly the jjoor wretch 
comes reading. 

Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away: 
I'll board him presently. 

Exeunt King and Queeno 
O, give me leave: 170 
How does my good Lord Hamlet? 

Ham. Well, God-a-mercy. 

Pol. Do you know me, my lord? 

Ham. Excellent, excellent well; y' are a fish- 
monger. 

Pol. Not I, my lord. 175 

Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. 

Pol. Honest, my lord ! 

Ham. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, 
is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. 

Pol. That's very true, my lord. 180 

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead 
dog, being a god kissing carrion, — Have you a 
daughter ? 

Pol. I have, my lord. 

Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is 
a blessing: but not as your daughter may con- 
ceive. Friend, look to't. 187 

Pol. [Aside] How say you by that? Still 
harping on my daughter: yet he knew me not 



504 



ACT II. SC. II.] 



HAMLET 



r at first; he said I was a fishmonger: he is far 
gone, far gone: and truly in my youth I suf- 
fered much extremity for love; very near this. 
I'll speak to him again. [Aloud.] What do 
you read, my lord? 

Ham. Words, words, words. 

Pol. What is the matter, my lord? 19s 

Ham. Between who? 

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. 

Ham. Slanders, sir: for the satirical slave says 
here that old men have grey beards, that their 
faces are v/rinkled, their eyes purging thick 
amber or plum-tree gum and that they have a 
plentiful lack of wit, together with weak 
hams : all which, sir, though I most powerfully 
and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty 
to have it thus set down, for you yourself, sir, 
should be old as I am, if like a crab you could 
go backward. 206 

Pol. [Aside] Though this be madness, yet there 
is method in't. Will you walk out of the air, 
my lord? 

Ham. Into my grave? 210 

Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. [Aside] 
How pregnant sometimes his replies are ! a 
happiness that often madness hits on, which 
reason and sanity could not so prosperously be 
delivered of. I will leave him, and suddenly 
contrive the means of meeting between him and 
my daughter. — Mj honourable lord, I will 
most humbly take my leave of you. 

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing 
that I will more willingly part withal: except 
my life, except my life, except my life. 221 

Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 

Ham. These tedious old fools ! 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Pol. You go to seek my Lord Hamlet; there he 
is. 

Ros. [To Polonius] God save you, sir! 

[Exit Polonius.] 

Giiil. Mine honoured lord! 

Ros. My most dear lord ! 

Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost 
thou, Guildenstern ? Ah, Rosencrantz ! Good 
lads, how do ye both ? 230 

Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. 

Guil. Happy, in that we are not over-happy; 
On fortune's cap we are not the very button. 

Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe? 



Ros. Neither, my lord. 235 

Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the 
middle of her favours ? 

Guil. 'Faith, her privates we. 

Ham. In the secret parts of fortune? O, most 
true ; she is a strumpet. What's the news ? 240 

Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's grown 
honest. 

Ham. Then is doomsday near: but your news is 
not true. Let me question more in particu- 
lar: what have you, my good friends, deserved 
at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to 
prison hither? ' 

Guil. Prison, my lord ! 

Ham. Denmark's a prison. 

Ros. Then is the world one. 250 

Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many 
confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark being 
one o' the worst. 

Ros. We think not so, my lord. 254 

Ham. Why, then, 'tis none to you ; for there is 
nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes 
it so: to me it is a prison. 

Ros. Why then, your ambition makes it one; 
'tis too narrow for your mind. 259 

Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell 
and count myself a king of infinite space, were 
it not that I have bad dreams. 

Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition, for 
the very substance of the ambitious is merely 
the shadow of a dream. 265 

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 

Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and 
light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow. 

Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our 
monarchs and outstretched heroes the beggars' 
shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my 
fay, I cannot reason. 272 

Both. We'll wait upon you. 

Ham. No such matter: I will not sort you with 
the rest of my servants, for, to speak to you 
like an honest man, I am most dreadfully at- 
tended. But, in the beaten way of friendship, 
what make you at Elsinore? 278 

Ros. To visit you, my lord; no other occasion. 

Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in 
thanks; but I thank you: and sure, dear 
friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. 
Were you not sent for ? Is it your own inclin- 
ing? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal 
justly with me: come, come; nay, speak. 285 

Guil. What should we say, my lord? 



iOi 



24 



HAMLET 



[act II. SC. II. 



Ham. Why, any thing, but to the purpose. You 
were sent for; and there is a kind of confes- 
sion in your looks which your modesties have 
not craft enough to colour: I know the good 
king and queen have sent for you. 291 

Ros. To what end, my lord? 

Ham. That you must teach me. But let me 
conjure you, by the rights of our fellowship, 
by the consonancy of our youth, by the obliga- 
tion of our ever-preserved love, and by what 
more dear a better proposer could charge you 
withal, be even and direct with me, whether 
you were sent for, or no ? 

Ros. [Aside to Guil.'] What say you? 300 

Ham. [Aside] Nay, then, I have an eye of 
you. — If you love me, hold not off. 

Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 

Ham. I will tell you why; so shall my anticipa- 
tion prevent your discovery, and your secrecy 
to the king and queen moult no feather. I 
have of late — but wherefore I know not — lost 
all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise; 
and indeed it goes so heavily with my dispo- 
sition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems 
to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent 
canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhang- 
ing firmament, this maj estical roof fretted with 
golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to 
me than a foul and pestilent congregation of 
vapours. What a piece of work is a man ! 
how noble in reason ! how infinite in faculty ! 
in form and moving how express and admira- 
ble ! in action how like an angel! in apprehen- 
sion liow like a god ! the beauty of the world ! 
the paragon of animals ! And yet, to me, 
what is this quintessence of dust? man de- 
lights not me: no, nor woman neither, though 
by your smiling you seem to say so. 323 

Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff in my 
thoughts. 

Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said 
'man delights not me' ? 327 

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in 
man, what lenten entertainment the players 
shall receive from you: we coted them on the 
way; and hither are they coming, to offer you 
service. 331 

Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome; 
his majesty shall have tribute of me; the ad- 
venturous knight shall use his foil and target; 
the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous 
man shall end his part in peace; the clown 



shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle 
o' the sere; and the lady shall say her mind 
freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. 
What players are they? 340 

Ros. Even those you were wont to take delight 
in, the tragedians of the city. 

Ham. How chances it they travel? their resi- 
dence, both in reputation and profit, was bet- 
ter both ways. 345 

Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the means 
of the late innovation. 

Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they 
did when I was in the city? are they so fol- 
lowed ? 350 

Ros. No, indeed, they are not. 

Ham. How comes it ? do they grow rusty ? 

Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted 
pace: but there is, sir, an aery of children, 
little eyases, that cry out on the top of ques- 
tion, and are most tyrannically clapped for't: 
these are now the fa§hion, and so berattle the 
common stages — so they call them — that many 
wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills and 
dare scarce come thither. 360 

Ham. What, are they children? who maintains 
'em? how are they escoted? Will they pursue 
the quality no longer than they can sing? will 
they not say afterwards, if they should grow 
themselves to common players — as it is most 
like, if their means are no better — their writers 
do them wrong, to make them exclaim against 
their own succession? 368 

Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on both 
sides; and the nation holds it no sin to tarre 
them to controversy: there was, for a while, 
no money bid for argument, unless the poet 
and the player went to cuffs in the question. 

Ham. Is't possible? 374 

Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of 
brains. 

Ham. Do the boys carry it away? 

Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and 
his load too. 379 

Ham. It is not very strange; for mine uncle is 
king of Denmark, and those that would make 
mows at him while my father lived, give 
twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece 
for his picture in little. 'Sblood, there is 
something in this more than natural, if phi- 
losophy could find it out. 385 
Flourish for the players. 
I Guil. There are the players. 
06 



ACT II. SC. II.] 



HAMLET 



25 



Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. 
Your hands, come: the appurtenance of wel- 
come is fashion and ceremony: let me comply 
with you in this garb, lest my extent to the 
players, which, I tell you, must show fairly 
outward, should more appear like entertain- 
ment than yours. You are welcome: but my 
uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived. 
Guil. In what, my dear lord? 395 

Ham. I am but mad north-north-west: when the 
wind is southerly I Jinow a hawk from a hand- 



Enter Polonius. 

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! 

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern ; and you too: at 
each ear a hearer: that great baby you see 
there is not yet out of his swathing-clouts. 401 

Ros. Happily he's the second time come to 
them; for they say an old man is twice a 
child. 404 

Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of 
the players; mark it. You say right, sir: for 
a-Monday morning, 'twas so indeed. 

Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. 

Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. 

When Roscius was an actor in Rome, — 410 

Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. 

Ham. Buz, buz ! 

Pol. Upon mine honour, — 

Ham. Then came each actor on his ass, — 

Pol. The best actors in the world, either for 
tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral- 
comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, 
tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene indi- 
vidable, or poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be 
too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law 
of writ and the liberty, these are the only men. 

Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a 
treasure hadst thou ! 

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord? 

Ham. Why, 425 

'One fair daughter, and no more, 

The which he loved passing well.' 

Pol. [Aside] Still on my daughter. 

Ham. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah ? 

Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have 
a daughter that I love passing well. 431 

Ham. Nay, that follows not. 

Pol. What follows, then, my lord? 

Ham. Why, 



'As by lot, God wot,' 435 

and then, you know, 

'It came to pass, as most like it was,' — 
the first row of the pious chanson will show 
you more ; for look, where my abridgements 
come. 

Enter four or five Players. 

Y' are welcome, masters ; welcome, all. I am 
glad to see thee well. Welcome, good friends. 
O, my old friend ! thy face is valanced since I 
saw thee last : comest thou to beard me in Den- 
mark ? What, my young lady and mistress ! 
By'r lady, your ladyship is nearer heaven than 
when I saw you last, by the altitude of a 
chopine. Pray God, your voice, like a piece 
of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the 
ring. Masters, you are all welcome. We'll 
e'en to't like French falconers, fly at any thing 
we see: we'll have a speech straight: come, 
give us a taste of your quality; come, a pas- 
sionate speech. 
First Play. What speech, my lord? 453 

Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, but 
it was never acted; or, if it was, not above 
once; for. the play, I remember, pleased not 
the million; 'twas caviare to the general: but 
it was — as I received it, and others, whose 
judgement in such matters cried in the top of 
mine — an excellent play, well digested in the 
scenes, set down with as much modesty as cun- 
ning, I remember, one said there were no 
sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury, 
nor no matter in the phrase that might indict 
the author of affectation ; but called it an hon- 
est method, as wholesome as sweet, and by 
very much more handsome than fine. One 
speech in it I chiefly loved: 'twas ^Eneas' tale 
to Dido; and thereabout of it especially, where 
he speaks of Priam's slaughter: if it live in 
your memory, begin at this line: let me see, 
let me see — 471 

'The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian 

beast,' — 
It is not so : — it begins with Pyrrhus : — 
'The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, 
Black as his purpose, did the night resem- 
ble 475 
When he lay couched in the ominous horse. 
Hath now this dread and black complexion 
smear'd 



507 



26 



HAMLET 



[act II. SC. II. 



With heraldr}' more dismal; head to foot 
Now is he total gules; horridly trick'd 
With blood of fathers, mothers, daugliters, 

sons, 480 

Baked and impasted with the parching 

streets, 
That lend a tyrannous and damned light • 
To tlieir lords' murther: roasted in wrath 

and fire, 
And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, 
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish 

Pyrrhus 48s 

Old grandsire Priam seeks.' 
f So, proceed you. 
* Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with 

good accent and good discretion. 
First Play. 'Anon he finds him 490 

Striking too short at Greeks; his antique 

sword. 
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls. 
Repugnant to command: unequal match'd, 
Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage strikes 

wide ; 
But with the whifll and wind of his fell 

sword 495 

Th' unnerved father falls. Then senseless 

Ilium, 
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top 
Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash 
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear: for, lo ! his 

sword. 
Which was declining on the milky head 500 
Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' th' air to stick: 
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood, 
And like a neutral to his will and matter. 
Did nothing. 

But, as we often see, against some storm, 505 
A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, 
The bold winds speechless and the orb 

below 
As hush as death, anon the dreadful thun- 
der 
Doth rend the region, so, after Pyrrhns' 

pause, 
Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work ; 510 
And never did the Cyclo])s' liammers fall 
On Mars's armour forg'd for proof eternc 
Witli less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding 

sword 
Now falls on Priam. 
Out, out, thou strumpet. Fortune ! All j^ou 

gods, 515 



In general synod, take away her power; 
Break all the spokes and fellies from her 

wheel. 
And bowl the round nave down the hill of 

heaven. 
As low as to the fiends !' 
Pol. This is too long. 520 

Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. 
Prithee, say on: he's for a jig or a tale of 
bawdry, or he sleeps : say on : come to Hecuba. 
First Play. 'But who, O,. who had seen the 
mobled queen — ' 525 

Ham. 'The mobled queen?' 
Pol. That's good; 'mobled queen' is good. 
First Play. 'Run barefoot up and down, threat- 
ening the flame 
With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head 
Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe. 
About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins, 531 
A blanket, in th' alarm of fear caught up ; 
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom 

steep'd, 
'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have 

pronounc'd : 

But if the gods themselves did see her then 

When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious 

sport 536 

In minding with his sword her husband's 

limbs. 

The instant burst of clamour that she made. 

Unless things mortal move them not at all. 

Would have made milch the burning eyes 

of heaven, 540 

And passion in the gods.' 

Pol. Look, wh'er he has not turned his colour 

and has tears in's eyes. Pray you, no 

more. 544 

Ham. 'Tis well; I'll have thee speak out the 

rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the 

players well bestowed.^ Do ye hear, let them 

be well used; for they are the abstracts and 

brief chronicles of the time: after your death 

you were better have a bad epitaph tlian their 

ill report while you live. 551 

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their 

desert. 

Ham. God's bodykins, man, much better: use 

every man after his desert, and who should 

scape whipping? Use them after your own 

honour and dignity: the less they deserve, the 

more merit is in your bounty. Take them in. 

Pol. Come, sirs. 559 

08 



ACT II. SC. 



11.] 



HAMLET 



27 



Ham. Follow liim^ friends: we'll hear a play to- 
morrow. Exit Polonius [with all the Players 
but the First]. Dost thou hear me, old friend; 
can you play the Murtlier of Gonzago? 

Fii'st Play. Ay, my lord. 564 

Ham. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could, 
for a need, study a speech of some dozen or 
sixteen lines, which I would set down and 
insert in't, could ye not? 

First Play. Ay, my lord. 569 

Ham. Very well. Follow that lord; and look 
you mock him not. [Exit First Player.] My 
good friends, I'll leave you till night: you are 
welcome to Elsinore. 

Ros. Good my lord! 

Exeunt [Ros. and Guil.] Manet Hamlet 

Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' ye. Now I am alone. 
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 576 
Is it not monstrous that this player here, 
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion. 
Could force his soul so to his own conceit 
That from her working all his visage wann'd. 
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, 581 
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
With forms to his conceit ? and all for nothing ! 
For Hecuba! 

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 585 
That he should weep for her.^ What would 

he do. 
Had he the motive and the cue for passion 
That I have.^ He would drown the stage 

with tears 
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech, 

. Make mad the guilty and appal the free, 590 
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed 
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
Yet I, 

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak. 
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause. 
And can say nothing; no, not for a king, 596 
Upon whose property and most dear life 
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ? 
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 
Tweaks me by the nose } gives me the lie i' the 
throat, 601 

As deep as to the lungs ? who does me this ? 
Ha! 

'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be 
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall 605 

To make oppression bitter, or ere this 
I should have f a^tted all the region kites 



With this slave's oiFal : bloody, bawdy villain ! 
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless 

villain ! 
O, vengeance! 610 

Why, what an ass am I ! This is most brave. 
That I, the son of a dear father murther'd. 
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell. 
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with 

words. 
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, 615 

A scullion ! 
Fie upon't ! f oh ! About, my brain ! I have 

heard 
That guilty creatures sitting at a play 
Have by the very cunning of the scene 
Been struck so to the soul that presently 620 
They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 
For murther, though it have no tongue, will 

speak 
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these 

players 
Play something like the murder of my father 
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks; 625 
I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench, 
I know my course. The spirit that I have 

seen 
May be the devil: and the devil hath power 
T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps 
Out of my weakness and my melancholy, 630 
As he is very potent with such spirits, 
Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds 
More relative than this: the play's the thing 
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. 

Exit. 



[ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — A room in the castle.'] 

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosen- 
crantz, Guildenstern, and Lords. 

King. And can you, by no drift of circumstance, 
Get from him why he puts on this confusion, 
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy? 

Ros. He does confess he feels himself dis- 
tracted ; 5 
But from what cause he will by no means 
speak. 

Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded, 
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof, 



509 



28 



HAMLET 



[act III. SC. I, 



When we would bring him on to some confes- 
sion 
Of his true state. 

Queen. Did he receive you well? lo 

Ros. Most like a gentleman. 

Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. 

Ros. Niggard of question; but, of our demands. 
Most free in his reply. 

Queen. Did you assay him 

To any pastime.'* 15 

Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told 

him; 
And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
To hear of it: they are about the court. 
And, as I think, they have already order 20 
This night to play before him. 

Pol. 'Tis most true: 

And he beseech'd me to entreat your maj esties 
To hear and see the matter. 

King. With all my heart; and it doth much con- 
tent me 
To hear him so inclined. 25 

Good gentlemen, give him a further edge. 
And drive his purpose on to these delights. 

Ros. We shall, my lord. 

Exeunt [Rosencrantz and Guildenstern']. 

King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too ; 

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither. 
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here 30 
Affront Ophelia: 

Her father and myself, lawful espials, 
Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen. 
We may of their encounter frankly judge. 
And gather by him, as he is behav'd, 35 

K't be th' affliction of his love or no 
That thus he suffers for. 

Queen. I shall obey you. 

And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish 
That your good beauties be the happy cause 
Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope your 
virtues 40 

Will bring him to his wonted way again, 
To both your honours. 

Oph. Madam, I wish it may. \_Exit Queen.'] 

Pol. Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so 
please ye. 
We will bestow ourselves. [To Ophelia] Read 

on this book; 
That show of such an exercise may colour 45 
Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in 
this, — 



'Tis too much prov'd — that with devotion's 

visage 
And pious action we do sugar o'er 
The devil himself. 
King. [Aside] O, 'tis too true ! 

How smart a lash that speech doth give my 

conscience ! 50 

The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering 

art. 
Is not more ugly to. the thing that helps it 
Than is my deed to my most painted word: 
O heavy burthen! 
Pol. I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord. 

Exeunt. 

Enter Hamlet, 

Ham. To be, or not to be : that is the question : 56 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
And by opposing end them } To die : to sleep ; 
No more; and by a sleep to say we end 61 

The heart-ache and the thousand natural 

shocks 
That flesh is heir to ? 'Tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep ; 
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the 
rub; 65 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may 

come 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil. 
Must give us pause: there's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life; 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of 
time, 70 

Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con- 
tumely. 
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay. 
The insolence of office and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
When he himself might his quietus make 75 
With a bare bodkin.^ who would these fardels 

bear. 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life. 
But that the dread of something after death. 
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn 
No traveller returns, puzzles the will 8d 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; 
And thu3 the native hue of resolution 



510 



ACT III. 



SC. I.] 



HAMLET 



29 



Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, 
And enterprises of great pith and moment 86 
With this regard their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action. — Soft you now ! 
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons 
Be all my sins remember'd. 

Oph. Good my lord, 90 

How does your honour for this many a day ? 

Ham. I humbly thank you; well, well, well. 

Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours. 
That I have longed long to re-deliver; 
I pray you, now receive them. 

Ham. No, not I ; 95 

I never gave you aught. 

Oph. Mv honoured lord, I know right well you 
did; 
And, with them, words of so sweet breath 

compos'd 
As made the things more rich: their perfume 

lost. 
Take these again ; for to the noble mind 100 
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove un- 
kind. 
There, my lord. 

Ham. Ha, ha! are you honest? 

Oph. My lord? 

Ham. Are you fair? 105 

Oph. What means your lordship? 

Ham. That if jou be honest and fair, your hon- 
esty should admit no discourse to your beauty. 

Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better com- 
merce than with honesty? no 

Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will 
sooner transform honesty from what it is to a 
bawd than the force of honesty can translate 
beauty into his likeness: this was sometime a 
paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I 
did love you once. 116 

Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. 

Ham. You should not have believed me ; for vir- 
tue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we 
shall relish of it : I loved you not. 120 

Oph. I was the more deceived. 

Ham. Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou 
be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indif- 
ferent honest; but yet I could accuse me of 
such things that it were better my mother had 
not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, 
ambitious, with more offences at my beck than 
I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to 
give them shape, or time to act them in. What 
should such fellows as I do crawling between 

511 



earth and heaven ? We are arrant knaves, all ; 
believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. 
Where's your father? 133 

Oph. At home, my lord. 

Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that he 
may play the fool no where but in's own 
house. Farewell. 

Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens ! 138 

Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this 
plague for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, \ 
as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. 1 
Get thee to a nunnery, go: farewell. Or, if 
thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise 
men know well enough what monsters you 
make of them. To a nunnery, go, and quickly 
too. Farewell. 146 

Oph. O heavenly powers, restore him! 

Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well 
enough; God has given you one face, and you 
make yourself another: you jig, you amble, 
gfiid you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, 
and make your wantonness your ignorance. 
Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad. 
I say, we will have no more marriages: those 
that are married already, all but one, shall 
live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a 
nunnery, go. Exit Hamlet. 157 

Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, 

sword; 
The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 160 
The glass of fashion and the mould of form. 
The observ'd of all observers, quite, quite 

down ! 
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched. 
That suck'd the honey of his music vows. 
Now see that noble and most sovereign rea- 
son. 
Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and 

harsh; 
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown 

youth 
Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me. 
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see ! 

Enter King and Polonius. 

King. Love! his affections do not that way tend; 
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a 

little, 171 

Was not like madness. There's something in 

his soul. 



so 



HAMLET 



[act III. SC. I. 



O'er which his melancholy sits on brood; 
And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose 
Will be some danger: which to prevent^ 175 
I have in quick determination 
Thus set it down : he shall with speed to Eng- 
land^ 
For the demand of our neglected tribute: 
Haply the seas and countries different 
With variable objects shall expel 180 

This something-settled matter in his hearty 
Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus 
From fashion of himself. What think you 
on't.? 
Pol. It shall do well : but yet do I believe 

The origin and commencement of his grief 185 
Sprung from neglected love. — How now, 

Ophelia ! 
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said; 
We heard it all. My lord, do as you please; 
But, if you hold it fit, after the play 
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 190 
To show his griefs : let her be round with him ; 
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear 
Of all their conference. If she find him not. 
To England send him, or confine him where 
Your wisdom best shall think. 
King. It shall be so: 195 

Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. 

Ecveunt. 



[Scene II. — A hall in the castle.'\ 
Enter Hamlet and two or three of the Players. 

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pro- 
nounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: 
but if you mouth it, as many of your players 
do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. 
Nor do not saw the air too much with your 
hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very 
torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirl- 
wind of passion, you must acquire and beget a 
temperance that may give it smoothness. O, 
it offends me to the soul to see a robustious 
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, 
to very rags, to split the ears of the ground- 
lings, who for the most part are capable of 
nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and 
noise: I could have such a fellow whipped for 
o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: 
pray you, avoid it. 17 

Player. I warrant your honour. 

5 



Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your own 
discretion be your tutor : suit the action to the 
word, the word to the action ; with this special 
observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty 
of nature: for any thing so overdone is from 
the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the 
first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, 
the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her 
own feature, scorn her own image, and the 
very age and body of the time his form and 
pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy 
off, though it make the unskilful laugh, can- 
not but make the judicious grieve; the censure 
of the which one must in your allowance o'er- 
weigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be 
players that I have seen play, and heard 
others praise, and that highly, not to speak it 
profanely, that, neither having the accent of 
Christians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, 
nor man, have, so strutted and bellowed that I 
have thought some of nature's journeymen 
had made men and not made them well, they 
imitated humanity so abominably. 

Player. I hope we have reformed that indiffer- 
ently with us, sir. 41 

Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those 
that play your clowns speak no more than is 
set down for them; for there be of them that 
will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity 
of barren spectators to laugh too; though, in 
the mean time, some necessary question of the 
play be then to be considered : that's villainous, 
and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool 
that uses it. Go, make you ready. 50 

Exeunt Players. 

Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. 

How now, my lord ! will the king hear this 

piece of work? 
Pol. And the queen too, and that presently. 
Ham. Bid the players make haste. Exit Polonius. 

Will you two help to hasten them? 55 

Both. We will, my lord. 

Exeunt [Rosencrantz and Guildenstern']. 
Ham, What ho ! Horatio ! 

Enter Horatio. 

Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 
Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal, 60 

12 



ACT III. SC. 



II.] 



HAMLET 



31 



Hor. O, my dear lord ! 

Ham, Nay, do not think I flatter ; 

For what advancement may I hope from thee 
That no revenue hast but thy good spirits, 
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the 

poor be flatter'd? 
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, 65 
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee 
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou 

hear? " 
Since my dear soul was mistress of my choice 
And could of men distinguish, her election 
Hath seal'd thee for herself; for thou hast 
been 70 

As one, in suffering all, that suif ers nothing, 
A man that fortune's buffets and rewards 
Hath ta'en with equal thanks: and blest are 

those 
Whose blood and judgement are so well com- 
mingled. 
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 75 
To sound what stop she please. Give me that 

man 
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear 

him 
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart. 
As I do thee. — Something too much of this. — 
There is a play to-night before the king; 80 
One scene of it comes near the circumstance 
Which I have told thee of my father's death: 
I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot, 
Even with the very comment of thy soul 
Observe mine uncle : if his occulted guilt 85 

Do not itself unkennel in one speech. 
It is a damned ghost that we have seen. 
And my imaginations are as foul 
As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note; 
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face, 90 

And after we will both our judgements join 
In censure of his seeming. 
Hor. Well, my lord: 

If he steal aught the whilst this play is play- 
ing, 
And scape detecting, I will pay the theft. 
Ham. They are coming to the play; I must be 
idle : 95 

Get you a place. 

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosen- 
crants, Guildenstern, and other Lords at- 
tendant, with [the King's] guard carrying 
torches. Danish march. Sound a flourish. 



King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? 

Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's 
dish : I eat the air, promise-crammed : you can- 
not feed capons so. 100 

King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; 
these words are not mine. 

Ham. No, nor mine now. [To Polonius] My 
lord, you played once i' the university, you 
say? 

Pol. That I did, my lord; and was accounted a 
good actor. 106 

Ham. And what did you enact? 

Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i' 
the Capitol; Brutus killed me. 

Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capi- 
tal a calf there. Be the players ready? m 

Ros. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your pa- 
tience. 

Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by 
me. IIS 

Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more at- 
tractive. 

Pol. [To the Ki7ig] O, ho! do you mark 
that? 

Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap ? 

Oph. No, my lord. 120 

Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap ? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Do you think I meant country matters ? 

[Lying down at Ophelia's feet.] 

Oph. I think nothing, my lord. 

Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between 
maids' legs. 126 

Oph. What is, my lord? 

Ham. Nothing. 

Oph. You are merry, my lord. 

Ham. Who, I? 130 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. O God, your only jig-maker. What 
should a man do but be merry? for, look you, 
how cheerfully my mother looks, and my 
father died within's two hours. 135 

Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. 

Ham: So long? Nay then, let the devil wear 
black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O heav- 
ens ! die two months ago, and not forgotten 
yet? Then there's hope a great man's mem- 
ory may outlive his life half a year: but, by'r 
lady, he must build churches, then; or else 
shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby- 
horse, whose epitaph is 'For, O, for, O, the 
hobby-horse is forgot.' 145 



513 



32 



HAMLET 



[act III. SC. II, 



Hautboys play. The dumb-shore enters. 

Filter a King and Queen very lovingly; the 
Queen embracing him. She kneels, and makes 
shotv of protestation unto him,. He takes her 
up, and declines his head upon her neck: lays 
him dozen upon a bank of flowers. She, see- 
ing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a 
fellow, takes off his crotcn, kisses it, and pours 
poison in the King's ears, and exit. The 
Queen returns; finds the King dead, and 
makes passionate action. The Poisoner, with 
some two or three Mutes, comes in again, 
seeming to lament with her. The dead body 
is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the 
Queen with gifts: she seems loath and unwill- 
ing awhile, but in the end accepts his love. 

Exeunt. 

Oph. What means this, my lord ? 

Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho ; it means 

mischief. 
Oph. Belike this show imports the argument of 

the play. 150 

Enter Prologue. 

Ham. We shall know by this fellow : the players 
cannot keep counsel; they'll tell all. 

Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant? 

Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show him: be 
not you ashamed to show, he'll not shame to 
tell you what it means. 156 

Oph. You are naught, you are naught: I'll mark 
the play. 

Pro. VoY us, and for our tragedy. 

Here stooping to your clemency, 160 

We beg your hearing patiently. [^Exit.l^ 

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? 

Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 

Ham. As woman's love. 

Enter two Players, King and Queen. 

P. King. Full thirty times hath Phcebus' cart 

gone round 165 

Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed 

ground, 
And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd 

sheen 
About the world have times twelve thirties 
been, 

5 



Since love our hearts and Hymen did our 

hands 
Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 170 
P. Queen. So many journeys may the sun and 

moon 
Make us again count o'er ere love be done! 
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late. 
So far from cheer and from your former 

state. 
That I distrust you. Yet, though I dis- 
trust, 175 
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must: 
For women's fear and love holds quantity; 
In neither aught, or in extremity. 
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you 

know; 
And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so: 180 
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are 

fear; 
Where little fears grow great, great love 

grows there. 
P. King. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and 

shortly too; 
My operant powers their functions leave 

to do: 
And thou shalt live in this fair world be- 
hind, 185 
Honour'd, belov'd; and haply one as kind 
For husband shalt thou — 
P. Queen. O, confound the rest ! 
Such love must needs be treason in my 

breast: 
In second husband let me be accurst ! 
None wed the second but who kill'd the 

first. 190 

Ham. l^Aside'] Wormwood, wormwood. 

P. Queen. The instances that second marriage 

move 
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love: 
A second time I kill my husband dead. 
When second husband kisses me in bed. 195 
P. King. I do believe you think what now 

you speak; 
But what we do determine oft we break. 
Purpose is but the slave to memory. 
Of violent birth, but poor validity: 
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the 

tree ; 200 

But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
Most necessary 'tis that we forget 
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt: 
What to ourselves in passion we propose, 
14 



ACT III. SC. 



11.] 



HAMLET 



33 



most revels, grief doth most 
joy grieves, on slender acci- 
is not for aye, nor 'tis not 



The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 

The violence of either grief or joy 206 

Their own enactures with themselves de- 
stroy : 

Where j oy 
lament ; 

Grief joys, 
dent. 

This world 

strange 210 

That even our loves should with our for- 
tunes change; 

For 'tis a question left us yet to prove^ 

Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune 
love. 

The great man down, you mark his favour- 
ite flies; 

The poof advanc'd makes friends of ene- 
mies. 215 

And hitherto doth love on fortune tend; 

For who not needs shall never lack a friend. 

And who in want a hollow friend doth try. 

Directly seasons him his enemy. 

But, orderly to end where I begun, 220 

Our wills and fates do so contrary run 

That our devices still are overthrown; 

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of 
our own: 

So think thou wilt no second husband wed; 

But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is 
dead. 225 

P. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor 
heaven light ! 

Sport and repose lock from me day and 
night ! 

f To desperation turn my trust and hope. 

And anchor's cheer in prison be my scope ! 

* Each opposite that blanks the face of joy 

Meet what I would have well and it de- 
stroy ! 230 

Both here and hence pursue me lasting 
strife. 

If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 
Ham. If she should break it now! 

P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me 
here awhile; 235 

My spirits grow dull, and fain I would be- 
guile ' 

The tedious day with sleep. Sleeps. \ 

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain ; 

And never come mischance between us 
twain ! Ea;it. \ 

51 



Ham. Madam, how like you this play? 239 

Queen. The lady protests too much, methinks. 

Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. 

King. Have you heard the argument? Is 
there no offence in 't? 

Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; 
no offence i' the world. 245 

King. What do you call the play? 

Ham. The Mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropi- 
cally. This play is the image of a murder 
done in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; 
his wife, Baptista: you shall see anon; 'tis a 
knavish piece of work: but what o' that? your 
majesty and we that have free souls, it touches 
us not: let the galled jade wince, our withers 
are unwrung. 253 

Enter Lucianus. 

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 
Oph. You are a good chorus, my lord. 255 

Ham. I could interpret between you and your 

love, if I could see the puppets dallying. 
Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 
Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take off 
my edge. 260 

Oph. Still better, and worse. 

Ham. So you must take your husbands. Begin, 
murderer; pox^ leave thy damnable faces, and 
begin. Come: 'The croaking raven doth bel- 
low for revenge.' 265 
Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, 
and time agreeing; 
Confederate season, else no creature seeing; 
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds col- 
lected. 
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice in- 
fected. 
Thy natural magic and dire property, 270 
On wholesome life usurp immediately. 

Pours the poison in [the sleeper's] ears. 
Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for's estate. 
His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and 
writ in choice Italian: you shall see anon how 
the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
Oph. The king rises. 276 

Ham. What, frighted with false fire! 
Queen. How fares my lord? 
Pol. Give o'er the play. 

King. Give me some light: away! 280 

All. Lights, lights, lights! Exeunt. 

Manent Hamlet and Horatio. 



34. 



HAMLET 



[act III. SC. II, 



Ham. Why, let the stricken deer go weep, 
The hart ungalled play ; 
For some must watch, while some must 
sleep : 
So runs the world away. 
Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers — 
if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me — 
with two Provincial roses on my razed shoes, 
get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir? 
Hor. Half a share. 290 

Ham. A whole one, I. 

For thou dost know, O Damon dear. 

This realm dismantled was 
Of Jove himself; and now reigns here 
A very, very — pajock. 295 

Hor. You might have rhymed. 
Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's 
word for a thousand pound. Didst per- 
ceive ? 
Hor. Very well, my lord. 

Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning? 300 

Hor. I did very well note him. 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Ham. Ah, ha ! Come, some music ! come, the 
recorders ! 

For if the king like not the comedy, 
Why then, belike, he likes it not, perdy. 305 
Come, some music ! 

Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with 
you. 

Ham. Sir, a whole history. 

Guil. The king, sir, — 310 

Ham. Ay, sir, what of him? 

Guil. Is in his retirement marvellous distem- 
pered. 

Ham. With drink, sir? 

Guil. No, my lord, rather with choler. 315 

Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more 
richer to signify this to his doctor; for, for me 
to put him to his purgation would perhaps 
plunge him into far more choler. 319 

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into 
some frame and start not so wildly from my 
affair. 

Ham. I am tame, sir: pronounce. 

Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great 
affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. 

Ham. You are welcome. 325 

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of 



the right breed. If it shall please you to make 
me a wholesome answer, I will do your moth- 
er's commandment: if not, your pardon and 
my return shall be the end of my business. 330 

Ham. Sir, I cannot. 

Guil. What, my lord? 

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's 
diseased: but, sir, such answers as I can make, 
you shall command; or, rather, as you say, my 
mother: therefore no more, but to the matter: 
my mother, you say, — 

Ros. Then thus she says; your behaviour hath 
struck her into amazement and admiration. 339 

Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a 
mother! But is there no sequel at the heels 
of this mother's admiration? Impart. 

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet, 
ere you go to bed. " 344 

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our 
mother. Have you any further trade with us ? 

Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 

Ham. So I do still, by these pickers and 
stealers. 349 

Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of 
distemper? you do freely bar the door of 
your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to 
your friend. 353 

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 

Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice 
of the king himself for your succession in 
Denmark ? 

Ham. Ay, but, 'While the grass grows,' — the 
proverb is something musty. 359 

Enter one with a recorder. 

O, the recorder ! let me see. To withdraw 

with you: — why do you go about to recover 

the wind of me, as if you would drive me into 

a toil? 
Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my 

love is too unmannerly. 364 

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you 

play upon this pipe? 
Guil. My lord, I cannot. 
Ham. I pray you. 
Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 

Ham. I do beseech you. 370 

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord. 
Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these 

ventages with your finger and thumb, give it 



516 



ACT III. 



SC. II.] 



HAMLET 



35 



breath with your mouth, and it will discourse 
most excellent music. Look you, these are the 
stops. 376 

GuiL But these cannot I command to any utter- 
ance of harmony; I have not the skill. 

Ham, Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing 
you make of me! You would play upon me; 
you would seem to know my stops ; you would 
pluck out the heart of my mystery ; you would 
sound me from my lowest note to the top of 
my compass: and there is much music, excel- 
lent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you 
make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am 
easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me 
what instrument you will, though you can fret 
me, you cannot play upon me. 

Enter Polonius. 

God bless you, sir ! 390 

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, 

and presently^ 
Ham. Do you see that cloud that's almost in 

shape like a camel? 
Polo By the mass, and it's like a camel, indeed. 
Ham,. Methinks it is like a weasel. 396 

Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 
Ham. Or like a whale? 

Pol. Very like a whale. 399 

Ham. Then I will come to my mother by and 

by. They fool me to the top of my bent. I 

will come by and by. 
Pol. I will say so. Exit. 

Ham. By and by is easily said. Leave me, 

friends. [Exeunt all hut Hamlet.'] 405 

'Tis now the very witching time of night, 

When churchyards yawn and hell itself 
breathes out 

Contagion to this world: now could I drink 
hot blood. 

And do such bitter business as the day 

Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my 
mother. 410 

heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom: 
Let me be cruel, not unnatural: 

1 will speak daggers to her, but use none ; 
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites; 415 
How in my words soever she be shent. 

To give them seals never, my soul, consent ! 

lExit.] 



[Scene III. — A room in the castle.] 
Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. 

King. I like him not, nor stands it safe with us 
To let his madness range. Therefore prepare 

you; 
I your commission will forthwith despatch, 
And he to England shall along with you: 
The terms of our estate may not endure 5 
Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly grow 
Out of his lunacies. 

Guil. We will ourselves provide: 

Most holy and religious fear it is 
To keep those many many bodies safe 
That live and feed upon your majesty. 10 

Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound, 
With all the strength and armour of the mind, 
To keep itself from noyance; but much more 
That spirit upon whose weal depends and 

rests 
The lives of many. The cease of majesty 15 
Dies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
What's near it with it: it is a massy wheel, 
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, 
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser 

things 
Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which, when it 
falls, 20 

Each small annexment, petty consequence, 
Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone 
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 

King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voy- 
age; 
For we will fetters put upon this fear, 25 

Which now goes too free-footed. 

Both. We will haste us. 

Exeunt Gentllemen]. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: 
Behind the arras I'll convey myself. 
To hear the process; I'll warrant she'll tax 

him home: 
And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 30 
'Tis meet that some more audience than a 

mother. 
Since nature makes them partial, should over- 
hear 
The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my 
liege : 



517 



26 



HAMLET 



[act III. SC. III. 




I'll call upon you ere you go to bed^ 
And tell you what I know. 
King. Thanks, dear my lord. 

[Ea:it Polonius.] 
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; 36 
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, 
A brother's murther. Pray can I not, 
• Though inclination be as sharp as will: 

My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; 40 
And, like a man to double business bound, 
I stand in pause where I shall first begin. 
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, 
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens 
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves 

mercy 46 

But to confront the visage of offence? 
And what's in prayer but this two-fold force, 
To be forestalled ere we come to fall. 
Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up; 
My fault is past. But, O, what form of 

prayer 51 

Can serve my turn? 'Forgive me my foul 

murther' ? 
That cannot be; since I am still possess'd 
Of those effects for which I did the murther. 
My crown, mine own ambition and my queen. 
May one be pardon'd and retain the offence? 56 
In the corrupted currents of this world 
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, 
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself 
Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ; 60 

There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
In his true nature; and we ourselves com- 

pell'd. 
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults. 
To give in evidence. What then ? what rests ? 
Try what repentance can: what can it not? 65 
Yet what can it when one can not repent ? 

wretched state ! O bosom black as death ! 

limed soul, that, struggling to be free, 
rt more engag'd ! Help, angels ! Make 
\assay ! 
Bojw, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings 

of steel, 70 

Be (soft as sinews of the new-born babe! 
All) may be well. [Kneels.] 

Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying; 
And now I'll do 't. And so he goes to heaven ; 



And so am I reveng'd. That would be 

scann'd: 75 

A villain kills my father; and for that, 
I, his sole son, do this same villain send 
To heaven. 

O, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
He took my father grossly, full of bread; 80 
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as 

May; 
And how his audit stands who knows save 

heaven ? 
But in our circumstance and course of thought, 
'Tis heavy with him: and am I then reveng'd. 
To take him in the purging of his soul, 85 

When he is fit and season'd for his passage ? 
No! 

Up, sword ; and know thou a more horrid hent : 
When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage. 
Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed; 90 
At gaming, swearing, or about some act 
That has no relish of salvation in 't; 
Then trip him, that, his heels may kick at 

heaven. 
And that his soul may be as damn'd and black 
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays : 95 
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. 

Exit. 
King. [Rising] My words fly up, my thoughts 

remain below: 
Words without thoughts never to heaven go. 

Exit. 



[Scene IV. — The Queen's closet.] 

Enter Queen and Polonius. 

Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay home 
to him: 
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to 

bear with, 
And that your grace hath screened and stood 

between 
Much heat and him. I'll silence me even 

here. 

Pray you, be round with him. 5 

Ham. Within. Mother, mother, mother ! 

Queen. I'll warrant you. 

Fear me not. Withdraw, I hear him coming. 

[Polonius hides behind the arras.] 



Enter Hamlet. 



ACT III. SC. IV.] 



HAMLET 



37 



Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter? 
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much of- 
fended. 
Ham. Mother, you have my father much of- 
fended. 10 
Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle 

tongue. 
Ham. Go, go, you question with an idle tongue. 
Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ! 
Ham, What's the matter now? 

Queen. Have you forgot me? 
Ham. No, by the rood, not so: 

You are the queen, your husband's brother's 
wife; 15 

And — would it were not so ! — you are my 
mother. 
Queen. Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can 

speak. 
Ham. Come, come, and sit you down; you shall 
not budge; 
You go not till I set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 20 
Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not mur- 
ther me? 
Help, help, ho ! 
Pol. [Behind^ What, ho ! help, help, help ! 
Ham. [Drawing'] How now! a rat? Dead, for 
a ducat, dead! Kills Polonius. 

Pol. [Behind] O, I am slain ! 
Queen. O me, what hast thou done? 
Ham. Nay, I know not: 

Is it the king? 26 

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! 
Ham. A bloody deed! almost as bad, good 
mother. 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 
Queen. As kill a king? 

Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. 30 

[Lifts up the arras and discovers Polonius.] 
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 
I took thee for thy better : take thy fortune ; 
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger. 
Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you 

down. 
And let me wring your heart ; for so I shall, 35 
If it be made of penetrable stuff. 
If damned custom have not braz'd it so 
That it is proof and bulwark against sense. 
Queen. What have I done, that thou darest wag 
thy tongue 
In noise so rude against me ? 
Ham. Such an act 40 

51 



That blurs the grace and blush of modesty. 
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love 
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows 
As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed 45 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul, and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth 

glow; 
Yea, this solidity and compound mass. 
With tristful visage, as against the doom, 50 
Is thought-sick at the act. 
Queen. Ay me, what act. 

That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ? 
Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this. 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See, what a grace was seated on his brow; 55 
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; 
An eye like Mars, to threaten or command; 
A station like the herald Mercury 
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; 
A combination and a form indeed, 60 

Where every god did seem to set his seal. 
To give the world assurance of a man: 
This was your husband. Look you now, what 

follows : 
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear. 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you 

eyes ? 65 

Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 
And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you 

eyes ? 
You cannot call it love; for at your age 
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble. 
And waits upon the judgement: and what 

j udgement 70 

Would step from this to this? f Sense, sure, 

you have. 
Else could you not have motion ; but sure, that 

sense 
Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err. 
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd 
But it reserv'd some quantity of choice, 75 
To serve in such a difference. * What devil 

was't 
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind ? 
f Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, 
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all. 
Or but a sickly part of one true sense 80 

Could not so mope. 
* O shame ! where is thy blush ? Rebellious 

hell, 
9 



38 



HAMLET 



[act III. SC. IV. 



If tliou canst mutine in a matron's bones^ 
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, 
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame 
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge, 
Since frost itself as actively doth burn 87 

And reason panders will. 

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more : 

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my verj^ soul ; 
And there I see such black and grained spots 
As will not leave their tinct. 

Hajji. Nay, but to live 91 

In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, 
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making 

love 
Over the nasty sty, — 

Queen. O, speak to me no more; 

These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears ; 
No more, sweet Hamlet ! 

Ham. A murderer and a villain; 96 

A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings; 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 
And put it in his pocket ! 

Queen. No more ! 101 

Ham. A king of shreds and patches, — 

Enter Ghost. 

Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, 
You heavenly guards ! What would you, gra- 
cious figure? 

Queen. Alas, he's mad! 105 

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide. 
That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by 
The important acting of your dread command ? 
O, say! 

Ghost. Do not forget: this visitation no 

Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits : 
O, step between her and her fighting soul: 
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works: 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 

Ham. How is it with you, lady? 115 

Queen. Alas, how is't with you. 

That you do bend your eye on vacancy 
And with th' incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ; 
And, as the sleeping soldiers in th' alarm, 120 
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, 
Start up, and stand an end. O gentle son. 
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 



Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do j^ou 

look? 

Ham. On him, on him ! Look you, how pale he 

glares ! 125 

His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to 

stones, 
Would make them capable. Do not look upon 

me; 
Lest with this piteous action you convert 
My stern effects: then what I have to do 
Will want true colour; tears perchance for 
blood. 130 

Queen. To whom do you speak this? 
Ham. Do you see nothing there? 

Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. 
Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? 
Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. 

Ham. Why, look you there! look, how it steals 
away ! 
My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 135 

Look, where he goes, even now, out at the 
portal! Ea;it [Ghost]. 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 
Ham. Ecstasy? 

My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep 
time, 140 

And makes as healthful music: it is not mad- 
ness 
That I have utter'd : bring me to the test. 
And I the matter will re-word, which madness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of 

grace. 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 145 
That not your trespass, but my madness 

speaks : 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place. 
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; 
Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; 150 
And do not spread the compost o'er the weeds, 
To make them rank. Forgive me this my 

virtue; 
For in the fatness of these pursy times 
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, 
Yea, courb and woo for leave to do him good. 
Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in 
twain. 156 

Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it. 
And live the purer with the other half. 
Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed; 



520 



ACT III. SC, IV.] 



HAMLET 



Assume a virtue^, if you have it not. i6o 

f That monster, custom, who all sense doth 

eat. 
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this. 
That to the use of actions fair and good 
He likewise gives a frock or livery. 
That aptly is put on. * Refrain to-night, 165 
And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
To the next abstinence : f the next more easy ; 
For use almost can change the stamp of na- 
ture. 
And either . . . the devil, or throw him out 
With wondrous potency. ^ Once more, good 
night : 170 

And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord, 
[Pointing to Polonius.] 
I do repent: but heaven hath pleas'd it so. 
To punish me with this and this with me. 
That I must be their scourge and minister. 175 
I will bestow him, and will answer well 
The death I gave him. So, again, good night. 
I must be cruel, only to be kind: 
Thus bad begins and worse remains behind. 
f One word more, good lady. 

Queen. * What shall I do? 180 

Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: 
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ; 
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his 

mouse; 
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, 
Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd 
fingers, 185 

Make you to ravel all this matter out. 
That I essentially am not in madness, 
But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him 

know; 
For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise. 
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, 190 
Such dear concernings hide ? who would do so ? 
No, in despite of sense and secrecy. 
Unpeg the basket on the house's top. 
Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape. 
To try conclusions, in the basket creep, 195 
And break your own neck down. 

Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of 
breath. 
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
What thou hast said to me. 

Ham. I must to England; you know that? 

Queen. Alack, 200 

T had forgot: 'tis so concluded on. 

52 



Ham. f There's letters seal'd: and my two 

schoolfellows. 
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd. 
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my 

way. 
And marshal me to knavery. Let it work; 205 
For 'tis the sport to have the enginer 
Hoist with his own petar: and 't shall go hard 
But I will delve one yard below their mines. 
And blow them at the moon : O, 'tis most sweet, 
When in one line two crafts directly meet. 210 
* This man shall set me packing: 
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room. 
Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor 
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave, 
Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 215 
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you. 
Good night, mother. 

Exit Hamlet tugging in Polonius. 



[ACT FOURTH 

Scene I. — Room in the castle.^ 

Enter King, [and Queen^. 

King. There's matter in these sighs, these pro- 
found heaves: 
You must translate: 'tis fit we understand 

them. 
Where is your son? 
Queen. Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to- 
night ! 5 
King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? 
Queen. Mad as the sea and wind, when both 
contend 
Which is the mightier: in his lawless fit, 
Behind the arras hearing something stir. 
Whips out his rapier, cries, 'A rat, a rat!' 10 
And, in his brainish apprehension kills 
The unseen good old man. 
King. O heavy deed ! 
It had been so with us, had we been there: 
His liberty is full of threats to all; 
To you yourself, to us, to every one. 15 
Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'd? 
It will be laid to us, whose providence 
Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of 

haunt. 
This mad young man: but so much was our 

love, 
We would not understand what was most fit; 20 
1 



40 



HAMLET 



[act IV. SC. I. 



But, like the owner of a foul disease, 

To keep it from divulging, let it feed 

Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone? 

Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd; 
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore 25 
Among a mineral of metals base. 
Shows itself pure; he weeps for what is done. 

King. O Gertrude, come away ! 

The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch. 
But we wall ship him hence : and this vild deed 
We must, with all our majesty and skill, 31 
Both countenance and excuse. Ho, Guilden- 
stern ! 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Friends both, go join you with some further 

aid: 
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain. 
And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd 

him: 35 

Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the 

body 
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. 

Exeunt Gent\lemen^^. 
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest 

friends ; 
And let them know, both what we mean to do, 
And what's untimely done. 40 

f Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter. 
As level as the cannon to his blank. 
Transports his poison'd shot, may miss our 

name. 
And hit the woundless air. "^ O, come away ! 
My soul is full of discord and dismay. 

Exeunt. 

[Scene II. — Another part of the castle.'] 

Enter Hamlet, 

Ham. Safely stowed; 

Gentlemen, within. Hamlet ! Lord Hamlet ! 
Ham. But soft, what noise? who calls on Ham- 
let? O, here they come. 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the 

dead body? 5 

Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin. 

Ros. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it 

thence 

And bear it to the chapel. 



Ham. Do not believe it. 

Ros. Believe what? 10 

Ham. That I can keep your counsel and not 
mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a 
sponge, what replication should be made by 
the son of a king? 

Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord? 15 

Ham. Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's counte- 
nance, his rewards, his authorities. But such 
officers do the king best service in the end : he 
keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his 
jaw; first mouthed, to be last swallowed: when 
he needs what you have gleaned, it is but 
squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry 
again. 23 

Ros. I understand you not, my lord. 

Ham. I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps 
in a foolish ear. 26 

Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body 
is, and go with us to the king. 

Ham. The body is with the king, but the king 
is not with the body. The king is a thing — 

Guil. A thing, my lord ! 31 

Ham. Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide fox, 
and all after. Exeunt. 



[Scene III. — Another room.] 
Enter King, [attended]. 

King. I have sent to seek him, and to find the 

body. 
How dangerous is it that this man goes loose ! 
Yet must not we put the strong law on him : 
He's lov'd of the distracted multitude. 
Who like not in their judgement, but their 

eyes ; ^ 5 

And where 'tis so, the offender's scourge is 

weigh'd. 
But never the offence. To bear all smooth 

and even. 
This sudden sending him away must seem 
Deliberate pause: diseases desperate grown 
By desperate appliance are reliev'd, 10 

Or not at all. 

Enter Rosencrantz. 

How now ! what hath bef all'n ? 
Ros. Where. the dead body is bestow'd, my lord. 

We cannot get from him. 
King. But where is he ? 



522 



ACT IV. SC. III.] 



HAMLET 



41 



Bos, Without, my lord; guarded, to know your 

pleasure. 
King. Bring him before us. is 

Ros. Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord. 

Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern. 

King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius ? 

Ham. At supper. 

King. At supper ! where ? 19 

Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: 
a certain convocation of politic worms are 
e'en at him. Your worm is your only em- 
peror for diet: we fat all creatures else to fat 
us, and we fat ourselves for maggots: your 
fat king and your lean beggar is but variable 
service, two dishes, but to one table: that's 
the end. 26 

f King. Alas, alas ! 

Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath 
eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed 
of that worm. 30 

* King. What dost thou mean by this ? 

Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king may 
go a progress through the guts of a beggar. 

King. Where is Polonius? 34 

Ham. In heaven; send thither to see: if your 
messenger find him not there, seek him i' the 
other place yourself. But indeed, if you find 
him not within this month, you shall nose him 
as you go up the stairs into the lobby. 

King. Go seek him there. [To Attendants.'] 40 

Ham. He will stay till ye come. 

[^Exeunt Attendants.] 

King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial 
safety, — 
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve 
For that which thou hast done, — must send 

thee hence 
With fiery quickness: therefore prepare thy- 
self ; 45 
The bark is ready, and the wind at help, 
The associates tend, and every thing is bent 
For England. 

Ham. For England ! 

King. Ay, Hamlet. 

Ham. Good. 

King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. 

Ham. I see a cherub that sees them. But, 
come ; for England ! Farewell, dear mother. 

King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. 52 

Ham. My mother: father and mother is man 



and wife; man and wife is one flesh; and so, 
my mother. Come, for England! Exit. 55 
King. Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed 
aboard ; 
Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night: 
Away ! for every thing is seal'd and done 
That else leans on the affair: pray you, make 
haste. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.] 

And, England, if my love thou hold'st at 

aught — 60 

As my great power thereof may give thee 

sense. 
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
Pays homage to us — thou mayst not coldly set 
Our sovereign process; which imports at full. 
By letters conjuring to that effect, 66 

The present death of Hamlet. Do it, Eng- 
land ; 
For like the hectic in my blood he rages, 
And thou must cure me: till I know 'tis done, 
Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun. 

Exit. 

[Scene IV. — Open country near Elsinore.] 

Enter Fortinhras, with [a Captain, and] 
an army. 

For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish 
king; 
Tell him that, by his license, Fortinbras 
Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march 
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
If that his majesty would aught with us, 5 
We shall express our duty in his eye; 
And let him know so. 

Cap. I will do't, my lord. 

For. Go softly on. Exit. 

f Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, ^c. 



Ham. 
Cap. 
Ham. 
Cap. 
Ham. 
Cap. 
Ham. 
Or 
Cap. 



Good sir, whose powers are these? 
They are of Norway, sir. 10 

How purpos'd, sir, I pray you? 
Against some part of Poland. 

Who commands them, sir ? 
The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. 

Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, 
for some frontier? 16 

Truly to speak, and with no addition. 



523 



42 



HAMLET 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



We go to gain a little patch of ground 
That hath in it no profit but the name. 
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; 
Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole 21 

A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. 
Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend 

it. 
Cap. Yes, it is already garrison'd. 
Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thousand 
ducats 25 

Will not debate the question of this straw: 
This is th' imposthume of much wealth and 

peace, 
That inward breaks, and shows no cause with- 
out 
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. 
Cap. God be wa' you, sir. [Exit.'] 

Ros. Will't please you go, my lord? 30 

Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little be- 
fore. [Exeunt all except Hamlet.] 
How all occasions do inform against me, 
And spur my dull revenge ! What is a man, 
If his chief good and market of his time 
Be but to sleep and feed.f* a beast, no more. 35 
Sure, he that made us with such large dis- 

course_, 
Looking before and after, gave us not 
That capability and god-like reason 
To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be 
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 40 

Of thinking too precisely on the event, 
A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part 

wisdom 
And ever three parts coward, I do not know 
Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do ;' 
Sith I have cause and will and strength and 
means 45 

To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me: 
Witness this army of such mass and charge 
Led by a delicate and tender prince. 
Whose spirit with divine ambition pufF'd 
Makes mouths at the invisible event, 50 

Exposing what is mortal and unsure 
To all that fortune, death and danger dare. 
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great 
Is not to stir without great argument. 
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw 55 

When honour's at the stake. How stand I 

then. 
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd. 
Excitements of my reason and my blood. 
And let all sleep ? while, to my shame, I see 



The imminent death of twenty thousand men. 
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, 61 

Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot 
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause. 
Which is not tomb enough and continent 
To hide the slain ? O, from this time forth, 65 
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing w^orth ! 

Exit. 



[Scene V. — A room in the castle. "] 

* Enter Queen, and Horatio. 

Queen. I will not speak with her. 

Hor. She is importunate, indeed distract: 

Her mood will needs be pitied. 
Queen. What would she have? 

Hor. She speaks much of her father; says she 

hears 
There's tricks i' the world; and hems, and 

beats her heart; 5 

Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in 

doubt. 
That carry but half sense: her speech is noth- 
ing, 
Yet the unshap'd use of it doth move 
The hearers to collection; they aim at it. 
And botch the words up fit to their own 

thoughts ; 10 

Which, as her winks and nods and gestures 

yield them. 
Indeed would make one think there might be 

thought. 
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 
Queen. 'Twere good she were spoken with; for 

she may strew 
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. 
Let her come in. [Exit Horatio.] 16 

To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is. 
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss: 
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, 
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 20 

Enter [Horatio, with] Ophelia, distracted. 

Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Den- 
mark? 
Queen. How now, Ophelia! 

Oph. [Sings] How should I your true love know 
From another one? 
By his cockle hat and staff, ' 25 

And his sandal shoon. 



524 



ACT IV. SC. 



v.] 



HAMLET 



43 



Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this 

song ? 
Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark. 
[Sings^ He is dead and gone, lady. 

He is dead and gone; 30 

At his head a grass-green turf. 

At his heels a stone. 
Queen. Nay, but, Ophelia, — 
Oph. Pray you, mark. 
[Sings^ White his shroud as the mountain 

snow, — 35 

Enter King. 

Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. 
Oph. \_Sings^ Larded with sweet flowers; 
Which bewept to the grave did go 
With true-love showers. 
King. How do ye, pretty lady? 40 

Oph. Well, God 'ild you! They say the owl 
was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what 
we are, but know not what we may be. God 
be at your table ! 
King. Conceit upon her father. 45 

Oph. Pray you, let's have no words of this ; but 
when they ask you what it means, say you this : 
\^Sings^ To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, 
All in the morning betime, 
And I a maid at your window, 50 

To be your Valentine. 
Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes. 

And dupp'd the chamber-door; 
Let in the maid, that out a maid 

Never departed more. 55 

King. Pretty Ophelia! 
Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an 

end on't: 
\_Sings'] By Gis and by Saint Charity, 

Alack, and fie for shame ! 60 

Young men will do't, if they come to't ; 

By cock, they are to blame. 4 

Quoth she, before you tumbled me, 

You promis'd me to wed. 
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, 65 
And thou hadst not come to my bed. 
King. How long hath she been thus? 
Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be pa- 
tient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think 
they should lay him i' the cold ground. My 
brother shall know of it: and so I thank you 
for your good counsel. Come, my coach! 
Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; 
good night, good night. Exit. 74 



King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I 

pray you. [^Exit Horatio.'] 

O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
All from her father's death. O Gertrude, 

Gertrude, 
When sorrows come, they come not single 

spies. 
But in battalions. First, her father slain: 
Next, your son gone; and he most violent 

author 80 

Of his own just remove: the people muddied. 
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and 

whispers. 
For good Polonius' death; and we have done 

but greenly. 
In hugger-mugger to inter him: poor Ophelia 
Divided from herself and her fair judgement. 
Without the which we are pictures, or mere 

beasts : 86 

Last, and as much containing as all these. 
Her brother is in secret come from France; 
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds. 
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 90 

With pestilent speeches of his father's death; 
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd. 
Will nothing stick our persons to arraign 
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this. 
Like to a murdering-piece, in many places 95 
Gives me superfluous death. A noise within. 
Queen. Alack, what noise is this ? 

King. Where are my Switzers ? Let them guard 

the door. 

Enter a Messenger. 

What is the matter ? 
Mes. Save yourself, my lord: 

The ocean, overpeering of his list. 
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste 
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, loi 
O'erbears your officers. The rabble call him 

lord; 
And, as the world were now but to begin. 
Antiquity forgot, custom not known. 
The ratifiers and props of every word, 105 
They cry 'Choose we: Laertes shall be king:' 
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the 

clouds : 
'Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!' 
Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they 

cry! 
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs ! no 



King. The doors are broke. 



Noise within. 



525 



44 



HAMLET 



[act IV. SC. V. 



Enter Laertes [followed by a moh^. 

is the king? Sirs^ stand you 



all 



pray yoU;, give 



me leave. 



Laer. Where 
without. 

All. No^ let's come in. 

Laer. I 

All. We will, we ^\i\\. 

[They retire •without the door.] 

Laer. I thank you: keep the door. O tliou vild 
king, 115 

Give me my father ! 

Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 

Laer. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims 
me bastard, 
Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot 
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched 

brow 
Of my true mother. 

King. W^hat is the cause, Laertes, 120 

That thy rebellion looks so giant-like.^ 
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person: 
There's such divinity doth hedge a king. 
That treason can but peep to what it would. 
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, 125 
Why thou art thus incensed. Let him go, 

Gertrude. 
Speak, man. 

Laer. W^here is my father ? 

King. Dead. 

Queen. But not by him. 

King. Let him demand his fill. 

Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled 
with : 130 

To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil ! 
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit ! 
I dare damnation. To this jDoint I stand. 
That both the worlds I give to negligence. 
Let come what comes ; only I'll be reveng'd 135 
Most throughly for my father. 

King. Who shall stay you ? 

Laer. My will, not all the world : 

And for my means, I'll husband them so well, 
They shall go far with little. 

King. Good Laertes, 

If you desire to know the certainty 140 

Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your 

revenge. 
That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend 

and foe. 
Winner and loser? 

Laer. None but his enemies. 

King. Will you know them then ? 

526 



Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my 
arms ; 145 

And like the kind life-rendering pelican. 

Repast them with my blood. 
King. Why, now you speak 

Like a good child and a true gentleman. 

That I am guiltless of your father's death. 

And am most sensible in grief for it, 150 

It shall as level to your judgement pierce 

As day does to your eye. 

A noise within: 'Let her come in.' 
Laer. How now! what noise is that? 



Enter Ophelia. 

O heat, dry up my brains ! tears seven times 

salt, 
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! 155 
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by 

weight. 
Till our scale turns the beam. O rose of 

May! 
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! 
O heavens ! is't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life? 160 
Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine. 
It sends some precious instance of itself 
After the thing it loves. 
Oph. [Sings] 

They bore him barefac'd on the bier; 
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny; 165 
And on his grave rains many a tear: — 
Fare you well, my dove! 
Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade 
revenge, 
It could not move thus. 
Oph. [Sings] You must sing down a-down, 170 
And you call him a-down-a. 
O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false 
steward, that stole his master's daughter. 
Laer. This nothing's more than matter. 
Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; 
pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, 
that's for thoughts. 
Laer. A document in madness, thoughts and re- 
membrance fitted. 179 
Oph. There's fennel for j^^ou, and columbines: 
there's rue for you; and here's some for me: 
we may call it herb-grace o' Sundays: O, you 
must wear your rue with a difference. There's 
a daisy: I would give you some violets, but 
they withered all when my father died: they 
say he made a good end, — 186 



i 



ACT IV. SC. v.] 



HAMLET 



45 



[Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. 
Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, 

She turns to favour and to prettiness. 
Oph. \_Sings] And will he not come again .f' 190 
And will he not come again .^^ 
No, no, he is dead: 
Go to thy death-bed: 
He never will come again. 

His beard as white as snow, 195 

All flaxen was his poll: 
He is gone, he is gone. 
And we cast away moan: 
Gramercy on his soul ! 
And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God 
be wi' ye. Exit. 200 

Laer. Do you see this, you gods ? 
King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, 
Or you deny me right. Go but apart. 
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you 

will. 
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and 
me : 205 

If by direct or by collateral hand 
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom 

give, 
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours. 
To you in satisfaction; but if not. 
Be you content to lend your patience to us, 210 
And we shall j ointly labour with your soul 
To give it due content. 
Laer. Let this be so ; 

His means of death, his obscure burial — 
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his 

bones. 
No noble rite nor formal ostentation — 215 

Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to 

earth. 
That I must call 't in question. 
King. So you shall; 

And where the offence is let the great axe 

fall. 
I pray you, go with me. Exeunt. 



[Scene VI. — Horatio's lodging.] 

Enter Horatio with an Attendant. 

Hor. What are they that would speak with me ? 
Serv. Sailors, sir: they say they have letters 

for you. 
Hor. Let them come in. [Exit Servant.] 



I do not know from what part of the world 
I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet. 

Enter Sailor. 

Sail, God bless you, sir. 6 

Hor. Let him bless thee too. 

Sail. He shall, sir, and 't please him. There's a 
letter for you, sir; it comes from the ambas- 
sador that was bound for England; if your 
name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is. n 

[Hor.] Reads the Letter. 'Horatio, when thou 
shalt have overlooked this, give these fellows 
some means to the king: they have letters for 
him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a 
pirate of very warlike appointment gave us 
chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we 
put on a compelled valour. In the grapple I 
boarded them: on the instant they got clear 
of our ship; so I alone became their prisoner. 
They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy : 
but they knew what they did; I am to do a 
good turn fo» them. Let the king have the 
letters I have sent; and repair thou to me 
with as much haste as thou wouldst fly death. 
I have words to speak in thine ear will make 
thee dumb; yet are they much too light for 
the bore of the matter. These good fellows 
will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz 
and Guildenstern hold their course for Eng- 
land : of them I have much to tell thee. Fare- 
well. 30 
'He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.' 
Come, I will give you way for these your let- 
ters; 
And do't the speedier, that you may direct me 
To him from whom you brought them. 

Exit [with sailor]. 



[Scene VII. — A room in the castle.] 
Enter King and Laertes. 

King. Now must your conscience my acquit- 
tance seal. 
And you must put me in your heart for friend, 
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear. 
That he which hath your noble father slain 
Pursued my life. 

Laer. It well appears : but tell me 5 

Why you proceeded not against these feats. 
So crimeful and so capital in nature. 



527 



46 



HAMLET 



[act 



IV. SC. VII. 



As by your safety^ wisdom^ all things else, 
Yon mainly were stirr'd np. 
King. O, for two special reasons; 

Which may to you, perhaps, seem much un- 

sinew'd, lo 

And yet to me they are strong. The queen 

his mother 
Lives almost by his looks ; and for myself — 
]\Iy virtue or my plague, be it either which — 
She's so conjunctive to my life and soul. 
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, 
I could not but by her. The other motive, i6 
Why to a public count I might not go. 
Is the great love the general gender bear him ; 
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, 
Would, like the spring that turneth wood to 

stone, 20 

Convert his gyves to graces ; so that my 

arrows. 
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind. 
Would have reverted to my bow again. 
And not where I had aim'd them. 
Laer. And so have I a noble father lost; 25 

A sister driven into desperate terms. 
Whose worth, if praises may go back again. 
Stood challenger on mount of all the age 
For her perfections : but my revenge will come. 
King. Break not your sleeps for that: you must 

not think 30 

That we are made of stuff so flat and dull 
That we can let our beard be shook with dan- 
ger 
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear 

more: 
I lov'd your father, and we love ourself ; 
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine — 

Enter a Messenger. 

How now ! what news ? 
Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet: 36 

This to your majesty; this to the queen. 
King. From Hamlet? who brought them? 
Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them 
not: 

They were given me by Claudio; he received 
them 40 

Of him that brought them. 
King. Laertes, you shall hear them. 

Leave us. Exit Messenger. 

[Reads] 'High and mighty, you shall know I 

am set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow 



shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes : when 
I shall, rirst asking your pardon thereunto, 
recount the occasions of my sudden and more 

'Hamlet.* 

What should this mean? Are all the rest 
come back? 50 

Or is it some abuse, and no such thing? 

Laer. Know j'-ou the hand? 

King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. 'Naked!' 

And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.' 
Can you advise me? 

Laer. I'm lost in it, my lord. But let him 
come ; 55 

It warms the very sickness in my heart. 
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 
'Thus didest thou.' 

King. If it be so, Laertes — 

As how should it be so? how otherwise? — 
Will you be rul'd by me? 60 

Laer. So you'll not o'errule me to a peace. 

King. To thine own peace. If he be now re- 
turn'd. 
As checking at his voyage, and that he means 
No more to undertake it, I will work him 
To an exploit, now ripe in my device, 65 

Under the which he shall not choose but fall: 
And for his death no wind of blame shall 

breathe. 
But even his mother shall uncharge the prac- 
tice 
And call it accident. 

f Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd; 

The rather, if you could devise it so 70 

That I might be the organ. 

King. It falls right. 

You have been talk'd of since your travel 

much. 
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of 

parts 
Did not together pluck such envy from him 75 
As did that one, and that, in my regard. 
Of the unworthiest siege. 

Laero What part is that, my lord ? 

King. A very riband in the cap of youth. 
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes 
The light and careless livery that it wears 80 
Than settled age his sables and his weeds. 
Importing health and gravenesSo * Two 

months since. 
Here was a gentleman of Normandy: — 



528 



ACT IV. SC. VII.] 



HAMLET 



47 



I've seen mj^'self, and serv'd against^ the 

French, 
And they can well on horseback; but this gal- 
lant 8s 
Had witchcraft in't; he grew into his seat; 
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse, 
As had he been incorps'd and demi-natur'd 
With the brave beast; so far he topp'd my 

thought. 
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, 90 

Come short of what he did. 

Laer. A Norman was't.^ 

King. A Norman. 

Laer. Upon my life, Lamond. 

King. The very same. 

Laer. I know him well: he is the brooch indeed 
And gem of all the nation. 95 

King. He made confession of you. 
And gave you such a masterly report 
For art and exercise in your defence 
And for your rapier most especial. 
That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed, 
If one could match you. f The scrimers of 
their nation, loi 



He swore, had neither motion, 
eye. 



guard. 



nor 



If you oppos'd them. * Sir, this report of his 
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy 
That he could nothing do but wish and beg 105 
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with him. 
Now, out of this, — 

Laer. What oat of this, my lord ? 

King. Laertes, was your father dear to you? 
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
A face without a heart? 

Laer. Why ask you this? no 

King. Not that I think you did not love your 
father; 
But that I know love is begun by time; 
And that I see, in passages of proof, 
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. 
t There lives within the very flame of love 115 
A kind of w4ck or snuff that will abate it ; 
And nothing is at a like goodness still; 
For goodness, growing to a plurisy. 
Dies in his own too much: that we would do, 
We should do when we would ; for this 'would' 
changes 120 

And hath abatements and delays as many 
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents ; 
And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift 
sigh. 



That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the 

ulcer : — 
^ Hamlet comes back : what would you under- 
take, 125 
To show yourself your father's son in deed 
More than in words? 
Laer. To cut his throat i' the church. 
King. No place, indeed, should murder sanc- 
tuarize ; 
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good 

Laertes, 
Will you do this, keep close within your cham- 
ber. 130 
Hamlet return'd shall know you are come 

home: 
We'll put on those shall praise jowy excel- 
lence 
And set a double varnish on the fame 
The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine 

together 
And wager on your heads : he, being remiss, 135 
Most generous^ and f»ree from all contriving, 
Will not peruse the foils ; so that, with ease. 
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose 
A sword unbated, and in a pass of practice 
Requite him for your father. 
Laer. I will do 't : 140 

And, for that purpose, I'll anoint my sword. 
I bought an unction of a mountebank. 
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it. 
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare. 
Collected from all simples that have virtue 14b 
Under the moon, can save the thing from death 
Ihat is but scratch'd withal: I'll touch my 

point 
With this contagion, that, if I gall him 

slightly, 
It may be death. 
King. Let's further think of this ; 

Weigh what convenience both of time and 
means 150 

May fit us to our shape : if this should fail. 
And that our drift look through our bad per- 
formance, 
'Twere better not assay'd: therefore this 

proj ect 
Should have a back or second, that might hold, 
If this should blast in proof. Soft! let me 
see: 155 

We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings; 
I ha 't: 
When in your motion you are hot and dry — 



529 



48 



HAMLET 



[act IV. SC. VII. 



As make your bouts more violent to that 

end — 
And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd 

him i6o 

A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping. 
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, 
Our purpose may hold there. 

Enter Queen. 

How now, sweet queen ! 

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel. 

So fast they follow: j^our sister's drown'd, 

Laertes. 165 

Laer. Drown'd! O, where? 

Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook. 
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy 

stream ; 
There with fantastic garlands did she come 
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long 

purples 170 

That liberal shepherds give a grosser name. 
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call 

them: 
There, on the pendant boughs her coronet 

weeds 
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; 
When doM'n her weedy trophies and herself 175 
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes 

spread wide; 
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: 
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes ; 
As one incapable of her own distress. 
Or like a creature native and indued 180 

Unto that element : but long it could not be 
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
To muddy death. 
Laer. Alas, then, is she drown'd ? 

Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 185 

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor 

Ophelia, 
And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet 
It is our trick; nature her custom holds. 
Let shame say what it will: when these are 

gone. 
The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord: 190 
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, 
But that this folly douts it. Exit. 

King. Let's follow, Gertrude: 

How much I had to do to calm his rage ! 
Now fear I this will give it start again; 
Therefore let's follow. Exeunt. 195 



[ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — A churchyard.'] 

Enter two Clowns. 

First Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial 
that wilfully seeks her own salvation.^ 

Sec. Clo. I tell thee she is; and therefore make 
her grave straight: the crowner hath sat on 
her, and finds it Christian burial. 5 

First Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned 
herself in her own defence ? 

Sec. Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 

First Clo. It must be 'se ofFendendo;' it cannot 
be else. For here lies the point: if I drown 
myself wittingly, it argues an act: and an act 
hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and 
to perform: argal, she drowned herself wit- 
tingly. ' 14 

Sec. Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver, — 

First Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; 
good: here stands the man; good: if the man 
go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will 
he, nill he, he goes, — mark you that; but if 
the water come to him and drown him, he 
drowns not himself : argal, he that is not guilty 
of his own death shortens not his own life. 22 

Sec. Clo. But is this law? 

First Clo. Ay, marry, is't; crowner's quest 
law. 

Sec. Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't? If this 
had not been a gentlewoman, she should have 
been buried out of Christian burial. 28 

First Clo. Why, there thou say'st: and the more 
pity that great folk should have countenance 
in this world to drown or hang themselves, 
more than their even Christian. Come, my 
spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but 
gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers : they 
hold up Adam's profession. 35 

Sec. Clo. Was he a gentleman? 

First Clo. He was the first that ever bore 
arms. 

Sec. Clo. Why, he had none. 39 

First Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost 
thou understand the Scripture? The Scrip- 
ture says 'Adam digged:' could he dig without 
arms? I'll put another question to thee: if 
thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess 
thyself — 

Sec. Clo. Go to. 45 

First Clo. What is he that builds stronger than 



530 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



HAMLET 



49 



either the mason, the shipwright^, or the car- 
penter ? 

Sec. Clo. The gallows-maker; for that frame 
outlives a thousand tenants. so 

First Glo J like thy wit well, in good faith: the 
gallows does well; but how does it well? it 
does well to those that do ill: now thou dost 
ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the 
church : argal^ the gallows may do well to thee. 
To 't again, come. 56 

Sec, Clo. 'Who builds stronger than a mason, a 
shipwright, or a carpenter?' 

Fi7'st Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 

Sec. Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 60 

First Clo. To 't. 

Sec. Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, afar off. 

First Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, 
for your dull ass will not mend his pace with 
beating; and, when you are asked this ques- 
tion next, say *a grave-maker :' the houses that 
he makes lasts till doomsday. Go, get thee to 
Yaughan: fetch me a stoup of liquor. 

[Ea:it Sec. Clown.'] 
[First Clown digs, and] sings. 
In youth, when I did love, did love, 

Methought it was very sweet, 70 

To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove, 
O, methought, there was nothing meet. 
Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, 

that he sings at grave-making? 
Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of 
easiness. 76 

Ham. 'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employ- 
ment hath the daintier sense. 
Clown sings. 

But age, with his stealing steps, 

Hath caught me in his clutch, 80 

And hath shipped me intil the land. 
As if I had never been such. 

[Throws wp a skull.] 

Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could 

sing once: how the knave jowls it to the 

ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did 

the first murther ! It might be the pate of a 

politician, which this ass now o'er-offices ; one 

that could circumvent God, might it not ? 

Hor. It might, my lord. 89 

Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say 'Good 

morrow, sweet lord ! How dost thou, good 

lord?' This might be my lord such-a-one. 



that praised my lord such-a-one's horse, when 
he meant to beg it; might it not? 

Hor. Ay, my lord. 95 

Ham. Why, e'en so : and now my Lady Worm's ; 
chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with 
a sexton's spade: here's fine revolution, if we 
had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost 
no more the breeding, but to play at loggats 
with 'em? mine ache to think on't. loi 

Clown sings. 

A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade. 

For and a shrouding sheet : 
O, a pit of clay for to be made 

For such a guest is meet. 105 

[Throws up another skull.] 

Ham. There's another: why might not that be 
the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddi- 
ties now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, 
and his tricks? why does he suffer this rude 
knave now to knock him about the sconce with 
a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his 
action of battery? Hum! This fellow might 
be in's time a great buyer of land, with his 
statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his dou- 
ble vouchers, his recoveries: is this the fine of 
his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to 
have his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his 
vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, 
and double ones too, than the length and 
breadth of a pair of indentures? The very 
conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this 
box; and must the inheritor himself have no 
more, ha? 

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 122 

Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins? 

Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too. 

Ham. They are sheep and calves that seek out 
assurance in that. I will speak to this fel- 
low. Whose grave's this, sirrah? 127 

Clown. Mine, sir. 

[Sings] O, a pit of clay for to be made 

For such a guest is meet. 130 

Ham. I think it be thine, indeed; for thou 
liest in 't. 

Clo. You lie out on 't, sir, and therefore it is 
not yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, and 
yet it is mine. 135 

Ham. Thou dost lie in % to be in 't and say 
'tis thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; 
therefore thou liest. 

Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again, 
from me to you. 140 



531 



50 



HAMLET 



[act 



V. SC. I. 



Ham. What man dost thou dig it for? 

Clo. For no man^ sir. 

Ham. What woman, then? 

Clo. For none, neither. 

Ham. Who is to be buried in 't ? 145 

Clo. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her 
soul, she's dead. 

Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must speak 
by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By 
the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have 
taken note of it; the age is grown so picked 
that the toe of the peasant comes so near the 
heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. How 
long hast thou been a grave-maker? 154 

Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came to't 
that day that our last king Hamlet overcame 
Fortinbras. 

Ham. How long is that since? 

Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell 
that: it was the very day that young Ham- 
let was born; he that was mad, and sent into 
England. 162 

Ham. A\, marry, why was he sent into Eng- 
land?' 

Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall re- 
cover his wits there; or, if he do not, it's no 
great matter there. 

Ham. Why? 

Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there; there the 
men are as mad as he. 170 

Ham. How came he mad? 

Clo. Very strangely, they say. 

Ham. How strangely? 

Clo. Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 

Ham. Upon what ground? 175 

Clo. Why, here in Denmark. I have been sex- 
ton here, man and boy, thirty years. 

Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere 
he rot? 179 

Clo. V faith, if he be not rotten before he die — 
as we have many pocky corses now-a-days, 
that will scarce hold the laying in — he will 
last you some eight year or nine year: a tanner 
will last you nine year. 

Ham. Why he more than another? 185 

Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his 
trade, that he will keep out water a great 
while; and your water is a sore decayer of 
your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull 
now ; this skull has lain in the earth three and 
twenty years. 191 

Ham. Whose was it? 



Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was: whose do 
you think it was ? 

Ham. Nay, I know not. 195 

Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! 
a' poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head 
once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's 
skull, the king's jester. 

Ham. This? 200 

Clo. E'en that. 

Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, 
poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow 
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he 
hath borne me on his back a thousand times; 
and now, how abhorred in my imagination it 
is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips 
that I have kissed I know not how oft. 
Where be your gibes now ? your gambols ? your 
songs? your flashes of merriment, that were 
wont to set the table on a roar ? Not one now, 
to mock your own grinning ? quite chap-fallen ? 
Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell 
her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour 
she must come; make her laugh at that. 
Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. 216 

Hor. What's that, my lord? 

Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this 
fashion i' the earth? 

Hor. E'en so. 220 

Ham. And smelt so ? pah ! 

[Puts down the skull.] 

Hor. E'en so, my lord. 

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Ho- 
ratio! Why may not imagination trace the 
noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stop- 
ping a bung-hole? 226 

Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to con- 
sider so. 

Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him 

thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to 

lead it: as thus: Alexander died, Alexander 

was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; 

the dust is earth ; of earth we make loam ; and 

why of that loam, whereto he was converted, 

might they not stop a beer-barrel? 23s 

Imperial Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay. 

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 

O, that that earth, which kept the world in 

awe, 
Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's 
flaw! 
But soft! but soft! aside: here comes the 
king. 



240 



■<32 



ACT V. SC. 



I.] 



HAMLET 



51 



Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a coffin with 
^ [P?nest and] Lords attendant. 

The queen, the courtiers : who is that they fol- 
low ? 241 
And with such maimed rites? This doth be- 
token 
The corse they follow did with desperate 

hand 
Fordo it own life : 'twas of some estate. 
Couch we awhile, and mark. 245 

[Retiring with Horatio.] 
Laer. What ceremony else ? 
Ham. That is Laertes, 

A very noble youth: mark. 
Laer. What ceremony else? 

Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd 
As we have warrantise: her death was doubt- 
ful ; 250 
And, but that great command o'ersways the 

order. 
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd 
Till the last trumpet ; for charitable prayer, 
Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown 

on her: 
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, 255 
Her maiden strewments and the bringing 
home 
■ Of bell and burial. 
Laer. Must there no more be done? 
Priest. No more be done : 

We should profane the service of the dead 
To sing a requiem and such rest to her 260 

As to peace-parted souls. 
Laer. Lay her i' the earth : 

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish 

priest, 
A ministering angel shall my sister be. 
When thou liest howling. 
Ham. What, the fair Ophelia ! 

Queen. Sweets to the sweet: farewell! 266 

[Scattering flowers.'] 
I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's 

wife ; 
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet 

maid, 
And not t' have strew'd thy grave. 
Laer. O, treble woe 

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 270 
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
Depriv'd thee of ! Hold off the earth awhile. 



Till I have caught her once more in mine 
arms: Leaps in the grave. 

Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead. 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 275 
T' o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head 
Of blue Olympus. 

Ham. [Advancing] What is he whose grief 
Bears such an emphasis ? whose phrase of sor- 
row 
Conjures the wandering stars, and makes 

them stand 
Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, 280 
Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the grave.] 

Laer. The devil take thy soul ! 

[Grappling with him.] 

Ham. Thou pray'st not well. 

I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat; 
For, though I am not spleenative and rash, 
Yet have I something in me dangerous, 285 
Which let thy wiseness fear. Away thy hand. 

King. Pluck them asunder. 

Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet! 

Attendants. Gentlemen, — 

Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. 

[The Attendants part them, and they 

come out of the grave.] 

Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this 
theme 
Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 290 

Queen. O my son, what theme? 

Ham. I lov'd Ophelia: forty thousand brothers 
Could not, with all their quantity of love. 
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for 
her? 

King. O, he is mad, Laertes. 295 

Queen. For love of God, forbear him. 

Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou'lt do: 

Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't 

tear thyself? 
Woo't drink up eisel? eat a crocodile? 
I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine? 300 
To outface me with leaping in her grave? 
Be buried quick with her, and so will I : 
And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
Millions of acres on us, till our ground. 
Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 305 
Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, and thou'lt 

mouth, 
I'll rant as well as thou. 

Queen. This is mere madnesjs: 

And thus awhile the fit will work on him; 
Anon, as patient as the female dove. 



533 



HAMLET 



[act v. SC. 1. 



When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, 
His silence will sit drooioing. 
Ham. Hear you^, sir; 311 

What is the reason that you use me thus ? 
I lov'd you ever: but it is no matter; 
Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
The cat will mew and dog will have his day. 

Exit. 
King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him. 

[^Exit Horatio.'] 
[To Laertes] Strengthen your patience in our 
last night's speech; 317 

We'll put the matter to the present push. 
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. 
This grave shall have a living monument: 320 
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ; 
Till then, in patience our proceeding be. 

Exeunt. 



[Scene H. — A hall in the castle.] 

Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 

Ham. So much for this, sir: now let me see the 
other ; 
You do remember all the circumstance? 
Hor. Remember it, my lord! 

Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of 
fighting. 
That would not let me sleep : methought I lay 
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. 
Rashly, 6 

And prais'd be rashness for it; let us know, 
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well. 
When our deep plots do pall: and that should 

teach us 
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 10 

Rough-hew them how we will, — 
Hor, That is most certain. 

Ham. Up from my cabin. 

My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark 
Grop'd I to find out them ; had my desire, 
Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew 15 
To mine own room again ; making so bold. 
My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
Their grand commission; where I found, Ho- 
ratio, — 
O royal knavery ! — an exact command. 
Larded with many several sorts of reason 20 
Importing Denmark's health and England's 

too, 
With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life. 



That, on the supervise, no leisure bated. 
No, not to stay the grinding of the axe. 
My head should be struck off. 

Hor. Is't possible? 25 

Ham. Here's the commission: read it at more 
leisure. 
But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed ? 

Hor. I beseech you. 

Ham. Being thus be-netted round with vil- 
lainies, — 
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains, 30 
They had begun the play — I sate me down, 
Devis'd a new commission, wrote it fair: 
I once did hold it, as our statists do, 
A baseness to write fair and labour'd much 
How to forget that learning, but, sir, now 35 
It did me yeoman's service: wilt thou know 
The effects of what I wrote? 

Hor. Ay, good my lord. 

Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king. 
As England was his faithful tributary. 
As love between them as the palm should 
flourish, 40 

As peace should still her wheaten garland 

wear 
And stand a comma 'tween their amities. 
And many such-like 'As'es of great charge. 
That, on the view and knowing of these con- 
tents. 
Without debatement further, more or less, 45 
He should the bearers put to sudden death, 
Not shriving-time allow'd. 

Hor. How was this seal'd? 

Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. 
I had my father's signet in my purse. 
Which was the model of that Danish seal; 50 
Folded the writ up in form of the other, 
Subscrib'd it, gave't th' impression, plac'd it 

safely. 
The changeling never known. Now, the next 



Was our sea-fight; and what to this was 

sequent 
Thou know'st already. 55 

Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosenci^antz go to't. 

Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this em- 
ployment ; 
They are not near my conscience ; their defeat 
Doth by their own insinuation grow: 
'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes 60 
Between the pass and fell incensed points 
Of mighty opposites. 



;34 



ACT V. SC. II.] 



HAMLET 



53 



Hor. Why, what a king is this ! 

Ham. Does it not, think'st thee, stand me now 
upon — 
He that hath kill'd my king and whor'd my 

mother, 
Popp'd in between th' election and my hopes, 
Thrown out his angle for my proper life, 66 
And with such cozenage — is't not perfect con- 
science. 
To quit him with this arm? and is't not to be 

damn'd. 
To let this canker of our nature come. 
In further evil.^ 70 

Hor. It must be shortly known to him from 
England 
What is the issue of the business there. 
Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine; 
And a man's life 's no more than to say 'One.' 
But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 75 

That to Laertes I forgot myself; 
For, by the image of my cause, I see 
The portraiture of his: I'll court his favours: 
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
Into a towering passion. 
Hor. Peace! who comes here.^ 80 

Enter young Osric. 

Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to 
Denmark. 

Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. 

\_To Horatio.^ Dost know this water-fly? 

Hor. No, my good lord. 85 

Ham. Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a 
vice to know him. He hath much land, and 
fertile: let a beast be lord of beasts, and his 
crib shall stand at the king's mess: 'tis a 
chough; but, as I say, spacious in the posses- 
sion of dirt. 90 

Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, 
I should impart a thing to you from his maj- 
esty. 

Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of 
spirit. Put your bonnet to his right use; 'tis 
for the head. 96 

Osr. I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot. 

Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind 
is northerly. 99 

Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 

Ham. But yet methinks it is very sultry and 
hot for my complexion, 

Osr. Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry, — 

53 



as 'twere, — I cannot tell how. But, my lord, 
his majesty bade me signify to you that he has 
laid a great wager on your head: siT, this is 
the matter, — 107 

Ham. I beseech you, remember — 

[Hamlet moves him to put on his hat.~\ 

Osr. Nay, good my lord; for mine ease, in good 
faith. I Sir, here is newly come to court 
Laertes ; believe me, an absolute gentleman, 
full of most excellent differences, of very soft 
society and great showing: indeed, to speak 
feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of 
gentry, for you shall find in him the continent 
of what part a gentleman would see. 116 

Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in 
you; though, I know, to divide him inventori- 
ally would dizzy the arithmetic of memory, 
and yet but yaw neither, in respect of his 
quick sail. But, in the verity of extolment, I 
take him to be a soul of great article; and his 
infusion of such dearth and rareness, as, to 
make true diction of him, his semblable is his 
mirror; and who else would trace him, his 
umbrage, nothing more. 125 

Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of 
him. 

Ham. The concernancy, sir? why do we wrap 
the gentleman in our more rawer breath ? 

Osr. Sir? 130 

Hor. Is't not possible to understand in another 
tongue? You will do't, sir, really. 

Ham, What imports the nomination of this gen- 
tleman ? 

Osr. Of Laertes? 135 

Hor. His purse is empty already; all's golden 
words are spent. 

Ham. Of him, sir. 

Osr. I know you are not ignorant — 

Ham. I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you 
did, it would not much approve me. Well, 
sir? 

Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence 
Laertes is — 144 

Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should 
compare with him in excellence; but, to know 
a man well, were to know himself. 

Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the 
imputation laid on him by them, in his meed 
he's unfellowed. 150 

■^ Ham. What's his weapon ? 

Osr. Rapier and dagger. 

Ham. That's two of his weapons: but, well. 



5i 



HAMLET 



[act v. SC. II. 



Osr. The king, sir, hath -svagered with him six 
Barbary horses: against the which he im- 
poned; as I take it, six French rapiers and 
poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, 
and so: three of the carriages, in faith, are 
very dear to fancy, very responsive to the 
hilts, most delicate carriages, and of very 
liberal conceit. 160 

Ham. What call you the carriages ? 

J Ilor. I knew you must be edified by the mar- 
gent ere you had done. 

^ Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 

Ham. The phrase would be more germane to the 
matter, if we could carry cannon by our sides : 
I would it might be hangers till then. But, 
on: six Barbary horses against six French 
swords, their assigns, and three liberal-con- 
ceited carriages ; that's the French bet against 
the Danish. Why is this 'imponed,' as you 
call it? 171 

Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen 
l^asses between you and him, he shall not ex- 
ceed you three hits : he hath laid on twelve for 
nine; and that would come to immediate trial, 
if your lordship would vouchsafe the answer. 

Ham. How if I answer 'no' ? 177 

Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your 
person in trial. 179 

Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall: if it 
please his majesty, 'tis the breathing time of 
day with me ; let the foils be brought, the gen- 
tleman willing, and the king hold his purpose, 
I will win for him if I can ; if not, I will gain 
nothing but my shame and the odd hits. 185 

Osr. Shall I re-deliver you e'en so? 

Ham. To this effect, sir; after what flourish 
your nature will. 

Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. 

Ham,. Yours, yours. [^Exit Osric.~\ He does well 
to commend it himself; there are no tongues 
else for's turn. 

Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on 
his head. 194 

Ham. He did comply with his dug, before he 
sucked it. Thus has he — and many more of 
the same breed that I know the drossy age 
dotes on — only got the tune of the time and 
outward habit of encounter; a kind of yesty 
collection, which carries them through and 
through the most fond and winnowed opin- 
ions ; and do but blow them to their trials, the 
bubbles are out. 202 



\ Enter a Lord. 

Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him to 
you by young Osric, who brings back to him, 
that you attend him in the hall: he sends to 
know if your pleasure hold to play with 
Laertes, or that you will take longer time. 207 

Ham. I am constant to my purposes; they fol- 
low the king's pleasure: if his fitness speaks, 
mine is ready ; now or whensoever, provided I 
be so able as now. 211 

Lord. The king and queen and all are coming 
down. 

Ham. In happy time. 

Lord. The queen desires you to use some gentle 
entertainment to Laertes before you fall to 
play. 217 

Ham. She well instructs me. \^Exit Lord.'] 

^ Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 

Ham. I do not think so; since he went into 
France, I have been in continual practice; I 
shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not 
think how ill all's here about my heart: but it 
is no matter. 

Hor. Nay, good my lord, — 224 

Ham. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of i 
gain-giving, as would perhaps trouble a 
woman. 

Hor. If your mind dislike any thing, obey it: 
I will forestall their repair hither, and say you 
are not fit. 229 

Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a 
special providence in the fall of a sparrow. j 
If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to 1 
come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it 
will come: the readiness is all: since no man 
has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave 
betimes ? 235 I 

Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and Lords, with \ 
other Attendants with foils and gauntlets. A 

table and flagons of wine on it. | 

I 

King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand | 

from me. 

[The King puts Laertes' hand into Hamlet's.'] \ 

Ham. Give me your pardon, sir: I've done you ] 

wrong; ^ . 

But pardon't, as you are a gentleman. 1 

This presence knows. 

And you must needs have heard, how I am , 
punish'd 240 



5SQ 



ACT V. SC. II.] 



HAMLET 



55 



With sore distraction. What I have done. 
That might your nature, honour, and excep- 
tion 
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes ? Never Ham- 
let: 
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away, 245 

And w^hen he's not himself does wrong Laer- 
tes, 
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. 
Who does it, then? His madness: if't be so, 
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd ; 
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 250 

Sir, in this audience. 
Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil 
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts. 
That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house. 
And hurt my brother. 

Laer. I am satisfied in nature, 25s 

Whose motive, in this case, should stir me 

most 
To my revenge : but in my terms of honour 
I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement. 
Till by some elder masters, of known honour, 
I have a voice and precedent of peace, 260 

To keep my name ungor'd. But till that time, 
I do receive your offer'd love like love. 
And will not wrong it. 

Ham. I do embrace it freely; 

And will this brother's wager frankly play. 
Give us the foils. Come on. 

Laer. Come, one for me. 265 

Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes: in mine ig- 
norance 
Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest 

night. 
Stick fiery off indeed. 

Laer. You mock me, sir. 

Ham. No, by this hand. 

King. Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin 
Hamlet, 270 

You know the wager ? 

Ham. Very well, my lord ; 

Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker 
side. 

King. I do not fear it; I have seen you both: 
But since he is better'd, we have therefore 
odds. 

Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 275 

Ham. This likes me well. These foils have all 
a length? Prepare to play. 

Osr. Ay, my good lord. 



King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table. 
If Hamlet give the first or second hit. 
Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 280 
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ; 
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better 

breath ; 
And in the cup an union shall he throw. 
Richer than that which four successive kings 
In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the 
cups ; • 28s 

And let the kettle to the trumpet speak. 
The trumpet to the cannoneer without, 
The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to 

earth, 
'Now the king drinks to Hamlet.' Come, be- 
gin: 
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 290 

Ham. Come on, sir. 

Laer. Come, my lord. They play. 

Ham. One. 

Laer. ' No. 

Ham. Judgement. 

Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 
Laer. Well ; again. 

King. Stay ; give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl 
is thine; 
Here's to thy health. 

Trumpets sound, and shot goes off. 
Give him the cup. 
Ham. I'll play this bout first; set it by awhile. 
Come. [They play.] Another hit; what say 



you 



296 



Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 

King. Our son shall win. 

Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath. 

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows : 

The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 300 
Ham. Good madam ! 

King. Gertrude, do not drink. 

Queen. I will, my lord; I pray you, pardon me. 
King. [Aside] It is the poison'd cup: it is too 

late. 
Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by and by. 
Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 305 

Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now. 
King. I do not think't. 

Laer. [Aside] And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my 

conscience. 
Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes: you but 
dally; 

I pray you, pass with your best violence ; 

I am afeard you make a wanton of me. 310 



537 



56 



HAMLET 



[act v. SC. II. 



Laer. Say you so? come on. Play. 

Osr. Nothing, neither way. 
Laer. Have at you now ! 

[Laertes •wounds Hamlet.'] In scuffling, 

they change rapiers \^and Hamlet wounds 

Laertes]. 

King. Part them; they are incens'd. 

Ham. Nay, come, again. [^The Queen falls.] 

Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! 

Hor. They bleed on both sides'. How is't, my 

lord ? 315 

Osr. How is't, Laertes? 

Laer. Whj^, as a woodcock to mine own springe, 
Osric ; 
I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. 
Ham. How does the queen? 

King. She swounds to see them bleed. 

Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O my 

dear Hamlet, — 320 

The drink, the drink! I am poison'd. [Dies.] 

Ham. O villainy ! Ho ! let the door be lock'd. 

Treachery! Seek it out. 
Laer. It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain; 
No medicine in the world can do thee good. 325 
In thee there is not half an hour of life; 
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
Unbated and envenom'd: the foul practice 
Hath turn'd itself on me; lo, here I lie. 
Never to rise again: thy mother's poison'd: 330 
I can no more : the king, the king's to blame. 
Ham. The point envenom'd too ! 

Then, venom, to thy work. Hurts the King. 
All. Treason! treason! 

King. O, yet defend me, friends ; I am but hurt. 
Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned 
Dane, 336 

Drink off this potion. Is thy union here? 
Follow my motlier. King dies. 

Laer. He is justly serv'd; 

It is a poison temper'd by himself. 
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Ham- 
let : 340 
Mine and my father's death come not upon 
thee. 



thine 



on me I 



Dies. 



Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow 
thee. 
I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu ! 
You that look pale and tremble at this chance. 
That are but mutes or audience to this act, 345 
Had I but time — as this fell sergeant, death. 
Is strict in his arrest — O, I could tell you — 



But let it be. Horatio, I am dead; 

Thou livest; report me and my cause aright 

To the unsatisfied. 
Hor, Never believe it: 351 

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane: 

Here's yet some liquor left. 
Ham. As th'art a man. 

Give me the cup; let go; by heaven, I'll have't. 

good Horatio, what a w^ounded name, 355 
Things standing thus unknown, shall live be- 
hind me ! 

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 

Absent thee from felicity awhile. 

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in 

pain. 
To tell my story. 

March afar off, and shot within. 
What warlike noise is this? 360 
Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from 
Poland, 
To the ambassadors of England gives 
This warlike volley. 
Ham. O, I die, Horatio; 

The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit: 

1 cannot live to hear the news from Eng- 
land ; 365 

But I do prophesy th' election lights 

On Fortinbras : he has my dying voice ; 

So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less. 

Which have solicited. The rest is silence. 

[Dies.] 
Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, 
sweet prince; 370 

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! 
Why does the drum come hither? 

Enter Fortinbras and English Ambassador, witJi 
drums, colours, and attendants. 

Fort. Where is this sight? 

Hor. What is it ye would see ? 

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. 

Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud 



death. 



375 



What feast is toward in thine eternal cell. 
That thou so many princes at a shoot 
So bloodily hast struck? 
Amb. The sight is dismal; 

And our affairs from England come too late: 
The ears are senseless that should give us 
hearing, 380 

To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd. 



538 



ACT V. SC. 



II.] 



HAMLET 



57 



That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. 
Where should we have our thanks ? 

Hor. Not from his mouth, 

Had it the ability of life to thank you: 
He never gave commandment for their death. 
But since, so jump upon this bloody question, 
You from the Polack wars, and you from 
England, 387 

Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies 
High on a stage be placed to the view; 
And let me speak to the yet unknowing world 
How these things came about: so shall you 
hear 391 

Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts. 
Of accidental judgements, casual slaughters. 
Of deaths put on by cunning and forc'd cause. 
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook 395 

Fall'n on the inventors' heads: all this can I 
Truly deliver. 

Fort. Let us haste to hear it, 

And call the noblest to the audience. 
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune : 



I have some rights of memory in this king- 
dom, 400 

Which now to claim my vantage doth invite 
me. 
Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak. 

And from his mouth whose voice will draw 
on more: 

But let this same be presently perform'd. 

Even while men's minds are wild; lest more 
mischance, 405 

On plots and errors, happen. 
Fort, Let four captains 

Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage; 

For he was likely, had he been put on. 

To have prov'd most royally: and, for his pas- 
sage. 

The soldiers' music and the rites of war 4x0 

Speak loudly for him. 

Take up the body : such a sight as this 

Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. 

Go, bid the soldiers shoot. 

Exeunt, marching; after the which a peal 
of ordnance are shot off. 



FINIS. 



NOTES 



The first list of names of the characters was given 
in Rowe's edition (1709). The quartos have no act 
or scene division. The Foho marks both acts and 
scenes correctly as far as Act II, scene ii, except that 
it fails to separate scenes iii, iv, and v of the first 
act. The last three acts of the play are printed 
in all the old texts without any kind of division. It 
is generally agreed that the division between Acts 
III and IV, introduced by eighteenth century editors, 
is incorrect, but it has been retained to avoid upset- 
ting the accepted numbering of scenes and lines. 
'F' indicates the Shakespeare Folio of 1623, 'Q' the 
Hamlet quarto of 1604, which the later quartos fol- 
low. Where the readings of the imperfect 1603 
quarto seem to possess independent authority, that 
edition is quoted as 'Q 1603.' 

ACT I 

i. S. D. Bernardo. Q F regularly spell this name 
'Barnardo,' which represents the Elizabethan pro- 
nunciation of the first syllable. 

13 rivals, partners; properly those sharing the use 
of the same stream {rivus). 

29 approve, prove true. 

42 Thou art a scholar; speak to it. The ability 



to summon up and converse with supernatural 
creatures was in popular belief one of the chief 
purposes of medieval scholarship. Doctor Faus- 
tus, like Horatio a scholar of Wittenberg, was 
very familiar to audiences of the day from the 
tragedy of Marlowe. 

49 sometimes, sometime, formerly. 

57 sensible, palpable, avouch, witness. 

61 he] om. F. 

65 jump] Q; just F. 

68 the gross and scope, the general range; an ex- 
ample of 'hendiadys.' 

72 the subject, the laboring classes; a collective 
noun. 

73 cast, casting. 

75 impress, impressing. 

83 emulate, ambitious, emulous. 

89 seiz'd of, possessed of; a feudal term. For 'of 
F reads 'on.' 

90 a moiety competent, a corresponding portion. 
94 carriage, import; the meaning conveyed or 'car- 
ried' by the article or contract, design'd, drawn up. 

96 unimproved, not put to use, lacking employ- 
ment. 
98 lawless] Q; landless F. 
103 compulsative, violent, involving compulsion. 



539 



58 



HAMLET 



107 romage, bustle; said to be a nautical term for 
the cleaning out of a vessel. 

108-125 Ber. I think . . . countrymen. These lines 
appear to have been invS})ired by reminiscences of 
Julius Casar II. ii. V3-2'A. Tliey were probably 
later rejected by the poet as superfluous. 

117 As stars . . .* blood. As the passage stands this 
line makes no sense. The most plausible ex- 
planation is that some words have been lost be- 
tween lines 116 and 117. 

118 the moist star, the moon, which controls the 
tides of 'Neptune's empire.' 

121 precurse, foreshadowing. 

125 climatures, probably regions or latitudes. The 

precise force of the w^ord is not certain. 
127 S. D. It . . . arms] Q; om. F. 'His' is the usual 

possessive form of 'it' in Shakespeare. 
140 partisan, a long spear-like weapon with blade 

as well as point. 
150 morn] Q; day F. 

154 extravagant and erring-, vagrant and wander- 
ing. 

155 confine, place of confinement. 
161 dare stir] Q; can walk F. 

163 takes, strikes with disease. For 'takes' F reads 
'talks.' 

164 So hallov/'d and so gracious is the time. This 
fine eulogy of the Christmas season of peace and 
good wall has no pertinence with reference to the 
play. It is obviously not Christmas in Denmark. 
It is not improbable that lines 157-165 were in- 
serted in honor of some Christmas performance of 
tlie play. 

167 eastern] F; eastward Q. 



ii. 9 jointress; properly 'dowager'; but with this 
meaning is probably combined the idea of 'joint- 
possessor.' 

31 gait, progress, proceeding; spelled 'gate' in Q F. 

33 his subject, those subject to him. See note on 
I. i. 72. 

37 business, negotiate, do business. 

38 dilated, fully expressed. Spelled 'delated' in Q. 

44 of reason, of anything reasonable. 

45 lose your voice, speak fruitlessly. 
47 native to, allied by nature to. 

64 cousin, used here, as very often in Shakespeare, 
of the relationship between uncle and nephew. 

65 A little more than kin and less than kind. 
'Kind' is proh'ably not the adjective but a noun 
meaning 'nature.' The king's assumption of fa- 
therhood to Hamlet is a little more than his ac- 
tual kinship (that of uncle and step-father), and 
yet prompted by less than natural good feeling. 

66 the clouds, Hamlet's mourning. 

67 too much i' the sun, a quibble on the word 'son' 
used hy Claudius in line 64. Hamlet hears too 
much of his 'sonship' to the king. 

68 nighted] Q; nightly F. 
99 vulgar, common, obvious. 

127 rouse, draught of liquor. The modern slang 
word 'row' is a corrupted form, bruit, report. 

128 S. D. as in Q. 
137 merely, fully, exclusively. 

540 



140 Hyperion, the sun-god. 

141 beteem, allow. Spelled 'beteene' in F. 

150 discourse of reason, an instance of pleonasm. 

'Discourse' means itself the logical or reasoning 

faculty. See lY. iv. 36. 
159 S. D. Bernardo] Q; Barnard F. See note on I. i. 

S. D. 
164 what make you] what are you doing. 

180 funeral bak'd meats, meats baked for consump- 
tion at the funeral gatherings. Some interpret 
'bak'd-meats' in the sense of pastry, meat-pies. 

181 coldly, when cold. 
198 waste] F; vast Q. 

200 at point exactly, in complete readiness, 
cap-a-pe, head to foot. 

204 truncheon's, staff's. 

216 it head, its head. The most usual possessive of 
'it' in Shakespeare is 'his'; but 'it' is occasionally 
used, and less frequently the modern 'its.' 

243 warrant] Q; warrant you F. Pronounce 
'war'nt,' in one syllable. 

iii, 7 primy, vernal, spring-like. 

8 Forward] Q; Froward F. 

9 perfume and] om. F. 

11 nature crescent, growing nature. 

12 his] F; this Q. 'His' refers to 
note on I. ii. 216. 

15 cautel, deceit. 

16 will] Q; fear F. 
21 sanctity . . . the] F; safety . . 

tity' is used in the sense of the 
honor, dignity. 
26 peculiar sect and force] F; particular act and 
place Q. Both readings offer difficulties; 'peculiar 
sect' refers to Hamlet's special status in society. 

39 canker, the 'canker-w^orm' disease of plants. 

40 buttons, buds. For 'their' F reads 'the.' 
51 rede, counsel. 

65 new-hatch'd] Q; unhatch'd F. 
74 Are of a most select and generous chief in that. 

This line is an unexplained mystery, the main 
difficulties centering about the meaning of 'chief 
(cheff in F) and the excessive number of sylla- 
bles. White's emendation, 'Are most select and gen- 
erous in that,' makes good sense and metre, but 
does not explain how the reading in the text arose. 

115 springes . . . woodcocks. See note on V. ii. 
317. 

117 Lends] Q; Gives F. 

122 your entreatments, probably '3^our yieldings to 
entreaty' ; but also defined as 'conversation.' 

128 that'dye] Q; the eve F. 

130 bawds] Theobald; bonds Q F. 



'nature.' See 



. this Q. 'Sane- 
Latin 'sanctitas,' 



iv. 9 wassail, carouse. 

up-spring reels, wild dances; 'up-spring' seems 
to be an English version of an old German dance 
called 'Hiipfauf (hop-up). 
14 But] Q; And F. 

19 clepe, call, 
with swinish phrase, with the name of swine. 

20 addition, title of honor; properly a designation 
added to a man's name as a mark of respect. 



HAMLET 



59 



21 perform'd at heig-ht, performed in the noblest 



manner. 



22 attribute, reputation. 

30 plausive, deserving applause, 

33 Their] Theobald; His Q. 

36-38 the dram of eale . . . scandal. It is unfor- 
tunate that the omission of these lines in F 
leaves us with only one (Q) version of this famous 
'crux.' It is not unlikely that Q has misprinted 
the text. There is practical agreement among 
commentators that 'eale' is an Elizabethan spelhng 
of 'evil' (e'il). Perhaps the least unsatisfactory 
of the multitudinous attempts to explain the words 
as they stand is that of Corson, who takes 'noble' 
as an adjective used substantively, like 'eale,' and 
understands 'substance of as a verb meaning 'im- 
bue with a certain essence': 'The dram of ill tran- 
substantiates the noble, essences it to its own scan- 
dal.' All interpretations of the passage, however, 
are quite conjectural. 

42 intents] Q; events F. The F reading, meaning 
the issues or results of the Ghost's visitation, may 
be correct. 

50 his, its. 

61 waves] Q; wafts F. 

70 summit] Rowe; somnet Q; Sonnet F. 

83 nerve, muscle. The Nemean lion was slain by 
Hercules. 

85 lets, hinders. 



V. 19 an end, on end; 'an' and 'a' are colloquial forms 
of 'on.' 

20 porpentine, porcupine; both forms of the word 
were common in Shakespeare's time. 

21 blazon, revelation. 

22 List, list] Q; list, Hamlet F. 

24 God] Q; Oh Heaven F. The later version is 
due to the 1605 statute forbidding the use of holy 
names on the stage. See note on Merchant of 
Venice I. ii. 121. 

33 rots] F; roots Q. 

Lethe, the river of forgetfulness. wharf, bank. 

43 wit] Pope; wits Q F.'with] Q; hath F. 

62 cursed hebenon, probably the juice of the yew- 
tree. 

67 gates, streets. 

68 posset, curdle. 

69 eag-er, acid; French, 'aigre.' The spelling of F 
is 'Aygre.' 

71 instant, instantaneous, tetter, eruption. 

72 lazar-like, like a leper. 

77 TJnhousel'd, without having partaken of the 
'housel' or eucharist. 

disappointed, unappointed, unprepared, 
unanel'd, unanointed, without having received 
the rite of 'extreme unction.' 
83 luxury, lust. 

97 In this distracted globe; in Hamlet's head. 

98 table, writing-tablet. So in line 107. 
100 pressures, impressions. 

114 So be it! These words are assigned to Mar- 

cellus in F. 
116 come, bird, come. Horatio's call suggests to 



Hamlet that by which falconers brought back their 
birds. 

S. D. Horatio and Marcellus enter after line 113 
in F. 
136 Horatio] Q; my lord F. Hamlet may be mimick- 
ing Horatio, as Portia mimics the servant in 
Merchant of Venice II. ix. 85. 

150 truepenny, honest fellow. 

151 on — you hear] one you here F. 
163 pioner, miner. 

167 our] F; your Q. 'Our' philosophy is that which 
Hamlet and Horatio have studied at Wittenberg. 

174 or thus, head shake] F; or this head shake Q. 
The reading of F makes 'head' the object of the 
verb 'shake,' that of Q makes 'head-shake' a com- 
pound noun and leaves the clause without a verb. 



ACT II 

i. 1 this] Q; his F. If Reynaldo is taking Laertes 
his regular allowance, the reading of F is prefer- 
able. 
14 As] Q; And F. 
20 forg-eries, forged tales, falsehoods. 

38 fetch of warrant, warranted stratagem. Q sub- 
stitutes 'wit' for 'warrant.' 

43 prenominate, aforesaid. 

44 breathe of, speak of. 

47 addition, title. See note on I. iv. 20. 

50 By the mass] om. F (because irreverent). 
65 windlasses, roundabout ways. 

assays of bias, indirect efforts; a bowling term. 
69 God be wi' you] Capell. F prints 'God buy 

you' (Q, 'God buy ye'), which probably represents 

the pronunciation of the phrase. 

77 chamber] F; closet Q. 

78 unbrac'd, unfastened. 

80 down-gyved to his ankle, hanging down about 

his ankle like fetters. 
91 As, as if. 

95 bulk, the upper part of the body, the breast. 
101 Come] om. F. 

103 property, characteristic, fordoes, undoes, de- 
stroys. 
112 quoted, observed. 

114 By heaven] Q; It seems F (to avoid irrever- 
ence). 

ii. 10 deem, judge. Q substitutes 'dream.' 
29 But] om. F. 

39 Ay] om. F. 

45 and] Q; one F. The precise meaning of this line 
is not clear. 

48 it] Q; I F. 

54 sweet queen, that] F; dear Gertrude Q. 
67 borne in hand, deceived; a slang phrase. 
98 'tis 'tis] it is F. 

105 Perpend, consider; an affected word. 
150 wherein] Q; whereon F. 
167 But] Q; And F. 

182 a god kissing carrion] Warburton; a good 
kissing carrion Q F. The god in question is the 
sun. See 1 Henry IV II. iv. 133. 



541 



60 



HAMLET 



197 that you read] Q; you mean F. 

198 slave] F; rogue Q. 

205, 206 if like a crab you could go backward, if 

you could progress from age to youth. 

221 except my life. Q gives the phrase thrice, as 
in the text; F reads simply except my life, my 
life. 

244-277 Let me question . . . dreadfully attended] 
om. Q. 

282 too dear a halfpenny, too dear at the price of 
a halfpenny; not worth a halfpenny. Hamlet, rec- 
ognizing the insincerity of his visitors, offers them 
only formal and valueless thanks. 

288,289 kind of confession] Q; kind confession F. 

295 consonancy, harmony. 

305 prevent . . . discovery, precede . . . revelation. 
These are the usual Elizabethan meanings of the 
t\\'0 words. 

308 custom of exercise, customary exercise. In Y. ii. 
2-20-2-2-2 we learn, however, that Hamlet has not 
given up the practice of fencing. 

309 heavily] Q; heavenly F. 

313 firmament] om. F (perhaps correctly). 

330 coted, j^assed, outstripped; a hunting term. 

332-338 the king- . . . the adventurous knight . . . 
the lover . . . the humorous man . . . the clown 
. . . the lady. The usual traveling company of 
actors in Shakespeare's time consisted of five or six 
players with roles assigned somewhat as Hamlet 
suggests. The ladies' parts would be taken by a 
boy. 

336-338 the clown . . . sere] om. Q, thus reducing 
the number of actors from six to five. 

337 tickle] Staunton; tickled F. 'Tickle o' the 
sere' means 'easily set off or exploded'; it is a 
metaphor from guns with hair-triggers, which a 
light touch will set off. 'Sere' is the device which 
held the hammer of a gun when ready to be dis- 
charged; 'tickle' means properly 'insecure.' 

343, 344 their residence, their continuance in the 
metropolis. Much interest is added to this part 
of the play by the circumstance that Shakespeare's 
own company is known to have been obliged to 
leave the city of London and to travel in the 
English provinces in 1601. The first edition of 
Hamlet (1603) states that the play had been 
performed at Oxford, Cambridge, and else- 
where. 

347 the late innovation, probably the new popularity 
of the amateur companies of child-actors, one band 
of which, the Children of the Queen's Chapel, was 
specially patronized by the Court. 

352-379 How comes it . . . Hercules and his load 
too] om. Q, prol)ably because it would not have 
been discreet in 1604 to print these pointed local 
allusions. 

354, 355 an aery of children, little eyases. This is 
a definite allusion to the Children of the Queen's 
Chapel, who acted at the Blackfriars private the- 
atre under the special favor of Queen Elizabeth 
between 1597 and 1603. Their greatest success 
was in comedies filled with local and personal sa- 
tire, of which several {Every Man out of his Hu- 
mor, Cynthia's Revels, Poetaster) were written for 



them by Ben Jonson. When Hamlet was produced 
they were the most formidable rivals of Shake- 
speare's company. 

aery, hawk's nest, eyases, fledgling hawks. 

358 common stages, the public theatres, such as the 
Globe, which were less aristocratic than the private 
theatres occupied by the children under court pat- 
ronage. 

362 escoted, supported. 

365,366 most like] Pope; like most F. 

370 tarre, incite. 

372, 373 unless the poet and player went to cuffs 
in the question, an allusion to the 'War of the 
Theatres,' which was most bitter in 1601, when 
Hamlet was doubtless written. Sarcastic refer- 
ences to the poets and players of rival theatres 
characterize many of the plays of this time. 

378,379 Hercules and his load too. The sign be- 
fore the Globe Theatre is said to have been a pic- 
ture of Hercules bearing the world on his shoul- 
ders. Shakespeare complains jestingly that the 
present taste for the antics and jests of the chil- 
dren bears away the profits of the professional 
actors. 

390 this] Q; the F. 

397 handsaw. There is difference of opinion 
whether this word is a corruption of 'heronshaw,' 
a bird of the heron kind, or whether hawk means 
'hack,' a kind of hoe. Probably the expression was 
proverbial and made no special sense in Shake- 
speare's time. Modern actors often have recourse 
to a corruption of the words, 'I know a hawk from 
a hen: pshaw!' 

406 for] om. Q (perhaps correctly). 

422 Jephthah, judge of Israel. A ballad on this 
subject, perhaps the one from which Hamlet 
quotes, was licensed for publication in 1567-8. A 
version is printed in Percy's Beliques. 

438 row, probably stanza, pious] Q; Pons F. 

443 valanced, provided with a valance, or curtain, 
of beard. 

445 my young lady and mistress, addressed to the 
boy who played women's parts. 

448 chopine, an Italian shoe with thick cork sole. 

449, 450 cracked within the ring. Coins chipped 
or cracked within the ring on the circumference 
could not be passed. When the boy actor's voice 
cracked he was no longer desirable for women's 
parts. 

457 caviare, pickled sturgeon roe; a delicacy relished 
only by epicures, the general, the public. 

459, 460 cried in the top of mine, possessed higher 
authority than mine. 

463 sallets, salads; hence piquant situations. 

472 th' Hyrcanian beast, the tiger. 

479 total gules] Q; to take Geulles F. 'Gules' in 
heraldic language means red. 

trick'd, sketched, illustrated; used in heraldry 
of a drawing made to illustrate a coat of arms. 

484 o'er-sized, covered as with 'size' or glue. 

493 Repugnant to, resisting, match'd] Q; match F. 

506 rack, cloud moving before the wind. 

511 the Cyclops' hammers. The Cyclopes were a 
race of one-eyed giants said to have invented the 



54^ 



HAMLET 



61 



art of black-smithing. They were employed under 

Vulcan in forging the weapons of the gods. 
512 proof eterne, eternal impenetrability. Armor of 

proof is that which cannot be pierced. 
517 fellies, parts of the rim of the wheel. 
522 jig-. It was customary for Elizabethan plays to 

close with a lively dance and song, called a jig. 
525 mobled, muffled. F substitutes 'inobled,' probably 

a misprint. 
529 bisson rheum, blinding tears. 
540 made milch, caused to shed tears (literally give 

forth milk). The subject of 'milch' is 'eyes of 

heaven,' which follows. 
575 God be wi' ye. See note on II. i. 69. 

579 own] Q; whole F. conceit, imagination. 

580 wann'd] Q; warm'd F. 
594 peak, mope. 

598 defeat, used in its literal sense of 'undoing.' 

604 'Swounds] Q; Why F (to avoid irreverence). 

609 kindless, unnatural. 

626 tent, probe. 

633 relative, relevant. 

ACT III 

i. 17 o'er-ranght, overtook. 
29 closely, secretly. 

31 Affront, meet face to face. 

32 espials, spies. 

48 sugar] Q; surge F. 

49 too] om. F. 

52 to, in comparison with. 

68 respect, consideration, reflection. 

71 proud] Q; poor F (perhaps correct). 

72 despis'd] Q; dispriz'd F. 
87 awry] Q; away F. 

95 No, not I] Q; No, no F. 
131 earth and heaven] Q; heaven and earth F. 
136 no where] Q; no way F. 
148 paintings] Q; prattlings F. 
163 And I] Q; Have I F. 

167 blown, full-blown. 

168 ecstasy, frenzy. 

174 the hatch and the disclose. These words con- 
tinue the metaphor of a fowl brooding. 'Disclose' 
was the technical word for the first appearance of 
the young chicken within the shell. 

175 to] F; for to Q. 'For to' with the infinitive was 
going out of fashion and is generally used only 
in the earlier versions of Shakespeare's work. In 
reading the line, a pause should be made after 
'danger.' 

185 his] Q; this F. 

11. 4 spoke] Q; had spoke F. 

10 see] F; hear Q. 

16 Termagant, an imaginary Mohammedan deity, 
represented in old religious plays as the embodi- 
ment of violence. Herod, the most violent and 
declamatory figure in the mystery plays. 

28 his, its. 

29 pressure, impression, character. See I. v. 100. 
come tardy off, inadequately performed. 



36 nor man] Q; or Norman F. The corresponding 

passage in Q 1603 reads 'Nor Turke.' 
53 presently, immediately. 
60 cop'd, met. 

65 candied, sugary, flattering. 
78 my heart of heart, my innermost heart. 
84 comment, observation. 
89 stithy, anvil. 
92 censure, judgment. 
98, 99 of the chameleon's dish. The chameleon was 

supposed to live on air. 
108 I did enact Julius Caesar. For the university 

plays on the death of Csesar known in Shakespeare's 

time see Introduction to Julius Ccesar. 

135 within's, within this; 'two hours' is thought of 
as a measure of time in the singular. 

136 twice two months. This, if taken strictly, 
would suggest that two months had elapsed since 
Hamlet's speech, I. ii. 138. 

138 sables, the rich fur of the sable martin, which 
is not black. Hamlet plays, however, on the other 
meaning of 'sable.' 

143, 144 the hobby-horse, a popular figure in the mor- 
ris-dances which the Puritans were abolishing. The 
hobby-horse was a dancer dressed like a horse. 

147 miching mallecho, sneaking mischief. 'Mich- 
ing' is supposed to be connected with 'micher,' a 
truant, and 'mallecho' with the Spanish 'malhecho,' 
misdeed. 

151 this fellow] Q; these fellows F. 

153 he] they F. 

162 the posy of a ring, a short motto engraved on a 
ring. 

184 leave, cease; functions is the object of do. 

193 respects. See note on III. i. 68. 

207 enactures, performances. 

214 favourite] Q; favourites F. 

229 anchor's cheer, a hermit's fare; 'anchor' for 'an- 
chorite.' 

247, 248 Tropically, figuratively. 

255 a good chorus] F; as good as a chorus Q. In 
Latin tragedy and in the English plays based upon 
it the chorus interpreted the action to the audience. 
Shakespeare made use of the device in Henry V, 
The Winter's Tale, and other plays. 

262 must take your] Pope, following Q 1603; mis- 
take your Q; mistake F. The allusion seems to 
be to the Church service where husband and wife 
take each other 'for better, for worse.' 

264, 265 The croaking raven doth bellow for re- 
venge, a travesty of two pompous lines in a pre- 
Shakespearean play. The True Tragedy of Richard 
III (which preceded Shakespeare's play on the 
same subject): 

'The screeking raven sits croaking for revenge. 
Whole herds of beasts comes bellowing for revenge.' 

267 Confederate season, occasion conspiring with the 
murderer. 

287 turn Turk, become renegade, desert me. 

288 Provincial roses, one of the best known roses of 
Shakespeare's time, rosa provincialis. Rose-shaped 
bows of ribbon ornamented the razed or fancifully 
slashed shoes worn by actors. 

290 Half a share. Actors in Elizabethan companier 



543 



62 



HAMLET 



received', in lieu of fixed salaries, a certain pro- 
portion of tlie net earnings at each performance. 
It was so that Shakespeare's fortune seems to have 
been made. 

294 Jove himself, that is, Hamlet's father, who has 
previously been likened to Hyperion. See I. ii. 140 
and 111. iv. 55-G3. 

295 pa jock, peacock. 

303 recorders, instruments similar to flutes. 

305 perdy, a mild oath; from French 'par dieu.' 

339 admiration, M'onder. 

342 Impart] om. F. 

351 freely, voluntarily. Q substitutes 'surely.' 

358 'While the grass 'grows.' 'While grass doth grow, 
the silly horse he starves' is one form of the prov- 
erb. 

386 'Sblood] Q; AVhy F (to avoid profanity). 

iii. 14 weal] Q; spirit F (probably a misprint). 
15 cease, a euphemism for 'death.' 
18 summit] Rowe; somnet Q F. See note on I. iv. 

70. 
27 closet, private apartment. 
33 of vantage, in addition. 'From a vantage point' 

is a less likely interpretation. 
77 sole] Q; foul F. 
81 flush, vigorous, full of life; this is the reading 

of Q, for which F substitutes 'fresh.' 
83 in our circumstance and course of thought, in 

the roundabout course of our thought; a case of 

hendiadys. 'Circumstance' is often used as here for 

roundabout talk or thought. • 

iv. 4 silence me, silently hide myself. For 'silence' 
Q reads 'sconce.' 

12 an idle] F; a wicked Q. The repetition of the 
queen's words seems intentional. 

14 by the rood, by the cross. 

33 busy, meddling; in Shakespeare the word has 
generally an uncomplimentary sense, which it re- 
tains in the modern 'busybody.' 

44 sets] Q; makes F. 

46 contraction, the marriage contract 

50 tristful, sad. 

52 in the index, in the mere opening outline. 

65 brother] Q; breath F. 

66 leave, cease. 

67 batten, fatten. 
77 cozen'd, cheated. 

hoodman-blind, the game of blind-man's-buif. 
81 mope, to be bewildered. 
88 And] Q; As F. 
90 grained spots, spots dyed 'in grain' and hence 

irremovable. See note on Twelfth Night I. v. .355. 
92 enseamed, greasy; 'seam' is a rustic word for the 

fat of hogs and geese. 

98 precedent, previous. 

vice, buffoon. Shakespeare alludes repeatedly 
to this favorite figure in the earlier English drama. 

99 cutpurse, pickpocket. 

102 S. D. Enter Ghost precedes line 102 in Q F. Q 
1G03 reads 'Enter the ghost in his night gown (i. e., 
dressing-gown),' which explains the stage practice 
of Shakespeare's time. The ghost, now on a peace- 
ful mission, no longer appears in armor. 



114 Conceit, imagination. 
117 do] om. F. 

121 excrements, outgrowths; used of the hair and 
nails. 

122 an end, on end. See note on I. v. 19. 
127 capable, possessed of feeling. 

138 ecstasy. See note on HI. i. 168. 

145 that] Q; a F. 

151 compost, manure. 

155 courb, bow; from French 'courber.' 

169 And either . . . the devil. Evidently a word 
has been lost in Q, which alone prints this line. 
The dots are not in the early editions. Of the 
many verbs suggested to fill out the sense and 
metre, 'master,' which first appeared in Q^ (1611) 
has been most extensively adopted; but there is 
no great probability that it is Shakespeare's word. 

182 bloat] Warburton; blowt Q; blunt F. 

184 reechy, literally, smoky; hence, dirty. 

190 paddock, toad, gib, a male cat; 'Gib' being a 
contraction of Gilbert. 

191 dear concernings, matters which dearly concern 
him. 

194 like the famous ape. The story of this beast 
has to be gathered from the context, for nothing 
else is now known of him. 

206 enginer, a deviser of 'engines' or military ma- 
chines. 

207 petar, a kind of mortar, used for blowing in 
gates. 

211 packing, plotting. 

ACT IV 

i. 5 The Queen's speech is given as in F. In Q there 
is an additional line, 'Bestow this place on us a 
little while,' addressed to Rosencrantz and Guilden- 
stern, whom Q represents as present at the open- 
ing of the scene. There is little doubt that F is 
here right and that the King and Queen are alone 
from the start. 

10 Whips . . . cries] Q; He whips his rapier out 
and cries F. 

22 divulging, becoming known. 

26 mineral, mine. 

39 And let] Q; To let F. 

41 Whose whisper. The antecedent of 'Whose' has 
been lost. Capell, followed by most modern edi- 
tors, filled out line 40 by adding 'So, haply, slander,' 
which probably represents the meaning, though not 
the wording of Shakespeare. 

42 blank, target; so called from being white (blanc). 

ii. 12 to be demanded, the so-called absolute infinitive, 

equivalent to 'on being demanded or questioned.' 

19 like an ape] F; like an apple Q; like an ape 

doth nuts Q 1603. 

32, 33 Hide fox, and all after, probably an allusion 

to a children's game. 

iii. 7 never] Q; nearer F. 
21 convocation of politic worms. Singer suggested 
that an allusion to the Diet of Worms (1521) is 
involved in these words. F omits 'politic' 



544 



HAMLET 



63 



24, 25 variable service, variety of food. 

38 within] om. F. 

42 this deed] Q; this deed of thine F. 
47 is bent] Q; at bent F. 

50 them] Q; him F. 

68 hectic, continuous or consumptive fever. 

iv. 8 softly] Q ; safely F. 
15 the main, the chief part. 
22 a ranker rate, a richer income. 

sold in fee, sold outright. 
27 imposthume, abscess. 
36 discourse, power of reason. 

39 fust, grow moldy. 

40 oblivion, forgetfulness. 

V. S. D. Enter Queen and Horatio] F. Q adds an- 
other character, 'a Gentleman' to whom are as- 
signed the first two speeches of Horatio. 
9 collection, inference or conjecture. 

12 might] Q; would F. 

14 Queen] F; Hor. Q (which begins the Queen's 
speech at line 17). Many modern editors give lines 
14 and 15 to Horatio, lines 16-30 to the Queen. 

18 amiss, calamity; a noun. 

25 cockle hat, a pilgrim's hat adorned with a 
cockle-shell, worn in evidence of a visit to the 
shrine of St. James of Compostella in Spain. 

35 S. D. follows line 32 in F. 

41 God 'ild, God reward. 

53 dupp'd, opened; 'dup' is a blend of the two words 
'do up.' 

65 Before this line Q inserts the explanation: He 
answers. 

66 And, if. 

84 in hug'g'er-mug'g'er, secretly, carelessly. 
89 Feeds on his] Johnson; Keeps on his F; Feeds 
on this Q. 
99 list, edge. 
110 counter, a hunting expression, applied to dogs 
which follow the trail backwards, i. e., in a direc- 
tion opposite to that the game has taken. 
134 both the worlds, this world and the next. 

136 throug-hly, thoroughly. 

137 My will, as regards my will. 
146 pelican] Q; Politician F. 

150 sensible, sensitive. Q reads 'sensibly.' 

176 pansies. The word is connected with the French 

pensees, thoughts. 
217 call't] Q; call F. 

vi. 24 thine] Q; your F. 

vii. 10 unsinew'd, feeble. 
14 conjunctive, closely joined. 
18 the general gender, the common people. 

20 the spring that turneth wood to stone. Such 
petrifying springs exist in Warwickshire, Derby- 
shire, and Yorkshire. 

21 gyves, fetters. 

22 Too slightly timber'd, having shafts too light. 
27 Whose worth] Q; Who was F. 

51 and] Q; or F. 

61 So. Before this word Q inserts the words, 'Ay, 



my lord,' but the speech is stronger without them. 
68 uncharge the practice, believe in the innocence 

of the trick. 
77 siege, rank, position. 

82 Two months since] Q; Some two months hence F. 
85 can] Q; ran F. 

89 topp'd] Q; past F. 

90 forgery, imagination. 
95 the] Q; our F. 

101 scrimers, fencers; French escrimeurs. 
107 What] Q; Why F. 
118 plurisy, excess. 

139 unbated, not blunted, lacking the button, 
a pass of practice, a tricky thrust. 

142 a mountebank. Mountebanks were Italian ven- 
dors of drugs and quack medicines, who attracted 
purchasers by improvised dramatic performances 
on the streets. The best account of their proce- 
dure is given in Ben Jonson's play, Volpone or The 
Fox, Act II. sc. i. 

143 that, but dip] Q; I but dipt F. 

144 cataplasm, plaster. 

146 Under the moon. It was an old belief that 
medicinal herbs, to have their full effect, should 
be gathered by the light of the moon. See Merchant 
of Venice V. i. 12-14. 

156 cunnings] Q; comings F. 

159 that end] Q; the end F. 

162 stuck, thrust. 

163 there. After this word Q adds 'But stay, 
what noise?' omitting the 'How now, sweet queen' 
of F. 

165 they] Q; they'll F. 
175 her] Q; the F. 
179 incapable, insensible. 
182 their] Q; her F. 

192 douts, extinguishes, from 'do out.' So F^; Q and 
the later folios read 'drowns.' 



ACT V 

i. 4 crowner, coroner. 
32 even Christian, fellow-Christian. 
55 argal, the clown's perversion of ergo, therefore. 

68 Yaughan, probably an attempt to represent the 
German Johann or Dutch Jan, the name of an 
imaginary innkeeper. 

69 In youth when I did love, etc. The three 
stanzas sung by the clown are an inaccurate ver- 
sion of a lyric ascribed to Lord Vaux and first 
printed in Tottel's Miscellany (1557). 

87 o'er-offices, exercises the prerogatives of his of- 
fice over. Q reads 'o'er-reaches.' 
97 mazzard, head; a slang word. 
100 loggats, a game played with sticks of wood 
(loggats), which were tossed somewhat like quoits. 
148, 149 speak by the card, speak with the greatest 
precision; a metaphor from the mariner's 'card' or 
compass with its thirty-two points. 
151 picked, fastidious. 
153 the courtier] Q; our courtier F. 

kibe, chilblain, appearing on the heel. 
169 there; there] Q: there F. 



54^5 



61 



HAMLET 



188 your water. 'Your' has no particular force here 
except to suggest the hearer's interest. 

189 whoreson, an unrefined adjective generally used 
with a shghtly affectionate sense. 

203 Yorick, probably intended to represent the Dan- 
ish form of the name George. It has been sug- 
gested that the reference to Yorick may be a com- 
pliment to the memory of the great English come- 
dian, Tarleton, who died in 1588. 

206 in my imagination it is] Q; my imagination 
is F. 

211 Not one] Q; No one F. 

212 g-rinning] Q; jeering F. 
236 Imperial] F; Imperious Q. 
239 flaw, gust of wind. 

244 it, its. See note on I. ii. 2^16. of] om. F. 

245 couch, lie hidden. 

255 Grants, the same word as the German Kranz, 
wreath. F substitutes 'rites,' probably because the 
rare 'crants' of Q was not understood. 

260 a requiem] Q; sage Requiem F. 

271 ing-enious sense, delicate feeling. 

284 For] Q; Sir F. 

spleenative, full of spleen, given to passion. 

285 Away] F; Hold off Q. 

288 Hor. F assigns this speech to Gen(tleman). 

297 'Swourids] Q; Come F (to avoid profanity). 

298 woo't fast] om. F. 

299 eisel, vinegar. 

310 golden couplets, the dove's two young ones, cov- 
ered with yellow down. For the meaning of 'dis- 
closed' see note on III. i. 174. 

ii. 1 let me] F; shall you Q. Both readings give good 
sense. 

6 mutines, mutineers. 

"bilboes, fetters used to fasten the legs of pris- 
oners. 

7 prais'd] Q; praise F (i.e., 'praise be to rash- 
ness'). 

9 deep] Q; dear F. 
20 Larded, mingled. 

22 bugs, bogeys, imaginary terrors. 

23 bated, deducted. 
33 statists, statesmen. 

42 stand a comma 'tween their amities. Prof. 
Dowden's explanation of this passage seems the 
best: 'The obscurity has arisen through forgetting 
an earlier meaning of comma, a phrase or group 
of words forming a short member of a sentence 
or period. . . . Here amity begins and amity ends 
the period, and peace stands between like a depend- 
ent clause. 

44 knowing] Q; know F. 

53 changeling, properly a' child substituted by 
fairies for another; here used figuratively for the 
substituted letter. 

57 Why . . . employment] om. Q. 

65 my hopes, my hopes of being king of Denmark, 

66 angle, fishing-hook, my proper life, my very life. 



68-80 To quit . . . comes here] om. Q. 

68 quit, requite. 

69 canker, disease. 

78 court] Rowe; count F. 
89 chough, jack-daw, chatterer. 
91 lordship] Q; friendship F. 
120 yaw, move unsteadily. Hamlet is purposely 

speaking pompous nonsense to confuse Osric. 
122 article, importance. 
125 umbrage, shadow. 
149 meed, worth. 

162, 163 edified by the margent, alluding to the prac- 
tice of printing explanatory notes in the margins of 
Elizabethan books. Hamlet must as it were seek 
the marginal explanations before he can comprehend 
Osric's elaborate language. 
192 turn] Q; tongue F (misprint?). 

196 has] Q; had F. 

197 drossy, trivial. 

199 yesty collection, frothy inference, superficial 
knowledge. See IV. v. 9 and note. 

200 fond and winnowed] F; prophane and trennowed 
Q. Probably both readings are corrupt. 'Profound 
and winnowed,' i.e., deep and well-sifted, has been 
suggested. 

226 gain-giving, misgiving. 

251 Sir, in this audience] om. Q. 

255 brother] Q; Mother F. 

268 Stick ... off, stand out. 

283 an union, a fine pearl. In addition to the pas- 
sages already quoted by commentators to illustrate 
the meaning of the word, I have found the follow- 
ing in Arthur Golding's translation of Julius 
Solinus PolyUstor (1587), Ch. Ixv, F f 11: 'While 
the pearl is in the water it is soft, and as soon 
as it is taken out of the shell it becometh hard. 
There are never found above one in a shell, and 
therefore the Latins call them Unions. They say 
they be never found above half an inch big.' 

286 kettle, kettle-drum. 

291 Come, my lord] Q; Come on, sir F. 

295 set it] Q; set F. 

310 a wanton, a spoiled child. 

317 springe, bird-snare. Woodcocks are said to have 
been used as decoys to attract other birds to the 
snare. They were proverbial for their stupidity 
and were often caught themselves. 

346 sergeant, a sheriff's officer, whose business was 
to make arrests. 

350 cause aright] Q; causes right F. 

359 S. D. shot within. F gives 'shout' for 'shot,' but 
the reference to the 'warhke volley' in 363 estab- 
lishes the text. 

364 o'ercrows, a metaphor from cock-fighting. 

369 solicited, prompted. The object is not quite cer- 
tain. Perhaps the sentence is left unfinished. 

375 This] Q; His F. 

quarry, properly the pile of slain deer after a 
hunt, havoc, indiscriminate slaughter. 

386 jump, precisely. See I. i. 65. 



546 



OTHELLO 



CINTHIO'S HECATOMMITHI AND OTHER 
POSSIBLE SOURCES— It has been pointed out 
that in 1508 a distinguished warrior of Venice, Chris- 
topher Moro, Lord Lieutenant of Cyprus, was de- 
tained in the island by a false scare of Turkish in- 
vasion, and that when he returned to undertake the 
government of Candia, he came mourning "for the 
death of his wife on her way from Cyprus." Moro 
was not a Moor, the name being that of a great 
Venetian family, nor was his marriage tragedy of his 
own making; but it has been conjectured that the 
story of the Moor of Venice may have originated in 
a misunderstanding of his name, and that the straw- 
berries embroidered on Desdemona's handkerchief 
may represent the mulberry ("moro" in Italian), 
which canting heraldry assigned the Moro family as 
a badge. Another critic has called attention to the 
fact that in 1563, a few months before Shakespeare's 
birth, a famous Italian soldier of fortune, Sam- 
piero, strangled with her handkerchief his beautiful 
and innocent wife in a scene of magnificent but de- 
luded -jealousy, prompted by the artful defamations 
of the lady which his political enemies had circu- 
lated. 

From either of these sources Shakespeare may pos- 
sibly have derived a hint or two for his play. Other- 
wise the plot of Othello seems indebted only to the 
poet's imagination and to the twenty-seventh story 
in Geraldi Cinthio's Hecatommithi {The Hundred 
Tales), 1566, with which Shakespeare must appar- 
ently have become familiar either in Italian or in 
French, no English version of the time being known. 
Cinthio's ill-constructed narrative is called "The 
Moor of Venice" and is thus (inaccurately) sum- 
marized in the prefatory argument: "A Moorish 
captain takes to wife a Venetian dame, and his an- 
cient accuses her of adultery to her husband; it is 
planned that the ancient is to kill him whom he be- 
lieves to be the adulterer; the captain kills the 
woman, is accused by the ancient; the Moor does not 
confess, but after the infliction of extreme torture, 
is banished; arid the wicked ancient, thinking to in- 
jure others, provided for himself a miserable death." 
It is characteristic of the vagueness of Cinthio's 



work that only the heroine is given a specific name: 
Disdemona. The other figures are distinguished 
merely by their titles, sometimes quite confusedly 
applied: the Moor or the Captain (Othello), the 
Captain (Cassio), the Ancient (I ago), the Ancient's 
wife (Emilia). The Shakespearean names are taken 
partly from the characters in earlier plays of the 
poet (e. g., Montano, Gratiano, Bianca), partly as 
the poet chanced to meet them in his general reading. 

In Bianca Shakespeare combines two of Cinthio's 
minor figures, a casually mentioned courtesan and 
the Captain's (Cassio's) wife. Of Montano, Ro- 
derigo, Gratiano, and Lodovico no trace exists in 
Cinthio, and Brabantio is suggested only in the bare 
statement that Disdemona's parents had: disapproved 
her marriage with the Moor. 

Shakespeare's transfiguration of an unusually 
clumsy tale into a supreme tragedy is achieved by 
alterations of three kinds: — 

(a) By endowing the various characters with human 
interest. In this respect it can hardly be said that 
Cinthio oifered any hint whatever. 

(b) By giving coherence to the story. The dis- 
missal of Cassio and Desdemona's intercession for 
him; the stealing of Desdemona's handkerchief, 
which lago drops in Cassio's room; the scene in 
which Othello witnesses and misinterprets the con- 
versation between lago and Cassio (IV. i. 75, etc); 
and lago's wounding of Cassio in the leg are all 
found with diff'erences of detail in Cinthio; but they 
are there haphazard occurrences bound together by 
no logical purpose. Cassio, for example, is dismissed, 
quite without the responsibility of lago, because he 
chances to wound a private soldier, and lago has 
nothing whatever to do with the fact that Desdemona 
undertakes to secure his reinstatement. 

(c) By giving finality and tragic force to the close. 
Even the development of the transcendent characters 
of Othello and lago out of their insipid prototypes 
does not testify to a higher degree of imaginative 
power than does the creation of the terror and beauty 
of the last' act of Othello out of the base material 
provided by the Italian story. This is the way in 
which the death of Desdemona is managed in Cinthio; 



547 



OTHELLO 



"Then they consulted of one means and another — 
poison and daggers — to kill poor Disdemona, but 
could resolve on nothing. At length the Ancient 
said, 'A plan comes to my mind, which will give you 
satisfaction and raise cause for no suspicion. It is 
this: the house in which you live is very old, and 
the ceiling of your chamber has many cracks; I 
propose we take a stocking filled with sand, and beat 
Disdemona with it till she dies; thus will her body 
bear no signs of violence. AVhen she is dead we 
can pull down a portion of the ceiling, and thus 
make it seem as if a rafter falling on her head had 
killed the lady. Suspicion cannot rest on you, since 
all men will impute her death to accident.' This 
cruel counsel pleased the Moor, and he only waited 
for a fitting time to execute the plot. One night, 
when he and Disdemona had retired to bed, the An- 
cient, whom the Moor had concealed in a closet 
which opened into the chamber, raised a noise in the 
closet, according to a concerted plan; whereat the 
Moor said to his wife, 'Did you not hear that noise?' 

" 'Indeed I heard it,' she replied. 

" 'Rise,' said the Moor, 'and see what 'tis.' 

"The unhappy Disdemona rose from bed, and the 
instant she approached the closet, out rushed the An- 
cient, and being strong and of stout nerve, he beat 
her cruelly with the bag of sand across her back; 
upon which Disdemona fell to the ground, scarce 
able to draw her breath; but with the little voice she 
had left, she called upon the Moor for aid. But the 
Moor, leaping from bed, exclaimed, 'Thou wickedest 
of women, thus has thy falseness found its just re- 
ward.' . . . The wretched lady, hearing these words, 
and feeling that she was near her end (for the 
Ancient had given her another blow), appealed to 
the justice of Heaven, since justice here had failed 
her, in proof of her fidelity and truth; and as she 
was thus calling Heaven to witness, the wicked En- 
sign inflicted a third blow, under which she sank 
lifeless on the floor. Then the Ancient and the Moor, 



in revenge then discloses the circumstances of the 
murder to the Captain (Cassio), who, eager to se- 
cure vengeance for his lost leg, accuses the Moor 
before! the Venetian Signory. The Moor refuses to 
confess, and after several days' confinement is let 
off with a decree of banishment. The only sugges- 
tion of justice or reason is contained in the bare 
statement that the Moor was "eventually slain by the 
kinsfolk of Disdemona, as he merited," and that later 
the Ancient died an unpleasant death in consequence 
of torture inflicted while he was being tried for a 
subsequent crime. Such is the almost incredibly fu- 
tile conclusion which seems to have supplied Shake- 
speare with his only external suggestion for the most 
heart-rending of all his catastrophes. 

A POSSIBLE DRAMATIC INFLUENCE— 
Othello is one of the very few among Shakespeare's 
more conspicuous plays of which there is no reason 
to believe that the theme had been employed in any 
earlier English drama. But though no previous 
treatment of "the gentle lady married to the Moor" 
had presumably appeared on the stage, a circum- 
stance of London theatrical history may possibly ex- 
plain what turned Shakespeare's thoughts to the 
Mediterranean setting of this play. On May 19, 
1601, Shakespeare's most energetic competitor in 
theatrical management, Philip Henslowe, was expend- 
ing money on a revival of Marlowe's Jew of Malta, 
one of the greatest stage successes of the era. • There 
existed at this time a marked tendency for the rival 
companies of Shakespeare and Henslowe to attempt 
to cap each other's offerings to the public. A half- 
dozen years earlier, Shakespeare pretty certainly 
wrote his Merchant of Venice as a match for the 
story of the Christian-hating Jew and his daughter 
in this same play of Marlowe; and now it may have 
been the desire to find a subject parallel with Mar- 
lowe's secondary theme of the sixteenth-century wars 
of Christians and Turks over the Mediterranean 
isles that first led the poet to delve in Cinthio. Only 



laying Disdemona on the bed and wounding her head, I in the first act .do we find any approximation to 



pulled down part of the ceiling of the chamber 
as they had arranged; whereupon the Moor began to 
call aloud for help, exclaiming that the house was 
falling. Hearing this uproar, the neighbors all came 
running up, and there found Disdemona lying dead 
beneath a rafter, — a sight which, from the good life 
of that poor lady, did fill all hearts with' sorrow." 

The two murderers escape detection and live un- 
molested till the dastardly Moor, coming to loathe 
his confederate and yet fearing to attempt violence 
against him, deprives him of his post. The Ancient 



Marlowe's subject. After lago's plot is launched, 
the internal psychological tension becomes so all- 
absorbing as to exclude other interest and require the 
unceremonious "banging" of the Turkish fleet at the 
beginning of Act II. 

DATE — The suggested connection between Othello 
and the revival of The Jew of Malta in 1601 would 
indicate the middle of that year as the time when 
the first notion of the play was conceived. The same 
earlier limit of composition is established by the 
fact that Othello's fine lines on the Pontic Sea (III. 



548 



INTRODUCTION 



iii. 453, etc.) follow a passage in Philemon Holland's 
translation of Pliny, first printed in 1601. A record 
published by J. P. CoUier in 1836 evidences the pay- 
ment of ten pounds "to Burbidge's players for 
Othello," which is said to have been presented Aug. 
6, 1602, on the occasion of Queen Elizabeth's visit to 
Lord Ellesmere's house at Harefield. This document 
has long lain under grave suspicion of being a for- 
gery, but it must be said that the grounds for dis- 
crediting it no longer seem so solid as they were 
once thought, and that there is nothing at all un- 
likely in the date it suggests. In any case, the posi- 
tion of the play, after Hamlet and before Lear, is 
sufl5.ciently proved by another document now accepted 
as trustworthy, which records the performance of 
"The Moor of Venice" at the palace of Whitehall, 
Nov. 1, 1604. 

TEXT— The first edition of Othello was published 
in 1622 in separate quarto form by Thomas Walkley. 
The next year the play appeared again in the 1623 
Shakespeare Folio. By some stratagem Walkley 
seems to have anticipated the publishers of the Folio, 
and the copyright of the play remained in his pos- 
session till 1638 when he transferred it to Richard 
Hawkins, who in 1630 published a second quarto. 
A third followed in 1655, and between 1681 and 
1695 three others, so-called "players' quartos," were 
evoked by the current theatrical performances of the 
play. The second quarto is occasionally interesting 
for the reason that it represents a kind of blend be- 
tween the texts of the first quarto and the Folio, 
but it has very little independent authority. The 
text of the first quarto is certainly based on an 
older and less perfect manuscript than the Folio. It 
lacks considerably more than a hundred and fifty 
lines «found in the latter, while containing less than 
a dozen peculiar to itself. The presence in the quarto 
alone of a number of light oaths indicates that the 
manuscript it represents was prepared before the 
act against profanity on the stage (1605), and thus 
substantiates the accepted date of the play. There 
is no question that the Folio version is the better, 
and that edition is made the basis of the present 
text, all significant deviations from it being recorded 
in the notes. Consultation of these notes will show 
that, in addition to the few new lines contributed 
by the quarto and the comparatively trivial matter 
of the oaths, Walkley 's version makes it possible in 
about ten or a dozen places to correct an important 
error in the Folio. 

STAGE HISTORY— All that is known of the first 
performance of Othello has been indicated in the 



discussion of the play's date. The part of the Moor 
was created by the finest tragic actor of Shake- 
speare's company, Richard Burbage, whose interpre- 
tation of the character was so notable as to be par- 
ticularly commemorated in some verses written after 
the player's death in 1618: 

"But let me not forget one chiefest part 
Wherein, beyond the rest, he mov'd the heart. 
The; grieved Moor, made jealous by a slave. 
Who sent his wife to fill a timeless grave. 
Then slew himself upon the bloody bed. 
AH these and many more with him are dead." 

Othello was one of the most popular of Shake- 
speare's plays during the Restoration age, and its 
revival in 1660, very soon after the return of Charles ' 
II, signalized an enormous advance in theatrical art, 
for on this occasion Desdemona was played by the 
first woman who is known to have acted on the 
English public stage. An introductory prologue jus- 
tifies the innovation and illustrates some of the in- 
conveniences of having female parts performed by 
men: 

"For to speak truth, men act, that are between 
Forty and fifty, wenches of fifteen; 
With bone so large and nerve so incompliant. 
When you call Desdemona, enter Giant." 

Samuel Pepys witnessed the production on Oct. 
11, 1660, and approved. "To the cockpit," he writes, 
"to see 'The Moor of Venice,' which was well done. 
Burt acted the Moor; by the same token, a very 
pretty lady that sat by me called out to see Des- 
demona smothered." Burt's Othello was supported 
by the lago of Clun and ^he Cassio of Shakespeare's 
great-nephew Hart. James Quin, the great Falstaff 
of the next century, added a somewhat comic touch 
to his Othello by setting off' the traditional jet- 
blackness of the Moor's skin by "a large powdered 
major wig" and white gloves. The public seems 
to have had more fondness for Quin's Othello, bizarre 
as it sounds, than for that of his contemporary, 
Garrick, whose comparative failure in the play may 
have been due in part to his diminutive stature. 
In 1785 Mrs. Siddons acted Desdemona at Drury- 
Lane to the Othello of her brother John Kembie, 
the latter appearing "in a British general officer's 
uniform." 

The Othello of Edmund Kean has been called that 
great actor's unapproachable masterpiece, and was 
perhaps the finest interpretation of the role, of which 
there is definite record. It was while giving a fare- 
well performance of Othello to the lago of his son 



549 



4 



OTHELLO 



Charles, :March -25, 1833, that Kcan was smitten 
with death, falling unconscious just after he had fin- 
ished the great speech of the third act, "Farewell, 
Othello's occupation's gone!" As a young man, the 
American, Edwin Forrest, played lago to Kean's 
Othello at Albany, N. Y. (1836), winning the warm 
praise of the veteran by a new interpretation. In 
1836 and again in 1845 Forrest's Othello was tri- 
umphantly produced in various English cities, the 
London Sun going even so far as to declare that 
"Mr. Forrest's Othello, if here and there inferior 
in elocution to Kean's, was in conception far su- 
perior." From April 13 till May 29, 1869, Edwin 
Booth played Othello, that being the second play and 
Romeo and Juliet the first performed at the new 
Booth's Theatre, New York. In 1881, Booth and Sir 
Henry Irving played together at the Lyceum The- 
atre, London, the two great actors alternating the 
parts of Othello and lago. Ellen Terry was the 
Desdemona of this revival, which proved a mag- 
nificent success. Three interesting performances were 
given at the Academy of Music, New York, in 1886, 
Booth playing lago to the famous Othello of Signor 
Salvini, who spoke an Italian translation of his lines. 
A revival of the play at His Majesty's Theatre, 
London, in 1912, with Sir Herbert Tree as Othello 
and Laurence Irving as lago, was remarkable for 
its magnificent setting and for certain rather daring 
novelties of interpretation. William Faversham's 
American production in 1913 was less successful than 
it deserved to be. 

CRITICAL OPUJION—Oi all Shakespeare's trag- 
edies, Othello is the one most closely agreeing with 
the rigid rules of French and Latin drama. "Had 
the scene opened in Cyprus," Samuel Johnson re- 
marks, "and the preceding incidents been occasionally 
related, there had been little wanting to a drama of 
the most exact and scrupulous regularity." "Lear 
is the most tremendous effort of Shakespeare as a 
poet," said Coleridge; "Hamlet as a philosopher or 
meditator; and Othello is the union of the two. There 
is something gigantic and unformed in the former 
two; but in the latter everything assumes its due 
place and proportion, and the whole mature pow- 
ers of his mind are displayed in admirable equili- 
brium." 

A translation of Othello by Alfred de Vigny, 
acted at the Theatre Francais, Oct. 25, 1829, was 
the means of awaking the French literary public 
to the beauties of romantic drama, as opposed to 
the native "classic" convention. Writing of the 
startling success of that performance the Due de 



Broglie says: "In the encounter with Brabantio 
(I. ii.), Othello pronounces less than fifteen lines, be- 
fore the Senate Desdemona utters less than twenty; 
and yet already the whole Othello exists, the whole 
Desdemona; they are both there, living, before our 
eyes, functioning without constraint in all the grace 
and distinction of their character, in all their naive 
and imperishable individuality. Suppress the rest 
of the play, and you will efface from our memory 
neither Desdemona nor Othello." No dramatic char- 
acters probably impose so tremendous a strain, in 
their different ways, upon the human sympathies as 
Desdemona, Othello, and lago; and it is this al- 
most superhuman tax that makes the play, by virtue 
of its transcendent power, fairly unendurable to sen- 
sitive souls like the old Scotch gentleman, whose re- 
mark Stevenson quotes {Talk and Talkers, second 
paper) : "That noble gentleman and that noble lady 
— ^li'm — too painful for me." Professor Raleigh's 
discussion of this aspect of the play is full of in- 
sight: "From the first [Shakespeare] makes Othello 
a man after his own heart, tender, generous, brave, 
and utterly magnanimous. . . . Everything that fol- 
lows, up to the crisis of the play, helps to raise 
Othello to the top of admiration, and to fix him in 
the affections of the reader. Scene follows scene, 
and in every one of them, it might be said, Shake- 
speare is making his task more hopeless. How is 
he to fill out the story, and yet save our sympathies 
for Othello? The effort must be heroic: and it is. 
He invents lago. The greatness of lago may be 
measured by this, that Othello never loses our sym- 
pathy. By slow and legitimate means, never extrav- 
agant, circumstance is added to circumstance, until 
a net is woven to take Othello in its toils. But cir- 
cumstance is not his undoing. Left to himself, even 
when the toils were closing in upon him, Othello 
would have rent them asunder, and shaken them off. 
When he grows impatient, and seems likely to break 
free, lago is at hand, to keep him still, and compel 
him to think. On matters like these, Othello can- 
not think; he is accustomed to impulse, instinct, and 
action; these tedious processes of arguing on dis- 
honor are torture to him; and when he tries to think, 
he thinks wrong. . . . There is not another of Shake- 
speare's plays which is so white-hot with imagina- 
tion, so free from doubtful or extraneous matter, 
and so perfectly welded as Othello" The most use- 
ful detailed criticism of the play is contained in the 
fifth and sixth chapters of Professor A. C. Brad- 
ley's Shakespearean Tragedy, with which every stu- 
dent should be familiar. B. 




THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, 
THE MOOR OF VENICE 



[Scene of Action : In Act I, Venice ; in Acts II-V, a sea-port in Cyprus, probably Fama- 

gusta.] 



NAMES OF THE ACTORS 

Othello, the Moor. 

Brabaktio, Father to Desdemona. 

Cassio, an honourable Lieutenant. 

Iago, a villain [Othello's ancient]. 

RoDERiGo, a gulled gentleman. 

Duke of Yexice. 

Senators. 

MoxTAxo, Governor of Cyprus [before Othello]. 

Gentlemen of Cyprus. 



LoDovico and 1 Two noble Venetians [kinsman and 
Gratiaxo, I brother respectively to Brabantio]. 

Sailors. 

Clown. 

Desdemona, wife to Othello [and daughter to Bra- 
bantio]. 



Emilia, wife to Iago. 

Bianca, a courtesan [in love with Cassio]. 

[Messenger, Herald, Officers, Musicians, and At- 
tendants.] 



ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [Venice. A street.'] 

Enter Roderigo and Iago. 

Rod. Never tell me; I take it much unkindly 
That thou^ Iago, who hast had my purse 
'As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of 
this. 
Iago. 'Sblood, but you'll not hear me: 

If ever I did dream of such a matter, s 

Abhor me. 
Rod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy 

hate. 
Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones 
of the city. 
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, 
OfF-capp'd to him : and, by the faith of man, lo 
I know my price, I am worth no worse a 
place : 

551 



But he, as loving his own pride and purposes. 

Evades them, with a bombast circumstance 

Horribly stuiF'd with epithets of war ; 

And, in conclusion, 15 

Nonsuits my mediators ; for, 'Certes,' says he, 

T have already chose my officer.' 

And what was he? 

Forsooth, a great arithmetician. 

One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 20 

A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; 

That never set a squadron in the field. 

Nor the division of a battle knows 

More than a spinster; unless the bookish 

theoric. 
Wherein the toged consuls can propose 25 

As masterly as he: mere prattle, without prac- 
tice. 
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had th' 

election : 
And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof 
At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds 



6 



OTHELLO 



[act I. SC. 1 



Christian and heathen, must be bc-lee'd and 

cahn'd 30 

By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster, 
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be. 
And I — God bless the mark! — his Moorship's 

ancient. 
Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his 

hangman. 
lago. Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of 

service, 35 

Preferment goes by letter and affection, 
And not by old gradation, where each second 
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge 

yourself. 
Whether I in any just term am affin'd 
To love the Moor. 
Rod. I would not follow him then. 40 

lago. O, sir, content you; 

I follow him to serve my turn upon him : 
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 45 
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage. 
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass. 
For nought but provender, and when he's old, 

cashier'd: 
Whip me such honest knaves. Others there 

are 
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, 50 
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, 
And, tlirowing but shows of service on their 

lords. 
Do well thrive by them and when they have 

lin'd their coats 
Do themselves homage: these fellows have 

some soul; 
And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir. 
It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 56 

Were I the Moor, I would not be lago: 
In following him, I follow but myself; 
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and 

duty. 
But seeming so, for my peculiar end: 60 

For when my outward action doth demon- 
strate 
The native act and figure of my heart 
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. 65 
Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, 

If he can carry 't thus ! 
lago. Call up her father, 

5 



Rouse him: make after him, poison his de- 

light. 
Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kins- 
men. 
And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, 70 
Plague him with flies: though that his joy be 

joy, 
Yet throw such chances of vexation on't. 
As it may lose some colour. 
Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. 
lago. Do, with like timorous accent and dire 
yell 75 

As when, by night and negligence, the fire 
Is spied in populous cities. 
Rod. What, ho, Brabantio ! Signior Brabantio, 

ho! 
lago. Awake ! what, ho, Brabantio ! thieves ! 
thieves ! thieves ! 
Look to your house, your daughter and your 
bags ! 80 

Thieves ! thieves ! 

[Brabantio appears above, at a window.'\ 

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible sum- 
mons? 
What is the matter there ? 
Rod. Signior, is all your family within.^ 
lago. Are your doors lock'd? 

Bra. Why, wherefore ask you this ? 

lago. 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put 

on your gown; 86 

Your heart is burst, you have lost half your 

soul; 
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram 
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise; 
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, 90 
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: 
Arise, I say. 
Bra. What, have you lost your wits ? 

Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my 

voice ? 
Bra. Not I: what are you? 94 

Rod. My name is Roderigo. 

Bra. The worser welcome: 

I have charg'd thee not to haunt about my 

doors: 
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say 
My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in mad- 
ness, 
Being full of supper and distempering 
draughts, 
52 



ACT I. SC. 



I.] 



OTHELLO 



Upon malicious bravery^ dost thou come loo 
To start my quiet. 

Rod. Sir, sir, sir, — 

Bra, But thou must needs be sure 

My spirit and my place have in them power 
To make this bitter to thee. 

Rod. Patience, good sir. 

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is 
Venice ; 105 

My house is not a grange. 

Rod. Most grave Brabantio, 

In simple and pure soul I come to you. 

lago. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will 
not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because 
we come to do you service and you think we 
are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered 
with a Barbary horse; you'll have your 
nephews neigh to you ; you'll have coursers for 
cousins and gennets for germans. 

Bra. What profane wretch art thou? 115 

lago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your 
daughter and the Moor are 'now making the 
beast w^ith two backs. 

Bra. Thou art a villain. 

lago. You are — a senator. 

Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, 
Roderigo. 120 

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I be- 
seech you, 
If't be your pleasure and most wise consent, 
As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter. 
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night. 
Transported, with no worse nor better guard 
But with a knave of common hire, a gondo- 
lier, 126 
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor, — 
If this be known to you and your allowance, 
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs ; 
But if you know not this, my manners tell me 
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe 
That, from the sense of all civility, 132 
I thus would play and trifle with your rever- 
ence: 
Your daughter, if you have not given her 

leave, 
I say again, hath made a gross revolt; 135 

Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes 
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger 
Of here and everywhere. Straight satisfy 

yourself : 
If she be in her chamber or your house, 
Let loose on me the justice of the state 140 



For thus deluding you. 

Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho ! 

Give me a taper! call up all my people! 
This accident is not unlike my dream: 
Belief of it oppresses me already. 
Light, I say ! light ! Exit. 

lago. Farewell ; for I must leave you : 145 

It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place. 
To be produc'd — as, if I stay, I shall — 
Against the Moor : for, I do know, the state, 
However this may gall him with some check. 
Cannot with safety cast him, for he's em- 
bark'd 150 

With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars. 
Which even now stands in act, that, for their 

souls, 
Another of his fathom they have none. 
To lead their business: in which regard, 
Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains, 155 
Yet, for necessity of present life, 
I must show out a flag and sign of love. 
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall 

surely find him. 
Lead to the Sagittary the raised search; 
And there will I be with him. So, farewell. 160 

Exit. 

Enter Brabantio, with Servants and Torches. 

Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is ; 

And what's to come of my despised time 

Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, 

Where didst thou see her ? O unhappy girl ! 

With the Moor, say'st thou ? Who would be a 
father ! • 165 

How didst thou know 'twas she? O, she de- 
ceives me 

Past thought! What said she to you? Get 
moe tapers; 

Raise all my kindred. Are they married, 
think you? 
Rod. Truly, I think they are. 
Bra. O heaven ! How got she out ? O treason 
of the blood ! 170 

Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' 
minds 

By what you see them act. Is there not 
charms 

By which the property of youth and maid- 
hood 

May be abus'd? Have you not read, liod- 
erigo. 



55S 



OTHELLO 



[act 



SC. I 



Of some such thing? 
Bod. Yes, sir, I have indeed. 

Bra. Call up my brother. O, would you had 
had her! 
Some one way, some another. Do you know 
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor ? 
Bod. I think I can discover him, if you please 
To get good guard and go along with me. i8o 
Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll 
call; 
I may command at most. Get weapons, ho ! 
And raise some special officers of night. 
On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains. 

Exeunt. 



Scene II. — \_Street before the Sagittary.] 

Enter Othello, lago, \^andl^ Attendants with 
torches. 

lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain 
men. 
Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience 
To do no contriv'd murder : I lack iniquity 
Sometime to do me service: nine or ten times 
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under 
the ribs. 5 

0th. 'Tis better as it is. 

lago. Nay, but he prated. 

And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
Against your honour 
That, with the little godliness I have, 
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, 
sir, 10 

Are you fast married? Be assur'd of this. 
That the magnifico is much belov'd. 
And hath in his effect a voice potential 
As double as the duke's: he will divorce you; 
Or put upon you what restraint or grievance 15 
The law, with all his nftght t' enforce it on. 
Will give him cable. 
0th. Let him do his spite: 

My services which I have done the signiory 
Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to 

know, — 
Which, when I know that boasting is an 
honour, 20 

I shall promulgate — I fetch my life and being 
From men of royal siege, and my demerits 
]\Iay speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune 
As this that I have reach'd: for know, lago. 
But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 25 



I would not my unhoused free condition 
Put into circumscription and confine 
For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights 
come yond? 

Enter Cassia with Torches. 

lago. Those are the raised father and his 
friends : 
You were best go in. 
0th. Not I; I must be found: 30 

My parts, my title, and my perfect soul 
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? 
lago. By Janus, I think no. 

0th. The servants of the duke, and my lieu- 
tenant. 
The goodness of the night upon you, friends ! 
What is the news ? 
Cas. The duke does greet you, general. 

And he requires your haste-post-haste appear- 
ance, 37 
Even on the instant. 
0th. What is the matter, think you? 
Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine: 
It is a business of some heat: the galleys 40 
Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
This very night at one another's heels. 
And many of the consuls, rais'd and met. 
Are at the duke's already: you have been 

hotly call'd for; 
When, being not at your lodging to be found. 
The senate hath sent about three several 
quests 46 

To search you out. 
0th. 'Tis well I am found by you. 

I will but spend a word here in the house. 
And go with you. [Exit.] 

Cas. * Ancient, what makes he here ? 

lago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land 
carack: 50 

If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. 
Cas. I do not understand. 
lago. He's married. 

Cas. To who? 

[Be-enter Othello.] 

lago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go ? 
th. Have with you. 

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. 

Enter Brabantio, Boderigo, with Officers and 
Torches. 



554 



ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



OTHELLO 



9 



lago. It is Brabantio. General, be advis'd; 55 
He comes to bad intent. 

0th. Holla ! stand there ! 

Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 

Bra. Down with him, thief ! 

[They draw on both sides. 'j 

lago. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for you. 

th. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew 
will rust them. 
Good signior, you shall more command with 
years -60 

Than with your weapons. 

Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd 
my daughter.^ 
Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; 
For I'll refer me to all things of sense, 
If she in chains of magic were not bound, 65 
Whether a maid so tender, fair, and happy, 
So opposite to marriage that she shunn'd 
The wealthy curled darlings of our nation. 
Would ever have, t' incur a general mock. 
Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 70 
Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to de- 
light. 
Judge me the w^orld, if 'tis not gross in sense 
That thou hast practis'd on her with foul 

charms, 
Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs or 

minerals 
That weakens motion: I'll have 't disputed on; 
'Tis probable and palpable to thinking. 76 

I therefore apprehend and do attach thee 
For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. 
Lay hold upon him: if he do resist, 80 

Subdue him at his peril. 

0th. Hold your hands. 

Both you of my inclining, and the rest: 
Were it my cue to fight, I should have known 

it 
Without a prompter. Where will you that I 

go 
To answer this your charge? 

Bra. To prison, till fit time 

Of law and course of direct session 86 

Call thee to answer. 

0th. What if I do obey? 

How may the duke be therewith satisfied. 
Whose messengers are here about my side. 
Upon some present business of the state 90 
To bring me to him? 

First Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior; 



The duke's in council, and your noble self, 
I am sure, is sent for. 
Bra. How! the duke in council! 

In this time of the night! Bring him away: 
Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself, 95 
Or any of my brothers of the state. 
Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their 

own; 
For if such actions may have passage free. 
Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen 

be. Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [A council-chamber.'] 

Enter Duke, Senators, and Officers. 

Duke. There's no composition in this news 
That gives them credit. 

1. Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd; 
My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. 

Duke. And mine, a hundred forty. 

2. Sen. And mine, two hundred: 
But though they jump not on a just account, — 
As in these cases, where the aim reports, 6 
'Tis oft with difference — yet do they all con- 
firm 

A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 
Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgement: 

I do not so secure me in the error, 10 

But the main article I do approve 

In fearful sense. 
Sailor within. What, ho ! what, ho ! what, ho ! 

Off. A messenger from the galleys. 

Enter Sailor. 

Duke. Now, what's the business ? 

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for 
Rhodes ; 
So was I bid report here to the state 15 

By Signior Angelo. 

Duke. How say you by this change? 

1. Sen. This cannot be. 

By no assay of reason: 'tis a pageant. 
To keep us in false gaze. When we consider 
The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, 20 
And let ourselves again but understand, 
That as it more concerns the Turk than 

Rhodes, 
So may he with more facile question bear it. 
For that it stands not in such warlike brace. 
But altogether lacks th' abilities 25 



555 



10 



OTHELLO 



[act I. SC. III. 



That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought 

of this. 
We must not think the Turk is so unskilful 
To leave that latest which concerns him first. 
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain. 
To wake and wage a danger profitless. 30 

Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for 

Rhodes. 
Off. Here is more news. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious. 
Steering with due course towards the isle of 

Rhodes, 

Have there injointed them with an after fleet. 

1. Sen. Ay, so I thought. How many, as you 

guess ? 36 

Mess. Of thirty sail: and now they do re-stem 

Their backward course, bearing with frank 

appearance 
Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior 

JNIontano, 
Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 40 

With his free duty recommends you thus. 
And praj^s you to believe him. 
Duke. 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus. 
Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? 
1. Sen. He's now in Florence. 45 

Duke. Write from us to him; post-post-haste 

despatch. 
1. Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant 
Moor. 

Enter Brahantio, Othello, Cassio, lago, 
Roderigo, and Officers. 

Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight em- 
ploy you 

Against the general enemy Ottoman. 

[To Brabantio'] I did not see you; welcome, 
gentle signior; 50 

We lack'd your counsel and your help to- 
night. 
Bra. So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon 
me; 

Neither my place nor aught I heard of busi- 
ness 

Hath rais'd me from my bed, nor doth the 
general care 

Take hold on me, for my particular grief 55 

Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature 

That it engluts and swallows other sorrows 

5 



And it is still itself. 
Duke. Why, what's the matter? 

Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 
Sen. Dead? 

Bra. Ay, to me. 

She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
By spells and medicines bought of mounte- 
banks ; 61 
For nature so preposterously to err. 
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
.Sans witchcraft could not. 
Duke. Whoe'er he be that in this foul pro- 
ceeding 65 
Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself 
And you of her, the bloody book of law 
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter 
After your own sense; yea, though our proper 

son 
Stood in your action. 
Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 70 

Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it 

seems. 
Your special mandate for the state-afFairs 
Hath hither brought. 
All. We are very sorry for't. 

Duke. [To Othello] What, in your own part, 

can you say to this? 
Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 75 

th. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors. 
My very noble and approv'd good masters. 
That I have ta'en away this old man's daugh- 
ter, 
It is most true; true, I have married her: 
The very head and front of my ofl*ending 80 
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my 

speech. 
And little bless'd with the soft phrase of 

peace: 
For since these arms of mine had seven years' 

pith. 
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have 

used 
Their dearest action in the tented field, 85 
And little of this great world can I speak. 
More than pertains to feats of broil and bat- 
tle. 
And therefore little shall I grace my cause 
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gra- 
cious patience, 
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 90 

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, 
what charms, 
56 



ACT I. SC. III.] 



OTHELLO 



11 



What conjuration and what mighty magic, 
For such proceeding I am charg'd withal, 
I won his daughter. 

Bra. A maiden never bold; 

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 95 
Blush'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature, 
Of years, of country, credit, every thing, 
To fall in love with what she fear'd to look 

on! 
It is a judgement maim'd and most imperfect 
That will confess perfection so could err 100 
Against all rules of nature, and must be driven 
To find out practices of cunning hell. 
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again 
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the 

blood. 
Or with some dram conjur'd to this eiFect, 105 
He wrought upon her. 

Duke. To vouch this, is no proof. 

Without more wider and more overt test 
Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods 
Of modern seeming do prefer against him. 

Sen. But, Othello, speak: no 

Did you by indirect and forced courses 
Subdue and poison this young maid's affec- 
tions ? 
Or came it by request and such fair question 
As soul to soul afFordeth.^ 

0th. I do beseech you. 

Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 115 

And let her speak of me before her father. 
If you do find me foul in her report. 
The trust, the office I do hold of you. 
Not only take away, but let your sentence 
Even fall upon my life. 

Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 120 

0th. Ancient, conduct them: you best know the 
place. [Exeunt lago and Attendants."] 

And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
I do confess the vices of my blood. 
So justly to your grave ears I'll present 
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, 125 
And she in mine. 

Duke. Say it, Othello. 

0th. Her father lov'd me; oft invited me; 
Still question'd me the story of my life. 
From year to year, the battles, sieges, for- 
tunes, 130 
That I have pass'd. 

I ran it through, even from my boyish days 
To the very moment that he bade me tell it; 
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances. 



Of moving accidents by flood and field, 135 
Of hair-breadth scapes i' th' imminent deadly 

breach. 
Of being taken by the insolent foe 
And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence 
And portance in my traveller's history: 
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, 140 
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads 

touch heaven. 
It was my hint to speak, — such was my 

process ; 
And of the Cannibals that each other eat. 
The Anthropophagi and men whose heads 
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to 

hear 145 

Would Desdemona seriously incline: 
But still the house-afFairs would draw her 

hence: 
Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse: which I observing. 
Took once a pliant hour, and found good 

means 151 

To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart 
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate. 
Whereof by parcels she had something heard. 
But not intentively. I did consent, 155 

And often did beguile her of her tears. 
When I did speak of some distressful stroke 
That my youth sufFer'd. My story being 

done. 
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas pass- 
ing strange, 160 
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: 
She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd 
That heaven had made her such a man: she 

thank'd me. 
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
I should but teach him how to tell my story. 
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I 

spake : 166 

She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd. 
And I lov'd her that she did pity them. 
This only is the witchcraft I have used: 
Here comes the lady; let her witness it. 170 

Enter Desdemona, lago. Attendants. 

Duke. I think this tale would win my daughter 
too. 
Good Brabantio, 



557 



12 



OTHELLO 



[act I. SC. III. 



Take up this mangled matter at the best: 
Men do their broken weapons rather use 
Than their bare hands. 
Bra. I pray you, hear her speak. 

If she confess that she was half the wooer, 176 
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
Light on the man ! Come hither, gentle mis- 
tress: 
Do you perceive in all this noble company 
Where most you owe obedience? 
Des. My noble father, 180 

I do perceive here a divided duty: 
To you I am bound for life and education. 
My life and education both do learn me 
How to respect you; you are the lord of duty; 
I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my 
husband, 185 

And so much duty as my mother show'd 
To you, preferring you before her father. 
So much I challenge that I may profess 
Due to the Moor my lord. 
Bra. God be with you ! I have done. 

Please it your grace, on to the state-afFairs : 
I had rather to adopt a child than get it. 191 
Come hither. Moor: 

I here do give thee that with all my heart 
Which, but thou hast already, with all my 

heart 
I would keep from thee. For your sake, 
jewel, 195 

I am glad at soul I have no other child; 
For thy escape would teach me tyranny. 
To hang clogs on them. I have done, my 
lord. 
Duke. Let me speak like yourself, and lay a 
sentence. 
Which, as a grise or step, may help these 
lovers 200 

Into your favour. 

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended 
By seeing the worst, which late on hopes de- 
pended. 
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone 
Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 205 
What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes. 
Patience her injury a mockery makes. 
The robb'd that smiles steals something from 

the thief; 
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief. 
Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; 210 
We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 
He bears the sentence well that nothing bears 



But the free comfort which from thence he 

hears. 
But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow 
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience bor- 
row. 215 
These sentences, to sugar, or to gall. 
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: 
But words are words ; I never yet did hear 
That the bruis'd heart was pierced through 

the ear. 
I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs 
of state. 220 

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty prepara- 
tion makes for Cyprus. Othello, the forti- 
tude of the place is best known to you; and 
though we have there a substitute of most al- 
lowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign mis- 
tress of effects, throws a more safer voice on 
you: you must therefore be content to slubber 
the gloss of your new fortunes with this more 
stubborn and boisterous expedition. 229 

0th. The tyrant custom, most grave senators. 
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize 
A natural and prompt alacrity 
I find in hardness, and do undertake 
These present wars against the Ottomites. 235 
Most humbly therefore bending to your state, 
I crave fit disposition for my wife. 
Due reference of place and exhibition. 
With such accommodation and besort 
As levels with her breeding. 

Duke. If you please, 240 

Be 't at her father's. 

Bra. I will not have it so. 

0th. Nor I. 

Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside. 

To put my father in impatient thouglits 
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke. 
To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear; 245 
And let me find a charter in your voice, 
T' assist my simpleness. 

Duke. What would you, Desdemona? 

Des. That I did love the Moor to live with him. 
My downright violence and storm of fortunes 
May trumpet to the world: my heart's sub- 
dued 251 
Even to the very quality of my lord. 
I saw Othello's visage in his mind. 
And to his honours and his valiant parts 
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 255 
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind. 



558 



ACT 1. SC. III.] 



OTHELLO 



13 



A moth of peace^ and he go to the war^ 
The rites for which I love him are bereft me. 
And I a heavy interim shall support 
By his dear absence. Let me go with him. 260 
th. Let her have your voice. 

Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not. 
To please the palate of my appetite, 
Nor to comply with heat — the young affects 
In me defunct — and proper satisfaction, 265 
But to be free and bounteous to her mind: 
And heaven defend your good souls, that you 

think 
I will your serious and great business scant 
When she is with me: no, when light-wing'd 

toys 
Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dulness 
■ My speculative and offic'd instrument, 271 

That my disports corrupt and taint my busi- 
ness. 
Let housewives make a skillet of my helm. 
And all indign and base adversities 
Make head against my estimation! 275 

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, 
Either for her stay or going: th' affair cries 

haste. 
And speed must answer it. 
Sen. You must away to-night. 
0th. With all my heart. 

Duke. At nine i' the morning here we'll meet 
again. 280 

Othello, leave some officer behind. 
And he shall our commission bring to you; 
With such things else of quality and respect 
As doth import you. 
0th. So please your grace, my ancient; 

A man he is of honesty and trust: 285 

To his conveyance I assign my wife. 
With what else needful your good grace shall 

think 
To be sent after me. 
Duke. Let it be so. 

Good night to every one. [To Bra.'] And, 

noble signior. 
If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 290 

Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 
Sen. Adieu, brave Moor; use Desdemona well. 
Bra. Look to her. Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: 
She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. 

Exit [with Duke and Senators']. 
0th. My life upon her faith ! Honest lago, 295 
My Desdemona must I leave to thee: 
I prithee, let thy wife attend on her, 

559 



305 



ifter. 



And bring them after in the best advantage. 
Come, Desdemona; I have but an hour 
Of love, of worldly matter and direction, 300 
To spend with thee: we must obey the time. 
Exit [with Desdemona], 

Rod, lago, — 

lago. What say'st thou, noble heart ? 

Rod. What will I do, think'st thou? 

lago. Why, go to bed, and sleep. 

Rod. I will incontinently drown myself. 

lago. If thou dost, I shall never love thee 
Why, thou silly gentleman ! 

Rod, It is silliness to live when to live is tor- 
ment; and then have we a prescription to die 
when death is our physician. 311 

lago, O villainous ! I have looked upon the 
world for four times seven years; and since I 
could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an in- 
jury, I never found man that knew how to 
love himself. Ere I would say I would 
drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I 
would change my humanity with a baboon. 318 

Rod, What should I do? I confess it is my 
shame to be so fond ; but it is not in my virtue 
to amend it. 321 

lago. Virtue! a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are 
thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to 
the which our wills are gardeners; so that if 
we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop 
and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender 
of herbs, or distract it with many, either to 
have it sterile with idleness, or manured with 
industry, why, the power and corrigible au- 
thority of this lies in our wills. If the bal- 
ance of our lives had not one scale of reason 
to poise another of sensuality, the blood and 
baseness of our natures would conduct us to 
most preposterous conclusions: but we have 
reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal 
' stings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this 
that you call love to be a sect or scion. 337 

Rod. It cannot be. 

lago. It is merely a lust of the blood and a per- 
mission of the will. Come, be a man. Drown 
thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I 
have professed me thy friend and I confess 
me knit to thy deserving with cables of per- 
durable toughness ; I could never better stead 
thee than now. Put money in thy purse; fol- 
low thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an 
usurped beard ; I say, put money in thy purse. 
It cannot be that Desdemona should long con- 



14 



OTHELLO 



[act I. SC. II. 



tiniie her love to the ^loor, — put money in thy 
purse, — nor he his to her: it was a violent 
commencement in her, and thou shalt see an 
answerable sequestration: — put but money in 
thy purse. These Moors are changeable in 
their wills: — fill tliy purse with money: — the 
food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, 
shall be to him shortly as bitter ^s coloquin- 
tida. She must change for youth: when she 
is sated with his body, she will find the errors 
of her choice: therefore put money in thy 
purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do 
it a more delicate way than drowning. Make 
all the money thou canst: if sanctimony and 
a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and 
supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my 
wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy 
her; therefore make money. A pox of drown- 
ing thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek 
thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy 
j oy than to be drowned and go without her. 

Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend 
on the issue .^ 370 

lago. Thou art sure of me: — go, make money: 
— I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee 
again and again, I hate the Moor : my cause is 
hearted ; thine hath no less reason. Let us be 
conjunctive in our revenge against him; if 
thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a 
pleasure, me a sport. There are many events 
in the womb of time which will be delivered. 
Traverse ! go, provide thy money. We will 
have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. 380 

Rod. Where shall we meet i' the morning? 

lago. At my lodging. 

Rod. I'll be with thee betimes. 

lago. Go to ; farewell. Do you hear, Rode- 
rigo? 

Rod. I'll sell all my land. Exit. 

lago. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse; 
For I mine own gain'd knowledge should pro- 
fane, 390 
If I would time expend with such a snipe. 
But for my sport and profit. I hate the 

Moor; 
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my 

sheets 
He has done my office : I know not if 't be true ; 
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, 395 

Will do as if for surety. He holds me well; 
The better shall my purpose work on him. 
Cassio's a proper man: let me see now: 



To get his place and to plume up my will 
In double knavery — How, how ? — ^Let's see : — 
After some time, to abuse Othello's ears 401 
That he is too familiar with his wife. 
He hath a person and a smooth dispose 
To be suspected, fram'd to make women false. 
The Moor is of a free and open nature, 405 
That thinks men honest that but seem to be so. 
And will as tenderly be led by the nose 
As asses are. 

I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night 

Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's 

light. [^Exit.'] 410 



ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — \_A Sea-port in Cyprus.'] 

Enter Montano and two Gentlemen. 

Man. What from the cape can you discern at 
sea.? 

1. Gent. Nothing at all: it is a high-wrought 

flood; 
I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main. 
Descry a sail. 
Mon. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at 

land ; s 

A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: 
If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea. 
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on 

them. 
Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of 

this? 

2. Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet: 10 
For do but stand upon the foaming shore. 
The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds ; 
The wind-shak'd surge, with high and mon- 
strous mane. 

Seems to cast water on the burning bear, 
And quench the guards of th' ever-fixed pole: 
I never did like molestation view 16 

On the enchafed flood. 
Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 

Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are 

drown'd; 
It is impossible they bear it out. 

Enter a [third'] Gentleman. 

3- Gent. News, lads ! our wars are done. 20 

The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the 
Turks, 



560 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



OTHELLO 



15 



That their designment halts: a noble ship of 

Venice 
Hath seen a grievous wrack and sufferance 
On most part of their fleet. 

Mon. How ! is this true .^ 

3. Gent. The ship is here put in^ 25 

A Veronesa; Michael Cassio, 
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, 
Is come on shore: the Moor himself at sea, 
And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 

Mon. I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. 30 

3. Gent. But this same Cassio, though he speak 
of comfort 
Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, 
And prays the Moor be safe: for they were 

parted 
With foul and violent tempest. 

Mon. ■ Pray heavens he be; 

For I have serv'd him, and the man commands 
Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho ! 
As well to see the vessel that's come in 37 

As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, 
Even till we make the main and th' aerial blue 
An indistinct regard. 

3. Gent. Come, let's do so; 40 

For every minute is expectancy 
Of more arrivance. 

Enter Cassio. 

Cas. Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike 
isle. 
That so approve the Moor! O, let the heav- 
ens 
Give him defence against the elements, 45 
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea. 
Mon. Is he well shipp'd.^ 

Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot 
Of very expert and approv'd allowance; 
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, 50 
Stand in bold cure. 

[Cry'] within 'A sail, a sail, a sail!' 
Cas. What noise .^ 

Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o' the 
sea 
Stand ranks of people, and they cry 'A sail!' 
Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 

[^Guns heard.] 
Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy: 

Our friends at least. 
Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth, 57 

And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. 



Gent. I shall. Exit. 

Mon, But, good lieutenant, is your general 

wiv'd.^ 60 

Ca*. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a maid 

That paragons description and wild fame; 

One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens. 

And in th' essential vesture of creation 64 

Does tire the ingener. 

Enter Gentleman. 

How now ! who has put in ? 

2. Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. 

Cas. Has had most favourable and happy speed : 

Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling 

winds. 
The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands, — 
Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel, — 
As having sense of beauty, do omit 71 

Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
The divine Desdemona. 
Mon. What is she? 

Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's 
captain. 
Left in the conduct of the bold lago, 75 

Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts 
A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello 

guard. 
And swell his sail with thine own powerful 

breath. 
That he may bless this bay with his tall ship. 
Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms. 
Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits, 81 
And bring all Cyprus comfort ! 

Enter Desdemona, lago, Roderigo, and Emilia. 

O, behold. 

The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 

You men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. 

Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven, 85 

Before, behind thee and on every hand, 

Enwheel thee round ! 
Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio. 

What tidings can you tell me of my lord? 
Cas. He is not yet arriv'd : nor know I aught 

But that he's well and will be shortly here. 90 
Des. O, but I fear — How lost you company? 
Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies 

Parted our fellowship — But, hark! a sail. 
Within. 'A sail, a sail!' [Guns heard.] 

Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel: 95 

This likewise is a friend. 



561 



16 



OTHELLO 



[act II. SC. I. 



Cas. See for the news. [Exit Gentleman.'] 

Good ancient, you are welcome. [To Emilia] 

Welcome, mistress : 
Let it not gall your patience, good I ago. 
That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding 
That gives me this bold show of courtesy. loo 

[Kissing he?'.] 
lago. Sir, w^ould she give you so much of her 
lips 
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, 
You'ld have enough. 
Des. Alas, she has no speech. 

lago. In faith, too much ; 

I find it still, when I have list to sleep: los 
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant. 
She puts her tongue a little in her heart. 
And chides with thinking. 
Emil. You have little cause to say so. 
lago. Come on, come on; you are pictures out 
of doors, no 

Bells in your parlours, wild-cats in your 

kitchens. 
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, 
Players in your housewifery, and housewives 
in your beds. 
Des. O, lie upon thee, slanderer! 
lago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: 115 

You rise to play and go to bed to work. 
Emil. You shall not write my praise. 
lago. No, let me not. 

Des. What wouldst write of me, if thou shouldst 

praise me.^ 
lago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't ; 

For I am nothing, if not critical. 120 

Des. Come on, assay. There's one gone to the 

harbour } 
lago. Ay, madam. 

Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile 
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. 
Come, how wouldst thou praise me? 125 

lago. I am about it; but indeed my invention 
Comes from my pate as birdlime does from 

frize; 
It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse 

labours. 
And thus she is deliver'd. 

If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, 130 
The one's for use, the other useth it. 
Des. Well prais'd! How if she be black and 

witty ? 
lago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit. 
She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. 



Des. Worse and worse. 135 

Emil. How if fair and foolish.? 

lago. She never yet was foolish that was fair; 
For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 

Des. These are old fond paradoxes to make 
fools laugh i' th' alehouse. What miserable 
praise hast thou for her that's foul and fool- 
ish } 142 

lago. There's none so foul and foolish there- 
unto, 
But does foul pranks which fair and wise 
ones do. 

Des. O heavy ignorance ! thou praisest the worst 
best. But what praise couldst thou bestow 
on a deserving woman indeed, one that, in the 
authority of her merit, did justly put on the 
vouch of very malice itself.? 

lago. She that was ever fair and never proud. 
Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, 150 
Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay. 
Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,' 
She that being anger'd, her revenge being 

nigh. 
Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly. 
She that in wisdom never was so frail 155 

To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail. 
She that could think and ne'er disclose her 

mind. 
See suitors following and not look behind. 
She was a wight, if ever such wight were, — 

Des. To do what.? 160 

lago. To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. 

Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion ! 
Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy 
husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not a 
most profane and liberal counsellor.? 165 

Cas. He speaks home, madam: you may relish 
him more in the soldier than in the scholar, 

lago. [Aside] He takes her by the palm: ay, 
well said, whisper: with as little a web as 
this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. 
Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in 
thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, 
indeed: if such tricks as these strip you out 
of your lieutenantry, it had been better you 
had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which 
now again you are most apt to play the sir in. 
Very good ; well kissed 1 an excellent courtesy ! 
'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to 
your lips? would they were clyster-pipes for 
your sake! '[Trumpet within.] The Moor! 
I know his trumpet. 180 

62 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



OTHELLO 



17 



Cas. 'Tis truly so. 

Des. Let's meet him and receive him. 

Cas. Lo^ where he comes ! 

Enter Othello and Attendants. 

0th. O my fair warrior! 

Des. My dear Othello! 

0th. It gives me wonder great as my content 
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! 
If after every tempest come such calms. 
May the winds blow till they have waken'd 

death ! 
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas 
Olympus-high and duck again as low 190 

As hell 's from heaven! If it were now to 

die, 
'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear, 
My soul hath her content so absolute 
That not another comfort like to this 
Succeeds in unknown fate. 

Des. The heavens forbid 195 

But that our loves and comforts should in- 
crease, 
Even as our days do grow ! 

th. Amen to that, sweet powers ! 

I cannot speak enough of this content; 
It stops me here; it is too much of joy: 
And this, and this, the greatest discords be 200 

[Kissing her.] 
That e'er our hearts shall make ! 

1 ago [Aside] O, you are well tun'd now! 

But I'll set down the pegs that make this 

music, . 
As honest as I am. 
0th. Come, let us to the castle. 

News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks 

are drown'd. 205 

How does my old acquaintance of this isle? 
Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus; 
I have found great love amongst them. O my 

sweet, 
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
In mine own comforts. I prithee, good lago. 
Go to the bay and disembark my coffers : 210 
Bring thou the master to the citadel; 
He is a good one, and his worthiness 
Does challenge much respect. Come, Desde- 

mona. 
Once more, well met at Cyprus. 

Exeunt Othello and Desdemona [with 

Attendants]. 



563 



lago. Do thou meet me presently at the har- 
bour. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant, — • 
as, they say, base men being in love have 
then a nobility in their natures more than is 
native to them, — list me. The lieutenant to- 
night watches on the court of guard; — first, 
I must tell thee this — Desdemona is directly 
in love with him. 221 

Rod. With him! why, 'tis not possible. 

lago. Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be 
instructed. Mark me with what violence she 
first loved the Moor, but for bragging and 
telling her fantastical lies: and will she love 
him still for prating ? let not thy discreet heart 
think it. Her eye must be fed; and what de- 
light shall she have to look on the devil ? When 
the blood is made dull with the act of sport, 
there should be, again to inflame it and to give 
satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, 
sympathy in years, manners and beauties; all 
which the Moor is defective in: now, for want 
of these required conveniences, her delicate 
tenderness will find itself abused, begin to 
heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; 
very nature will instruct her in it and compel 
her to some second choice. Now, sir, this 
granted, — as it is a most pregnant and un- 
forced position — who stands so eminent in the 
degree of this fortune as Cassio does ? a knave 
very voluble ; no further conscionable than in 
putting on the mere form of civil and humane 
seeming, for the better compassing of his salt 
and most hidden loose affection? why, none; 
why, none: a slipper and subtle knave, a 
finder of occasion, that has an eye can stamp 
and counterfeit advantages, though true ad- 
vantage never present itself; a devilish knave. 
Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and 
hath all those requisites in him that folly and 
green minds look after: a pestilent complete 
knave; and the woman hath found him al- 
ready. 

Rod. I cannot believe that in her; she's full of 
most blessed condition. 255 

lago. Blessed fig's-end! the wine she drinks is 
made of grapes: if she had been blessed, she 
would never have loved the Moor. Blessed 
pudding ! Didst thou not see her paddle with 
the palm of his hand? didst not mark that? 260 

Rod. Yes, that I did ; but that was but courtesy. 

lago. Lechery, by this hand; an index and ob- 
scure prologue to the history of lust and foul 



18 



OTHELLO 



[act II. SC. I. 



thoughts. They met so near with their lips 
that their breaths embraced together. Vil- 
lainous thoughts, Roderigo! when these mu- 
tualities so marshal the way, hard at hand 
comes the master and main exercise, th' in- 
corporate conclusion. Pish ! But, sir, be you 
ruled by me: I have brought you from Ven- 
ice. Watch you to-night; for the command, 
I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows you not. 
I'll not be far from you: do you find some 
occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking 
too loud, or tainting his discipline; or from 
what other course you please, which the time 
shall more favourably minister. 277 

Rod. Well. 

lago. Sir, he 's rash and very sudden in choler, 
and haply may strike at you: provoke him, 
that he may; for even out of that will I cause 
these of Cyprus to mutiny; whose qualifica- 
tion shall come into no true taste again but 
by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you 
have a shorter journey to your desires by the 
means I shall then have to prefer them; and 
the impediment most profitably removed, with- 
out the which there were no expectation of 
our prosperity. 

Rod. I will do this, if you can bring it to any 
opportunity. 290 

lago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at 
the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. 
Farewell. 

Rod. Adieu. Exit. 

lago. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe 

it; 295 

That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great 

credit: 
The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not. 
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature. 
And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona 
A most dear husband. Now, I do love her 
too ; 300 

Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure 
I stand accountant for as great a sin. 
But partly led to diet my revenge. 
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor 
Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought where- 
of 305 
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my in- 
wards; 
And nothing can or shall content my soul 
Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife. 
Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor 



At least into a jealousy so strong 310 

That j udgement cannot cure. Which thing to 

do. 
If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash 
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hijD, 
Abuse him to the Moor in the right garb — 315 
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too — 
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and re- 
ward me. 
For making him egregiously an ass 
And practising upon his peace and quiet 
Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet con- 
f us'd : 320 

Knavery's plain face is never seen till us'd. 

Exit. 



Scene II. — [The same.'] 

Enter Othello's Herald with a proclamation 
[People following]. 

Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and val- 
iant general, that, upon certain tidings now 
arrived, importing the mere perdition of the 
Turkish fleet, every man put himself into tri- 
umph; some to dance, some to make bonfires, 
each man to what sport and revels his addition 
leads him: for, besides these beneficial news, 
it is the celebration of his nuptial. So much 
was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All 
offices are open, and there is full liberty of 
feasting from this present hour of five till the 
bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle 
of Cyprus and our noble general Othello ! 

Exit. 



[Scene III.- 



The castle.] 

and Attend- 



Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio 
ants. 

0th. Good Michael, look you to the guard to- 
night : 

Let 's teach ourselves that honourable stop. 

Not to outsport discretion. 
Cas. lago hath direction what to do ; 

But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 5 

Will I look to 't. 
0th. lago is most honest. 

Michael, good night: to-morrow with your 
earliest 



564> 



ACT II. SC. III.] 



OTHELLO 



19 



Let me have speech with you. [To Desde- 

mona] Come, my dear love, 
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; 
That profit 's yet to come 'tween me and 

you. 10 

Good night. 

Exit [with Desdemona and Attendants^. 

Enter lago. 

Cas. Welcome, lago; we must to the watch. 

lago. Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten 
o' the clock. Our general cast us thus early 
for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not 
therefore blame : he hath not yet made wanton 
the night with her; and she is sport for Jove. 

Cas. She 's a most exquisite lady. 

lago. And, I'll warrant her, full of game. 

Cas. Indeed, she 's a most fresh and delicate 
creature. 21 

lago. What an eye she has ! methinks it sounds 
a parley of provocation. 

Cas. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right 
modest. 25 

lago. And when she speaks, is it not an alarum 
to love? 

Ca*. She is indeed perfection. 

lago. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come, 
lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here 
without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that 
would fain have a measure to the health of 
black Othello. 

Cas. Not to-night, good lago: I have very poor 
and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well 
wish courtesy would invent some other custom 
of entertainment. 

lago. O, they are our friends; but one cup: 
I'll drink for you. 39 

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and 
that was craftily qualified too, and, behold, 
what innovation it makes here: I am infor- 
tunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my 
weakness with any more. 

lago. What, man! 'tis a night of revels: the 
gallants desire it. 

Cas. Where are they? 

lago. Here at the door; I pray you, call them 
in. 

Cas. I'll do 't; but it dislikes me. Exit. 

lago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, 50 
With that which he hath drunk to-night al- 
ready, 



5Q5 



He'll be as full of quarrel and offence 

As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick 

fool Roderigo, 
Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side 

out. 
To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd 
Potations pottle-deep; and he 's to watch: 
Three else of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits. 
That hold their honours in a wary distance. 
The very elements of this warlike isle. 
Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, 60 
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock 

of drunkards. 
Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
That may offend the isle. — But here they 

come. — 

Enter Cassio, Montano, and Gentlemen [Serv- 
ants following with wine'\. 

If consequence do but approve my dream. 
My boat sails freely, both with wind and 
stream. 

Cas. 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse al- 
ready. 

Mon. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, 
as I am a soldier. 

lago. Some wine, ho ! 70 

[Sings] 'And let me the canakin clink, clink; 
And let me the canakin clink: 

A soldier 's a man; 

Oh, man's life 's but a span; 
Why, then, let a soldier drink.' 75 

Some wine, boys ! 

Cas. 'Fore God, an excellent song. 

lago. 1 learned it in England, where, indeed, 
they are most potent in potting: your Dane, 
your German, and your swag-bellied Hol- 
lander — Drink, ho ! — are nothing to your Eng- 
lish. 81 

Cas. Is your Englishman so exquisite in his 
drinking ? 

lago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your 
Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow 
your Almain ; he gives your Hollander a vomit, 
ere the next pottle can be filled. 87 

Cas. To the health of our general ! 

Mon. I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you 
justice. 90 

lago. O sweet England ! 



20 



OTHELLO 



[act II. sc. m. 



'King Stephen was and-a worthy peer. 
His breeches cost him but a crown; 
He held them sixpence all too dear. 

With that he call'd the tailor lown. 95 

'He was a wight of high renown, 
And thou art but of low degree: 

'Tis pride that pulls the country down; 
Then take thine auld cloak about thee/ 

Some wine, ho ! 100 

Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than 
the other. 

lago. Will you hear 't again ? 

Cas. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his 
jDlace that does those things. Well, God 's 
above all; and there be souls must be saved, 
and there be souls must not be saved. 107 

lago. It 's true, good lieutenant. 

Cas. For mine own part, — no offence to the gen- 
eral, nor any man of quality, — I hope to be 
saved. m 

lago. And so do I too, lieutenant. 

Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the 
lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. 
Let 's have no more of this ; let 's to our af- 
fairs. — God forgive us our sins ! — Gentle- 
men, let's look to our business. Do not think, 
gentlemen, I am drunk: this is my ancient; 
this is my right hand, and this is my left: I 
am not drunk now; I can stand well enough^ 
and speak well enough. 120 

Gent. Excellent well. 

Cas. Why, very well then; you must not think 
then that I am drunk. Ea:it. 

Mon. To the platform, masters ; come, let 's set 
the watch. 125 

lago. You see this fellow that is gone before; 
He 's a soldier fit to stand by Caesar 
And give direction: and do but see his vice; 
'Tis to his virtue a just equinox. 
The one as long as th' other: 'tis pity of him. 
I fear the trust Othello puts him in, 131 

On some odd time of his infirmity. 
Will shake this island. 

Mon. But is he often thus? 

lago. 'Tis evermore his prologue to his sleep : 
He'll watch the horologe a double set, 135 

H drink rock not his cradle. 

Mon. It were well 

The general were put in mind of it. 
Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature 



Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, 
And looks not on his evils : is not this true ? 140 

Enter Roderigo, 

lago. [Aside to him] How now, Roderigo! 
I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. 

[Exit Roderigo.] 
Mon. And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor 
Should hazard such a place as his own second 
With one of an ingraft infirmity: 145 

It were an honest action to say so 
To the Moor. 
lago. Not I, for this fair island: 

I do love Cassio well; and would do much 
To cure him of this evil — But, hark! what 
noise .^^ 

[Cry within: 'Help! help!'] 

Enter Cassio, pursuing Roderigo. 

Cas. 'Zounds, you rogue ! you rascal ! 

Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant? 150 

Cas. A knave teach me my duty! 

I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. 
Rod. Beat me! 
Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue? 

[Striking Roderigo.] 
Mon. Nay, good lieutenant; 

I pray you, sir, hold your hand. 

[Staying him.] 
Cas. Let me go, sir, 15s 

Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. 
Mon. Come, come, you're drunk. 

Cas. Drunk! [They fight.] 

lago [Aside to Roderigo] Away, I say; go out, 
and cry a mutiny. [Exit Roderigo.] 

Nay, good lieutenant, — alas, gentlemen; — 
Help, ho! — Lieutenant, — sir Montano; — 160 
Help, masters ! — Here 's a goodly watch in- 
deed! [Bell rings.] 
Who's that which rings the bell? — Diablo, 

ho! 
The town will rise: Fie, fie, lieutenant, hold! 
You will be sham'd for ever. 

Enter Othello and Attendants. 

0th. What is the matter here? 

Mon. 'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the 

death. He faints. 165 

0th. Hold, for your lives! 
lago. Hold, ho! Lieutenant, — sir Montano, — 

gentlemen, — 



566 



ACT II. SC. 



in.] 



OTHELLO 



21 



Have you forgot all sense of place and duty? 

Hold! the general speaks to you; liold^ for 

shame ! 

0th. Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth 

this .? 

Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that 

Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites ? 171 

For Christian shame, put by this barbarous 

brawl : 
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage 
Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. 
Silence that dreadful bell : it frights the isle 175 
From her projDriety. W^hat is the matter, 

masters } 
Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving, 
Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge 
thee. 
lago. I do not know: friends all but now, even 
now. 
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
Divesting them for bed; and then, but now — 
As if some planet had unwitted men — 182 

Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast. 
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 
Any beginning to this peevish odds ; 185 

And would in action glorious I had lost 
Those legs that brought me to a part of it ! 
0th. How comes it, Michael, you are thus for- 
got? 
Cas. I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak. 
th. Worthy Montano, you were wont to be 
civil ; 190 

The gravity and stillness of your youth 
The world hath noted, and your name is great 
In mouths of wisest censure : what 's the mat- 
ter. 
That you unlace your reputation thus 
And spend your rich opinion for the name 195 
Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it. 
Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger: 
Your officer, lago, can inform you, — 
While I spare speech, which something now 

offends me, — 
Of all that I do know: nor know I aught 200 
By me that's said or done amiss this night; 
Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice. 
And to defend ourselves it be a sin 
When violence assails us. 
0th. Now, by heaven. 

My blood begins my safer guides to rule; 205 
And passion, having my best judgement col- 
lied. 



Assays to lead the way: if I once stir. 
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
How this foul rout began, who set it on; 210 
And he that is approv'd in this offence. 
Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a 

birth. 
Shall lose me. What! in a town of war. 
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear. 
To manage private and domestic quarrel, 215 
In night, and on the court and guard of safety ! 
'Tis monstrous. lago, who began't? 
Mon. If partially affin'd, or leagued in office. 
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth. 
Thou art no soldier. 
lago. Touch me not so near: 220 

I had rather have this tongue cut from my 

mouth 
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio; 
Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, gen- 
eral. 
Montano and myself being in speech, 225 

There comes a fellow crying out for help; 
And Cassio following him with determin'd 

sword. 
To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman 
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause: 
Myself the crying fellow did pursue, 230 

Lest by his clamour — as it so fell out — 
The town might fall in fright: he, swift of 

foot. 
Outran my purpose ; and I return'd the rather 
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords. 
And Cassio high in oath ; which till to-night 235 
I ne'er might say before. When I came 

back — 
For this was brief — I found them close to- 
gether. 
At blow and thrust; even as again they were 
When you yourself did part them. 
More of this matter cannot I report: 240 

But men are men; the best sometimes forget: 
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him. 
As men in rage strike those that wish them 

best. 
Yet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv'd 
From him that fled some strange indignity, 245 
Which patience could not pass. 
0th. I know, lago. 

Thy honesty and love doth mince this mat- 
ter. 



567 



22 



OTHELLO 



[act II. SC. III. 



Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love 

thee ; 
But never more be officer of mine. 

Enter Desdemona, attended. 

Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up ! 250 
I'll make thee an example. 

Des. What's the matter .^^ 

0th. All's well now, sweeting; come away to 
bed. 
Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your sur- 
geon: 
Lead him off. \_To Montana, who is led off.'] 
lago, look with care about the town, 255 

And silence those whom this vile brawl dis- 
tracted. 
Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life 
To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with 
strife. 

^a:it [^with Desdemona and attendants]. 

I ago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant.'^ 

Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 260 

lago. ]\Iarry, heaven forbid ! 

Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, I 
have lost my reputation ! I have lost the im- 
mortal part of myself, and what remains is 
bestial. My reputation, lago, my reputation ! 

lago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had 
received some bodily wound; there is more 
sense in that than in reputation. Reputation 
is an idle and most false imposition: oft got 
without merit, and lost without deserving: you 
have lost no reputation at all, unless you re- 
pute yourself such a loser. What, man ! there 
are ways to recover the general again: you 
are but now cast in his mood, a punishment 
more in policy than in malice; even so as one 
would beat his ofFenceless dog to affright an 
imperious lion : sue to him again, and he 's 
yours. 277 

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised than to 
deceive so good a commander with so slight, 
so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. 
Drunk .^ and speak parrot? and squabble? 
swagger ? swear ? and discourse fustian with 
one's own shadow? O thou invisible spirit 
of wine, if thou hast no name to be known 
by, let us. call thee devil ! 284 

lago. What was he that you followed with your 
sword? What had he done to you? 

Cas. I know not. 

lago. Is 't possible? 288 



Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing 
distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. 
O God, that men should put an enemy in their 
mouths to steal away their brains ! that we 
should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and ap- 
plause, transform ourselves into beasts ! 294 

lago. Why, but you are now well enough: how 
came you thus recovered? 

Cas. It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to 
give place to the devil wrath: one unperfect- 
ness shows me another, to make me frankly 
despise myself. 300 

lago. Come, you are too severe a moraler: as 
the time, the place, and the condition of this 
country stands, I could heartily wish this had 
not befallen; but, since it is as it is, mend it 
for your own good. 305 

Cas. I will ask him for my place again; he shall 
tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many 
mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop 
them all. To be now a sensible man, by and 
by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! 
Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the in- 
gredient is a devil. 312 

lago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar 
creature, if it be well used: exclaim no more 
against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you 
think I love you. 316 

Cas. I have well approved it, sir. I drunk! 

lago. You or any man living may be drunk at 
a time, man. I tell you what you shall do. 
Our general's wife is now the general: I may 
say so in this respect, for that he hath de- 
voted and given up himself to the contempla- 
tion, mark, and denotement of her parts and 
graces: confess yourself freely to her; im- 
portune her help to put you in your place 
again: she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so 
blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in 
her goodness not to do more than she is re- 
quested: this broken joint between you and 
her husband entreat her to splinter; and, my 
fortunes against any lay worth naming, this 
crack of your love shall grow stronger than 
it was before. 331 

Cas. You advise me well. 

lago. I protest, in the sincerity of love and hon- 
est kindness. 334 

Cas. I think it freely; and betimes in the morn- 
ing I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to 
undertake for me: I am desperate of my for- 
tunes if they check me here. 



568 



ACT II. SC. 



III.] 



OTHELLO 



23 



lago. You are in the right. Good night, lieu- 
tenant ; I must to the watch. 340 

Cas. Good night, honest lago. Exit Cassio. 

lago. And what 's he then that says I play the 
villain ? 
When this advice is free I give and honest, 
Probal to thinking and indeed the course 
To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy 
Th' inclining Desdemona to subdue 346 

In any honest suit : she 's f ram'd as fruitful 
As the free elements. And then for her 
To win the Moor — were 't to renounce his 

baptism, 
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, 350 
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love. 
That she may make, unmake, do what she list, 
Even as her appetite shall play the god 
With his weak function. How am I then a 

villain 
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, 355 
Directly to his good ? Divinity of hell ! 
When devils will the blackest sins put on, 
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, 
As I do now: for whiles this honest fool 
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortune 360 
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, 
I'll pour this pestilence into his ear. 
That she repeals him for her body's lust; 
And by how much she strives to do him good. 
She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 365 
So will I turn her virtue into pitch. 
And out of her own goodness make the net 
That shall enmesh them all. 

Enter Roderigo. 

How now, Roderigo ! 

Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a 
hound that hunts, but one that fills up the 
cry. My money is almost spent; I have been 
to-night exceedingly well cudgelled; and I 
think the issue will be, I shall have so much 
experience for my pains, and so, with no 
money at all and a little more wit, return 
again to Venice. 

lago. How poor are they that have not pa- 
tience ! 
What wound did ever heal but by degrees? 
Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by 

witchcraft ; 
And wit depends on dilatory time. 
Does 't not go well ? Cassio hath beaten thee. 



And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd 

Cassio: 381 

Though other things grow fair against the 

sun. 
Yet fruits that blossom first will first be 

ripe: 
Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis 

morning; 
Pleasure and action make the hours seem 

short. 385 

Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
Away, I say ; thou shalt know more hereafter : 
Nay, get thee gone. Exit Roderigo. 

Two things are to be done : 
My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ; 
I'll set her on; 390 

Myself the while to draw the Moor apart. 
And bring him jump when he may Cassio find 
Soliciting his wife : ay, that 's the way : 
Dull not device by coldness and delay. Exit, 



ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — [^Before the castle.'] 
Enter Cassio, Musicians, and [later'] Clown. 

Cas. Masters, play here; I will content your 
pains; 
Something that's brief; and bid 'Good mor- 
row, general.' [Music] 

Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments been 
in Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus? 

Mus. How, sir, how ! 5 

Clo. Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments? 

Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir. 

Clo. O, thereby hangs a tail. 

Mus. Whereby hangs a tale, sir? 9 

Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind-instrument that 
I know. But, masters, here 's money for you: 
and the general so likes your music, that he 
desires you, for love's sake, to make no more 
noise with it. 

Mus. Well, sir, we will not. 15 

Clo. If you have any music that may not be 
heard, to 't again : but, as they say, to hear 
music the general does not greatly care. 

Mus. We have none such, sir. 

Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for 
I'll away : go ; vanish into air ; away ! 21 

Exeunt Musicians. 



569 



24 



OTHELLO 



[act III. SC. I. 



Cas. Dost thou hear, mine honest friend? 

Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear 
you. 24 

Cas. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There 's a 
poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentle- 
woman that attends the general's wife be 
stirring, tell her there 's one Cassio entreats 
her a little favour of speech : wilt thou do this ? 

Clo. She is stirring, sir: if she will stir hither, 
I shall seem to notify unto her. 31 

Cas. Do, good my friend. Exit Clown. 

Enter lago. 

In happy time, lago. 

lago. You have not been a-bed, then.^ 

Cas. Why, no; the day had broke 

Before we parted. I have made bold, lago, 35 
To send in to your wife: my suit to her 
Is that she will to virtuous Desdemona 
Procure me some access. 

lago. I'll send her to you presently; 

And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor 
Out of the way, that your converse and busi- 
ness 40 
May be more free. 

Cas. I humbly thank you for 't. [Exit lago.] 
I never knew 
A Florentine more kind and honest. 

Enter Emilia. 

Emil. Good morrow, good lieutenant : I am sorry 

For your displeasure; but all will sure be 
well. 45 

The general and his wife are talking of it; 

And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor 
replies. 

That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus 

And great affinity and that in wholesome wis- 
dom 

He might not but refuse you, but he protests 
he loves you so 

And needs no other suitor but his likings 

To take the safest occasion by the front 

To bring you in again. 
Cas. Yet, I beseech you, 

If you think fit, or that it may be done. 

Give me advantage of some brief discourse 55 

With Desdemona alone. 
Emil. Pray you, come in: 

I will bestow you where you shall have time 

To speak your bosom freely. 
Cas. I am much bound to you. [Exeunt."] 



Scene II. — \_A room in the castle.] 

Enter Othello, lago, and Gentlemen. 

0th. These letters give, lago, to the pilot; 
And by him do my duties to the senate: 
That done, I will be walking on the works ; 
Repair there to me. 
lago. Well, my good lord, I'll do 't. 

th. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we 
see 'it 5 

Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. 

Exeunt. 

Scene III. — \^The garden of the castle.] 
Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. 

Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
All my abilities in thy behalf. 

Emil. Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves my 
husband. 
As if the case were his. 

Des. O, that 's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, 
Cassio, 5 

But I will have my lord and you again 
As friendly as you were. 

Cas. Bounteous madam. 

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
He's never any thing but your true servant. 

Des. I know't; I thank you. You do love my 

lord: 10 

You have known him long; and be you well 

assur'd 
He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
Than in a politic distance. 

Cas. Ay, but, lady. 

That policy may either last so long, 
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 15 
Or breed itself so out of circumstances. 
That, I being absent and my place supplied. 
My general will forget my love and service. 

Des. Do not doubt that; before Emilia here 
I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee. 
If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it 21 
To the last article: my lord shall never rest; 
I'll watch him tame and talk him out of pa- 
tience ; 
His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; 
I'll intermingle every thing he does 25 

With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cassio; 
For thy solicitor shall rather die 
Than give thy cause away. 
70 



ACT III. SC. III.] 



OTHELLO 



25 



Enter Othello and lago [at a distance], 

Emil. Madam, here comes my lord. 

Cas. Madam, I'll take my leave. 30 

Des, Why, stay, and hear me speak. 

Cas. Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease. 

Unfit for mine own purposes. 
Des. Well, do your discretion. Ea;it Cassio. 

lago. Ha ! I like not that. 

0th. What dost thou say? 35 

lago. Nothing, my lord: or if — I know not 

what. 
0th. Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? 
lago. Cassio, my lord ! No, sure, I cannot think 
it. 

That he would steal away so guilty-like. 

Seeing you coming. 
0th. I do believe 'twas he. 40 

Des. How now, my lord! 

I have been talking with a suitor here, 

A man that languishes in your displeasure. 
0th. Who is't you mean? 

Des. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my 
lord. 

If I have any grace or power to move you, 

His present reconciliation take; 

For if he be not one that truly loves you, 

That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, 

I have no judgement in an honest face: 50 

I prithee, call him back. 
0th. Went he hence now? 

Des. Ay, sooth; so humbled 

That he hath left part of his grief with me. 

To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. 
0th. Not now, sweet Desdemon; some other 
time. 55 

Des. But shairt be shortly? 
0th. The sooner, sweet, for you. 

Des. Shall 't be to-night at supper? 
0th. No, not to-night. 

Des. To-morrow dinner, then? 
0th. I shall not dine at home; 

I meet the captains at the citadel. 
Des. Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday 
morn ; 60 

On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday 
morn: 

I prithee, name the time, but let it not 

Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent; 

And yet his trespass, in our common reason — 

Save that, they say, the wars must make ex- 
amples 65 



Out of their best — is not almost a fault 

T' incur a private check. When shall he 

come ? 
Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul. 
What you would ask me, that I should deny. 
Or stand so mammering on. What ! Michael 
Cassio, 70 

That came a-wooing with you, and so many a 

time. 
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly. 
Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do 
To bring him in! Trust me, I could do 
much, — 
0th. Prithee, no more: let him come when he 
will ; 75 

I will deny thee nothing. 
Des. Why, this is not a boon; 

'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves. 
Or fe'ed on nourishing dishes, or keep you 

warm. 
Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit 
To your own person: nay, when I have a 
suit 80 

Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed. 
It shall be full of poise and difficult weight 
And fearful to be granted. 
0th. I will deny thee nothing: 

Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this. 
To leave me but a little to myself. 85 

Des. Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord. 
0th. Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come to thee 

straight. 
Des. Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach 
you; 
Whate'er you be, I am obedient. 

Exit [with Emilia']. 

0th. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my 

soul, 90 

But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not. 

Chaos is come again. 

lago. My noble lord, — 

0th. What dost thou say, lago? 

lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my 

lady. 

Know of your love? 95 

0th. He did, from first to last: why dost thou 

ask? 
lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought; 

No further harm. 
0th. Why of thy thought, lago? 

lago. I did not think he had been acquainted 
with her. 



571 



26 



OTHELLO 



[act III. SC. III. 



0th. O, yes; and went between us very oft. loo 
logo. Indeed ! 

0th. Indeed! a}^, indeed: discern'st thou aught 
in that ? 
Is he not honest? 
lago. Honest, my lord! 

0th. Honest! ay, honest. 

lago. My lord, for aught I know. 
0th. What dost thou think .? 
lago. Think, my lord! 

0th. Think, my lord ! 105 

By heaven, he echoes me. 

As if there were some monster in his thought 
Too hideous to be show^n. Thou dost mean 

something : 
I heard thee say even now, thou lik'dst not 

that. 

When Cassio left my wife: what didst not 

like.'* ' no 

And when I told thee he was of my counsel 

In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst 

'Indeed !' 
And didst contract and purse thy brow to- 
gether. 
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me, 115 
Show me thy thought. 
lago. My lord, you know I love you. 
0th. I think thou dost; 

And, for I know thou 'rt full of love and hon- 
esty. 
And weigh'st thy words before thou givest 

them breath. 
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the 
more: 120 

For such things in a false disloyal knave 
Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just 
They 're close delations, working from the 

heart 
That passion cannot rule. 
Tago. For Michael Cassio, 

I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. 125 
0th. I think so too. 

lago. Men should be what they seem; 

Or those that be not, would they might seem 
none! 
0th. Certain, men should be what they seem. 
lago. Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest 

man. 
0th. Nay, yet there's more in this: 1301 

I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings. 



As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of 

thoughts 
The worst of words. 
lago. Good my lord, pardon me: 

Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
I am not bound to that all slaves are free 

to. 135 

Utter my thoughts.^ Why, say they are vild 

and false; 
As where's that palace whereinto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not.^ who has a breast so 

pure. 
But some uncleanly apprehensions 
Keep leets and law-days and in session sit 140 
With meditations lawful.^ 
0th. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, 

lago. 
If thou but think'st him wrong'd and mak'st 

his ear 
A stranger to thy thoughts. 
lago. I do beseech you — • 

Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, 145 
As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy 
Shapes faults that are not — that your wisdom 

yet, 

From one that so imperfectly conceits, 

Would take no notice, nor build yourself a 
trouble 150 

Out of his scattering and unsure observance. 

It were not for your quiet nor your good, 

Nor for my manhood, honesty, and wisdom. 

To let you know my thoughts. 
0th. What dost thou mean? 

lago. Good name in man, and woman, dear my 
lord, 155 

Is the immediate jewel of their souls: 

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis some- 
thing, nothing; 

'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to 
thousands; 

But he that filches from me my good name 

Robs me of that which not enriches him 160 

And makes me poor indeed. 
0th. By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. 
lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your 
hand ; 

Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. 
0th. Ha! 
lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; 165 

It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock 



572 



ACT III. SC. 



III.] 



OTHELLO 



27 



The meat it feeds on: that cuckold lives in 

bliss 
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; 
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er 
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet soundly 
loves ! 170 

0th. O misery! 

I ago. Poor and content is rich and rich enough. 
But riches iineless is as poor as winter 
To him that ever fears he shall be poor. 
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe de- 
fend 175 
From jealousy! 
th. Why, why is this ? 

Think'st thou I'ld make a life of jealousy. 
To follow still the changes of the moon 
With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in 

doubt 
Is once to be resolv'd : exchange me for a goat. 
When I shall turn the business of my soul 181 
To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, 
Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me 

j ealious 
To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves com- 
pany. 
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances 
well ; ,185 

Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: 
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt; 
For she had eyes, and chose me. No, lago; 
I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; 
And on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
Away at once with love or j ealousy ! 192 

lago. I am glad of it; for now I shall have rea- 
son 
To show the love and duty that I bear you 
With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound. 
Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. 
Look to your wife; observe her well with 
Cassio ; 197 

Wear your eye thus, not j ealious nor secure: 
I would not have your free and noble nature. 
Out of self-bounty, be abus'd; look to't. 200 
I know our country disposition well; 
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
They dare not show their husbands ; their best 

conscience 
Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown. 
0th. Dost thou say so? 205 

lago. She did deceive her father, marrying you; 



And when she seem'd to shake and fear your 

looks. 
She lov'd them most. 
0th. And so she did. 

lago. Why, go to then; 

She that, so young, could give out such a 

seeming. 
To seel her father's eyes up close as oak — 210 
He thought 'twas witchcraft — but I am much 

to blame; 
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon 
For too much loving you. 
0th. I am bound to thee for ever. 

lago. I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 
0th. Not a jot, not a jot. 

lago. V faith, I fear it has. 215 

I hope you will consider what is spoke 
Comes from my love. But I do see you're 

mov'd : 
I am to pray you not to strain my speech 
To grosser issues nor to larger reach 
Than to suspicion. 220 

0th. I will not. 

lago. Should you do so, my lord. 

My speech should fall into such vild success 
As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my 

worthy friend — 
My lord, I see you're mov'd. 
0th. No, not much mov'd: 

I do not think but Desdemona's honest. 225 
lago. Long live she so ! and long live you to 

think so ! 
th. And yet, how nature erring from itself, — 
lago. Ay, there's the point: as — to be bold with 
you — 
Not to affect many proposed matches 
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree, 230 
Whereto we see in all things nature tends — • 
Fob ! one may smell in such a will most rank. 
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. 
But pardon me; I do not in position 
Distinctly speak of her ; though I may fear 235 
Her will, recoiling to her better judgement. 
May fall to match you with her country forms 
And happily repent. 
0th. Farewell, farewell: 

If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; 
Set on thy wife to observe : leave me, lago. 240 
lago. \^Going'\ My lord, I take my leave. 
0th. Why did I marry? This honest creature 
doubtless 



573 



28 



OTHELLO 



[act 



III. SC. III. 



Sees and knows more, much more, than he 
unfolds. 

lago. [Returning] My lord, I would I might en- 
treat your honour 
To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time. 
Although 'tis fit that Cassio have his place, 246 
For, sure, he fills it up with great ability. 
Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile, 
You shall by that perceive him and his means : 
Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 250 
With any strong or vehement importunity; 
Much will be seen in that. In the mean time. 
Let me be thought too busy in my fears — 
As worthy cause I have to fear I am — 
And hold her free, I do beseech your hon- 
our. 255 

0th. Fear not my government. 

lago. I once more take my leave. Exit. 

0th. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, 

And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, 
Of human dealings. If I do prove her hag- 
gard, 260 
Though that her jesses were my dear heart- 
strings, 
I'ld whistle her off and let her down the wind, 
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black 
And have not those soft parts of conversation 
That chamberers have, or for I am declin'd 265 
Into the vale of years, — yet that's not much — 
She's gone. I am abus'd; and my relief 
Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage. 
That we can call these delicate creatures ours, 
And not their appetites ! I had rather be a 
toad, 270 
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon. 
Than keep a corner in the thing I love 
For others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great 

ones; 
Prerogativ'd are they less than the base; 
'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death: 275 

Even then this forked plague is fated to us 
When we do quicken. Desdemona comes. 

Enter Desdemona and Emilia. 

If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself! 

I'll not believe 't. 
Des. How now, my dear Othello ! 

Your dinner, and the generous islanders 280 

By you invited, do attend your presence. 
0th. I am to blame. 
Des. Why do you speak so faintly? 

Are you not well? 



th. 1 have a pain upon my forehead here. 
Des. 'Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away 
again : 285 

Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
It will be well. 
0th. Your napkin is too little: 

[He puts the handkerchief from him; and it 

drops.] 
Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. 
Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 

[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona.] 

Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin: 290 

This was her first remembrance from the 

Moor: 
My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the 

token. 
For he conjur'd her she should ever keep it. 
That she reserves it evermore about her 295 
To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en 

out. 
And give't lago : what he will do with it 
Heaven knows, not I ; 
I nothing but to please his fantasy. 

Enter lago. 

lago. How now ! what do you here alone ? 300 
Emil. Do not you chide; I have a thing for you. 
lago. A thing for me ? it is a common thing — 
Emil. Ha! 

lago. To have a foolish wife. 
Emil. O, is that all? What will you give me 
now 30s 

For that same handkerchief? 
lago. What handkerchief? 

Emil. What handkerchief! 

Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona; 

That which so often you did bid me steal. 
lago. Hast stol'n it from her? 310 

Emil. No, 'faith; she let it drop by negligence,- 

And, to th' advantage, I, being here, took 't 
up. 

Look, here it is. 
lago. A good wench; give it me. 

Emil. What will you do with 't, that you have 
been so earnest 

To have me filch it? 315 

lago. [Snatching it] Why, what is that to you? 
Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import. 

Give 't me again. Poor lady, she'll run mad 

When she shall lack it, 



574 



ACT III. SC. III.] 



OTHELLO 



29 



lago. Be not acknown on't; I have use for it. 
Go, leave me. Exit Emilia. 320 

I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, 
And let him find it. Trifles light as air 
Are to the jealious confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ: this may do something. 
The Moor already changes with my poison : 325 
Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poi- 
sons. 
Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, 
But with a little act upon the blood, 
Burn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so : 
Look, where he comes ! 



330 



Enter Othello. 

Not poppy, nor mandragora. 
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world. 
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
Which thou owedst yesterday. 

0th. Ha ! ha ! false to me ? 

lago. Why, how now, general! no more of that 



be 



gone 



! thou hast set me on the 



335 



th. Avaunt! 

rack : 
I swear 'tis better to be much abus'd 
Than but to know 't a little. 
lago. How now, my lord ! 

0th. What sense had I of her stol'n hours of 

lust.? 
I saw 't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : 
I slept the next night well, fed well, was free 

and merry; 340 

I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : 
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n, 
Let him not know 't, and he's not robb'd at 

all. 
lago. I am sorry to hear this. 
0th. I had been happy, if the general camp, 345 
Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body. 
So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever 
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! 
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
That makes ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 350 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill 

trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, 
The royal banner, and all quality. 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious 

war! 
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude 

throats 355 

Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counter- 
feit. 



Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone! 
lago. Is't possible, my lord.? 
th. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore, 

Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof; 360 

Or, by the worth of man's eternal soul. 

Thou hadst been better have been born a dog 

Than answer my wak'd wrath ! 
lago. Is't come to this? 

0th. Make me to see't; or, at the least, so prove 
it. 

That the probation bear no hinge nor loop 365 

To hang a doubt on ; or woe upon thy life ! 
lago. My noble lord, — 
0th. If thou dost slander her and torture me. 

Never pray more; abandon all remorse; 

On horror's head horrors accumulate; 370 

Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth 
amaz'd; 

For nothing canst thou to damnation add 

Greater than that. 
lago. O grace ! O heaven forgive me ! 

Are you a man? have you a soul or sense? 

God be wi' you; take mine office. O wretched 

fool, ^ 375 

That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice ! 

monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O 
world. 

To be direct and honest is not safe. 

1 thank you for this profit ; and from hence 
I'll love no friend, sith love breeds such of- 
fence. 380 

0th, Nay, stay: thou shouldst be honest. 
lago. I should be wise, for honesty's a fool 

And loses that it works for. 
0th. By the world, 

I think my wife be honest and think she is not ; 
I think that thou art just and think thou art 
not. 38s 

I'll have some proof. Her name, that was as 

fresh 
As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black 
As mine own face. If there be cords, or 

knives. 
Poison, or fire, or suff'ocating streams, 
I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied ! 390 
lago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion: 
I do repent me that I put it to you. 
You would be satisfied ? 
0th. Would! nay, and I will. 

lago. And may: but, how? how satisfied, my 
lord? 
Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on — ■ 
575 



30 



OTHELLO 



[act 



III. SC. III. 



Behold her topp'd? 396 

0th. Death and damnation ! O ! 

lago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think. 

To bring them to that prospect: damn them 

then. 
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster 
jMore than their own ! What then ? how then ? 
What shall I say? Where's satisfaction? 401 
It is impossible you should see this. 
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as mon- 
keys. 
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say, 405 
If imputation and strong circumstances. 
Which lead directly to the door of truth. 
Will give you satisfaction, you may have 't. 

0th. Give me a living reason she's disloyal. 

lago. I do not like the office: 410 

But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far, 
Prick'd to 't by foolish honestv and love, 
I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately; 
And, being troubled with a raging tooth, 
I could not sleep. 415 

There are a kind of men so loose of soul. 
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs. 
One of this kind is Cassio: 
In sleep I heard him say 'Sweet Desdemona, 
Let us be wary, let us hide our loves ;' 420 

And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my 

hand. 
Cry 'O sweet creature !' then kiss me hard. 
As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots 
That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg 
Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd; and 
then 425 

Cried 'Cursed fate that gave thee to the 
Moor !' 

0th. O monstrous ! monstrous ! 

lago. Nay, this was but his dream. 

0th. But this denoted a foregone conclusion: 
'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. 

lago. And this may help to thicken other proofs 
That do demonstrate thinly. 

0th. I'll tear her all to pieces. 431 

lago. Nay, yet be wise: yet we see nothing done; 
She may be honest yet. Tell me but this. 
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief 
Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand? 

0th. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift. 

lago. I know not that; but such a handker- 
chief — 437 
I am sure it was your wife's — did I to-day 



See Cassio wipe his beard with. 

0th. If it be that, — 

lago. If it be that, or any that was hers, 440 
It speaks against her with the other proofs. 

0th. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives! 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. 
Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, lago; 
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. 445 
'Tis gone. 

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell! 
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne 
To tyrannous hate ! Swell, bosom, with thy 

fraught, 
For 'tis of aspics' tongues ! 

lago. Yet be content. 450 

Gth. O, blood, blood, blood! 

lago. Patience, I say; your mind perhaps may 
change. 

0th. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea. 
Whose icy current and compulsive course 
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 455 
To the Propontic and the Hellespont, 
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace. 
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble 

love, 
Till that a capable and wide revenge 
Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble 
heaven, 460 

[Kneels] In the due reverence of a sacred vow 
I here engage my words. 

lago. Do not rise yet. 

\_Kneels] Witness, you ever-burning lights 

above. 
You elements that clip us round about. 
Witness that here lago doth give up 465 

The execution of his wit, hands, heart, 
To wrong'd Othello's service ! Let him -com- 
mand. 
And to obey shall be in me remorse. 
What bloody business ever. [They rise.'] 

0th. I greet thy love. 

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance 
bounteous, 470 

And will upon the instant put thee to 't : 
Within these three days let me hear thee say 
That Cassio's not alive. 

lago. My friend is dead; 'tis done at your re- 
quest : 
But let her live. 

0th. Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her ! 

Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw, 476 
To furnish me with some swift means of death 



51(^ 



ACT III. SC. 



III.] 



OTHELLO 



31 



For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieu- 
tenant. 
lago. I am your own for ever. Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — [Before the castle.'] 
Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. 

Des. Do you know^ sirrah, where Lieutenant 

Cassio lies ? 
Clo. I dare not say he lies any where. 
Des. Why, man? 
Clo. He's a soldier, and for me to say a soldier 

lies, 'tis stabbing. 6 

Des. Go to: where lodges he? 
Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you 

where I lie. 
Des. Can any thing be made of this? lo 

Clo. I know not where he lodges, and for me to 

devise a lodging and say he lies here or he lies 

there, were to lie in mine own throat. 
Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified by 

report ? 15 

Clo. I will catechise the world for him; that is, 

make questions, and by them answer. 
Des. Seek him, bid him come hither: tell him I 

have moved m}^ lord on his behalf, and hope 

all will be well. 20 

Clo. To do this is within the compass of man's 

wit ; and therefore I will attempt the doing it. 

Exit Clo. 
Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, 

Emilia ? 
Emil. I know not, madam. 

Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my 
purse 25 

Full of crusadoes : and, but my noble Moor 

Is true of mind and made of no such baseness 

As jealious creatures are, it were enough 

To put him to ill thinking. 
Emil. Is he not jealious? 

Des. Who, he? I think the sun where he was 
born 30 

Drew all such humours from him. 
EmiL Look, where he comes. 

Enter Othello. 

Des. I will not leave him now till Cassio 

Be call'd to him. — How is 't with you, my 
lord? 
th. Well, my good lady. [A side J O, hardness 
to dissemble ! — 



How do you_, Desdemona? 

Des. Well, my good lord. 33 

0th. Give me your hand: this hand is moist, my 
lady. 

Des. It yet hath felt no age nor known no sor- 
row. 

0th. This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart. 
Hot, hot, and moist : this hand of yours re- 
quires 
A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer. 
Much castigation, exercise devout; 41 

For here's a young and sweating devil here, 
That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, 
A frank one. 

Des. You may, indeed, say so; 

For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. 

0th. A liberal hand: the hearts of old gave 
hands ; 46 

But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts. 

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your 
promise. 

0th. What promise, chuck? 

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with 
you. 50 

0th. I have a salt and sorry rheum oiFends me; 
Lend me thy handkerchief. 

Des. Here, my lord. 

0th. That which I gave you. 

Des. I have it not about me. 

0th. Not? 

Des. No, indeed, my lord. 

th. _ That is a fault. 

That handkerchief 55 

Did an Egyptian to my mother give; 
She was a charmer, and could almost read 
The thoughts of people : she told her, while she 

kept it, 
'Twould make her amiable and subdue my 

father 
Entirely to her love, but if she lost it 60 

Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
Should hold her loathed and his spirits should 

hunt 
After new fancies: she, dying, gave it me; 
And bid me, when my fate would have me 

wiv'd. 
To give it her. I did so: and take heed on 't; 
Make it a darling like your precious eye; 66 
To lose 't or give 't away were such perdition 
As nothing else could match. 

Des. Is't possible? 

0th. 'Tis true: there's magic in the web of it: 



577 



32 



OTHELLO 



[act III. SC. IV. 



A sibyl, that had number'd in the world 70 

The sun to course two hundred compasses. 
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work ; 
The worms were hallow'd that did breed the 

silk; 
And it was dyed in mummy which the skilful 
Conserv'd of maidens' hearts. 

Des. Indeed! is't true? 75 

0th. Most veritable; therefore look to 't well. 

Des. Then would to God that I had never 
seen 't! 

Otli. Ha! wherefore? 

Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash? 

Otli. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is't out 0' the 



way 



80 



Des. Heaven bless us ! 

0th. Say you? 

Des. It is not lost; but what and if it were? 

0th. How! 

Des. I say, it is not lost. 

0th. Fetch 't, let me see 't. 

Des. Why, so I can, but I will not now. 86 

This is a trick to put me from my suit: 

Pray you, let Cassio be receiv'd again. 
0th. Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind mis- 
gives. 
Des. Come, come; 90 

You'll never meet a more sufficient man. 
0th. The handkerchief! 

Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. 

0th. The handkerchief! 
Des. A man that all his time 

Hath founded his good fortunes on your love, 

Shared dangers with you, — 95 

0th. The handkerchief! 
Des. In sooth, you are to blame. 
0th. Away! Exit Othello. 

Emil. Is not this man jealious? 
Des. I ne'er saw this before. 100 

Sure, there's some wonder in this handker- 
chief: 

I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 
Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man: 

They are all but stomachs, and we all but 
food; 

They eat us hungerly, and when they are full. 

They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my 
husband ! 106 

Enter lago and Cassio. 

Jago. There is no other way; 'tis she must do 't: 
And, lo, the happiness ! go, and importune her. 



Des. How now, good Cassio! what's the news 

with you? 
Cas. Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you 
That by your virtuous means I may again m 
Exist, and be a member of his love 
Whom I with all the office of my heart 
Entirely honour: I would not be delay'd. 
If my offence be of such mortal kind 115 

That nor my service past, nor present sorrows. 
Nor purpos'd merit in futurity. 
Can ransom me into his love again, 
But to know so must be my benefit; 
So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content, 120 
And shut myself up in some other course. 
To fortune's alms. 
Des. Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio ! 

My advocation is not now in tune ; 
My lord is not my lord; nor should I know 

him. 
Were he in favour as in humour alter'd. 125 
So help me every spirit sanctified. 
As I have spoken for you all my best 
And stood within the blank of his displeasure 
For my free speech! you must awhile be pa- 
tient : 
What I can do I will ; and more I will 130 

Than for myself I dare: let that suffice you. 
lago. Is my lord angry? 
Emil. He went hence but now. 

And certainly in strange unquietness. 
lago. Can he be angry? I have seen the can- 
non. 
When it hath blown his ranks into the air, 135 
And, like the devil, from his very arm 
PufF'd his own brother : — and can he be angry ? 
Something of moment then: I will go meet 

him: 
There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry. 

Exit. 
Des. I prithee, do so. Something, sure, of state. 
Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd prac- 
tice 141 
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him. 
Hath puddled his clear spirit; and in such 

cases 
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things. 
Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even 
so ; 145 

For let our finger ache, and it indues 
Our other healthful members even to that 



sense 



Of pain: nay, we must think men are not gods, 



578 



ACT III. SC. IV.] 



OTHELLO 



'S3 



Nor of them look for such observances 
As fit the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia, 
I was, unhandsome warrior as I am, 151 

Arraigning his unkindncss with my soul; 
But now I find I had siiborn'd the witness. 
And he's indicted falsel3^ 

Emil. Pray heaven it be state-matters, as you 
think, 15s 

And no conception nor no jealious toy 
Concerning you. 

Des. Alas the daj^ ! I never gave him cause. 

Emil. But jealious souls will not be answer'd so; 
They are not ever jealious for the cause, 160 
But jealious for they are jealious: 'tis a mon- 
ster 
Begot upon itself, born on itself. 

Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's 
mind ! 

Emil. Lady, amen. 

Des. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk here- 
about : 16s 
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit 
And seek t' effect it to my uttermost. 

Ea;it [with Emilia']. 

Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship. 

Enter Bianca. 

Bian. Save you, friend Cassio ! 

Cas. What make you from home } 

How is it with you, my most fair Bianca ? 170 

I' faith, sweet love, I was coming to your 

house. 

Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. 

What, keep a week away? seven days and 

nights ? 
Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent 

hours. 
More tedious than the dial eight score times? 

weary reckoning ! 

Cas. Pardon me, Bianca: 175 

1 have this while with leaden thoughts been 
press'd; 

But I shall, in a more continuate time. 
Strike off this score of absence. Sweet 
Bianca, 

[Giving her Desdemona's handkerchief .] 
Take me this work out. 
Bian. O Cassio, whence came this? 180 

This is some token from a newer friend: 
To the felt absence now I feel a cause. 
Is't come to this ? Well, well. 



Cas. Go to, woman! 

Throw your vild guesses in the devil's teeth. 

From whence you have them. You are jeal- 
ious now 185 

That this is from some mistress, some remem- 
brance : 

No, in good troth, Bianca. 
Bian. Why, whose is it ? 

Cas. I know not, neither: I found it in my 
chamber. 

I like the work well : ere it be demanded — 

As like enough it will — I would have it copied ; 

Take it, and do't; and leave me for this time. 
Bian. Leave you ! wherefore ? 192 

Cas. I do attend here on the general; 

And think it no addition, nor my wish. 

To have him see me woman'd. 
Bian. Why, I pray you? 

Cas. Not that I love you not. 
Bian. But that you do not love me. 

I pray you, bring me on the way a little. 

And say if I shall see you soon at night. 
Cas. 'Tis but a little way that I can bring you; 

For I attend here: but I'll see you soon. 200 
Bian. 'Tis very good; I must be circumstanc'd. 

Exeunt. 



ACT FOURTH 

Scene L — [Before the castle.] 

Enter Othello and lago. 

lago. Will you think so ? 

0th. Think so, lago! 

lago. What, 

To kiss in private? 
0th. An unauthoris'd kiss. 

lago. Or to be naked with her friend in bed ^ 

An hour or more, not meaning any harm? 
0th. Naked in bed, lago, and not mean harm! s 

It is hypocrisy against the devil : 

They that mean virtuously, and yet do so. 

The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt 
heaven, 
lago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip: 

But if I give my wife a handkerchief, — 10 

0th. What then? 

lago. Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord; and, being 
hers. 

She may, I think, bestow't on any man. 



579 



S4 



OTHELLO 



[act IV. SC. I. 



0th. She is protectress of her honour too: 

May she give that? is 

lago. Her honour is an essence that's not seen; 
They have it very oft that have it not: 
But, for the handkerchief, — 

0th. By heaven, I would most gladly have for- 
got it. 
Thou said'st — O, it comes o'er my memory, 20 
As doth the raven o'er th' infectious house, 
Boding to all — he had my handkerchief. 

lago. Ay, what of that ? 

th. That's not so good now. 

lago. What, 

If I had said I had seen him do you wrong? 
Or heard him say, — as knaves be such abroad. 
Who having, by their own importunate suit, 26 
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress. 
Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose 
But they must blab — 

0th. Hath he said any thing? 

lago. He hath, my lord; but be you well as- 
sur'd, 30 

No more than he'll unswear. 

0th. What hath he said? 

lago. 'Faith, that he did — I know not what he 
did. 

0th. What? what? 

lago. Lie — 

0th. With her? 

lago. With her, on her ; what you will. 

0th. Lie with her! lie on her! We say lie on 
her, when they belie her. Lie with her ! 
'Zounds, that's fulsome. — Handkerchief — con- 
fessions — handkerchief! — To confess, and be 
hanged for his labour; — first, to be hanged, 
and then to confess. — I tremble at it. Nature 
would not invest herself in such shadowing 
passion without some instruction. It is not 
words that shakes me thus. Pish ! Noses, 
ears, and lips. — Is't possible.^ — Confess — 
handkerchief ! — O devil ! Falls in a trance. 

lago. Work on, 45 

My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are 

caught ; 
And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, 
All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho ! my 

lord! 
My lord, I say ! Othello ! 



Enter Cassio. 



Cos* What's the matter? 



How now, CskSSio 



50 
580 



lago. My lord is fall'n into an epilepsy: 

This is his second fit; he had one yesterday. 
CaSo Rub him about the temples. 
lago. No, forbear; 

The lethargy must have his quiet course: 
If not, he foams at mouth and by and by 55 
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he 

stirs : 
Do you withdraw yourself a little while, 
He will recover straight: when he is gone, 
I would on great occasion speak with you. 

l^Ejcit Cassio.^ 
How is it, general? have you not hurt your 
head ? 60 

0th. Dost thou mock me? 

lago. I mock you not, by heaven. 

Would you would bear your fortune like a 
man ! 
0th. A horned man's a monster and a beast. 
lago. There's many a beast then in a populous 
city. 
And many a civil monster. 65 

0th. Did he confess it? 

lago. Good sir, be a man; 

Think every bearded fellow that's but yok'd 
May draw with you: there's millions now 

alive 
That nightly lie in those unproper beds 
Which they dare swear peculiar: your case is 
better. 70 

O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock. 
To lip a wanton in a secure couch, 
And to suppose her chaste ! No, let me know ; 
And knowing what I am, I know what she 
shall be. 
0th. O, thou art wise; 'tis certain. 
lago. Stand you awhile apart; 75 

Confine yourself but in a patient list. 
Whilst you were here o'erwhelmed with your 

grief — 
A passion most unsuiting such a man — 
Cassio came hither: I shifted him away. 
And laid good 'senses upon your ecstasy, 80 
Bade him anon return and here speak with 

me; 
The which he promis'd. Do but encave your- 
self. 
And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable 

scorns. 
That dwell in every region of his face; 
For I will make him tell the tale anew, 85 

Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



OTHELLO 



35 



He hath, and is again to cope your wife : 
I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience ; 
Or I shall say you're all in all in spleen, 
And nothing of a man. 

0th. Dost thou hear, lago? 90 

I will be found most cunning in my patience ; 
But — dost thou hear ? — most bloody. 

lago. That's not amiss; 

But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw ? 

[Othello retires.] 
Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, 
A housewife that by selling her desires 9s 

Buys herself bread and clothes : it is a creature 
That dotes on Cassio; as 'tis the strumpet's 

plague 
To beguile many and be beguil'd by one : 
He, when he hears of her, cannot restrain 
From the excess of laughter. Here he comes : 

Enter Cassio. 

As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad; loi 

And his unbookish jealousy must construe 

Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light be- 
haviours 

Quite in the wrong. How do you now, lieu- 
tenant } 
Cas. The worser that you give me the addition 

Whose want even kills me. 106 

lago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure 
on't. 

[Speaking lower] Now, if this suit lay in Bi- 
anca's power. 

How quickly should you speed ! 
Cas. Alas, poor caitiff! 

0th. Look, how he laughs already ! no 

lago. I never knew woman love man so. 
Cas. Alas, poor rogue ! I think, indeed, she loves 

me. 
0th. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out. 
lago. Do you hear, Cassio.^ 
0th. Now he importunes him 

To tell it o'er: go to; well said, well said. 117 
lago. She gives it out that you shall marry 
her: 

Do you intend it ? 
Cas. Ha, ha, ha ! 120 

0th. Do you triumph, Roman? do you triumph? 
Cas. I marry her ! what ? a customer ! Prithee, 

bear some charity to my wit; do not think it 

so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha ! 125 



0th. So, so, so, so: they laugh that win. 

lago. 'Faith, the cry goes that you shall marry 
her. 

Cas. Prithee, say true. 

lago. I am a very villain else. 

0th. Have you scored me? Well. 130 

Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out: she 
is persuaded I will marry her, out of her own 
love and flattery, not out of my promise. 

0th. lago beckons me; now he begins the 
story. 135 

Cas. She was here even now; she haunts me in 
every place. I was the other day talking on 
the sea-bank with certain Venetians; and 
thither comes the bauble, and, by this hand, 
she falls me thus about my neck — 140 

0th. Crying 'O dear Cassio!' as it were: his ges- 
ture imports it. 

Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so 
shakes, and pulls me: ha, ha, ha! 144 

th. Now he tells how she plucked him to my 
chamber. O, I see that nose of yours, but 
not that dog I shall throw it to. 

Cas. Well, I must leave her company. 

lago. Before me ! look, where she comes. 

Enter Bianca. 

Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew ! marry, a per- 
fumed one. [To Bianca] What do you mean 
by this haunting of me ? 152 

Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you! 
What did you mean by that same handkerchief 
you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to 
take it. I must take out the work? — A likely 
piece of work, that you should find it in your 
chamber, and know not who left it there ! 
This is some minx's token, and I must take out 
the work? There; give it your hobby-horse: 
wheresoever you had it, I'll take out no work 
On't. 161 

Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca ! how now ! 
how now! 

0th. By heaven, that should be my handker- 
chief ! i6s 

Bian. If you'll come to supper to-night, you 
may; if you will not, come when you are next 
prepared for. Ea:it. 

lago. After her, after her. 

Cas. 'Faith, I must; she'll rail in the street 
else. 171 

81 



36 



OTHELLO 



[act IV. SC. I. 



lago. Will you sup there? 

Cas. Yes, I intend so. 

lago. Well, I may chance to see you; for I 
would very fain speak with you. 175 

Cas. Prithee, come; will you.^ 

lago. Go to; say no more. [Ea-it Cassio.] 

0th. [Advancing] How shall I murther him, 
lago.f* 

lago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his 
vice } i8i 

0th. O lago! 

lago. And did you see the handkerchief.^ 

0th. Was that mine.? 

lago. Yours, by this hand: and to see how he 
prizes the foolish woman your wife ! she gave 
it him, and he hath given it his whore. 

0th. I would have him nine years a-killing. A 
fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! 

lago. Nay, you must forget that. 190 

th. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned 
to-night; for she shall not live: no, my heart 
is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my 
hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter crea- 
ture: she might lie by an emperor's side and 
command him tasks. 196 

lago. Nay, that's not your way. 

0th. Hang her! I do but say what she is: so 
delicate with her needle: an admirable mu- 
sician: O! she will sing the savageness out of 
a bear: of so high and plenteous wit and in- 
vention : — 201 

lago. She's the worse for all this. 

0th. O, a thousand, a thousand times: and then, 
of so gentle a condition! 

lago. Ay, too gentle. 205 

0th. Nay, that's certain: but yet the pity of it, 
lago ! O lago, the pity of it, lago ! 

lago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give 
her patent to offend; for, if it touch not you, 
it comes near nobody. 210 

0th. I will chop her into messes: cuckold 
me! 

lago. O, 'tis foul in her. 

0th. With mine officer! 

lago. That's fouler. 215 

0th. Get me some poison, lago; this night: I'll 
not expostulate with her, lest her body and 
beauty unprovide my mind again: this night, 
lago. 219 

lago. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her 
bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. 



0th. Good, good: the justice of it pleases: very 

good. 
lago. And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker: 
you shall hear more by midnight. 225 

0th. Excellent good. [A trumpet within.] What 

trumpet is that same.? 
lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodo- 
vico 
Come from the duke: and, see, your wife is 
with him. 

Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants. 

Lod. Save you, worthy general ! 
th. With all my heart, sir. 

Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet 
you. [Gives him a letter.] 230 

0th. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 

[Opens the letter, and reads.] 
Des. And what's the news, good cousin Lodo- 
vico? 
lago. I am very glad to see you, signior; 

Welcome to Cyprus. 
Lod. I thank you. How does Lieutenant 
Cassio ? 235 

lago. Lives, sir. 

Des. Cousin, there's fall'n between him and my 
lord 

An unkind breach : but you shall make all well. 
0th. Are you sure of that? 
Des. My lord? 
0th. [Reads] 'This fail you not to do, as you 

will — ' 240 

Lod. He did not call; he's busy in the pajDer. 

Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio ? 
Des. A most unhappy one: I would do much 

T' atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio. 244 
0th. Fire and brimstone ! 
Des. My lord? 

0th. Are you wise? 

Des. What, is he angry? 
Lod. May be the letter mov'd him; 

For, as I think, they do command him home. 

Deputing Cassio in his government. 
Des. Trust me, I am glad on't. 
th. Indeed! 

Des. My lord ? 

0th. I am glad to see you mad. 
Des. Why, sweet Othello, — 250 

0th. [Striking her] Devil! 
Des. I have not deserv'd this. 
Lod. My lord, this would not be believ'd in 
Venice, 



582 



ACT IV. SC. 



.] 



OTHELLO 



37 



Though I should swear I saw't : 'tis very much : 
Make her amends; she weeps. 
0th. O devil, devil! 255 

If that the earth could teem with woman's 

tears. 
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. 
Out of ni}'- sight ! 
Des. I will not stay to offend you. \_Going.'] 

Lod. Truly, an obedient lady: 

I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 260 
0th, Mistress! 
Bes. My lord ? 

0th. What would you with her, sir? 

Lod. Who, I, my lord } 

0th. Ay; you did wish that I would make her 
turn: 
Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on. 
And turn again; and she can weep, sir, weep; 
And she's obedient, as you say, obedient, 266 
Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears. 
Concerning this, sir, — O well-painted pas- 
sion ! — 
I am commanded home. Get you away; 
I'll send for you anon. Sir, I obey the man- 
date, 270 
And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt ! 

[Ea;it Desdemona.'] 
Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, to- 
night, 
I do entreat that we may sup together : 
You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. — Goats and 
monkeys ! Exit. 

Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full 
senate 275 

Call all in all sufficient ? Is this the nature 
Whom passion could not shake .^ whose solid 

virtue 
The shot of accident, nor dart of chance, 
Could neither graze nor pierce? 
lago. He is much chang'd. 

Lod. Are his wits safe ? is he not light of brain ? 
lago. He's that he is : I may not breathe my cen- 
sure 281 
What he might be : if what he might he is not, 
I would to heaven he were ! 
Lod. What, strike his wife! 
lago. 'Faith, that was not so well; yet would I 
knew 
That stroke would prove the worst ! 
Lod. Is it his use? 
Or did the letters work upon his blood, 286 
And new-create this fault? 



lago, Alas, alas ! 

It is not honesty in me to speak 
What I have seen and known. You shall ob- 
serve him. 
And his own courses will denote him so 290 

That I may save my speech: do but go after. 
And mark how he continues. 
Lod. I am sorry that I am deceiv'd in him. 

Exeunt, 



Scene II. — [A room in the castle.] 

Enter Othello and Emilia. 

0th. You have seen nothing then? 
Emit. Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect. 
0th. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she to- 
gether. 
Emit. But then I saw no harm, and then I heard 
Each syllable that breath made up between 
them. 5 

0th. What, did they never whisper? 
Emil. Never, my lord. 

0th. Nor send you out o' the way? 
Emil. Never. 
0th. To fetch her Tan, her gloves, her mask, nor 

nothing ? 
Emil. Never, my lord. 10 

0th. That's strange. 

Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest. 
Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other. 
Remove your thought; it doth abuse your 

bosom. 
If any wretch have put this in your head, 15 
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse ! 
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true. 
There's no man happy; the purest of their 

wives 
Is foul as slander. 
0th. Bid her come hither: go. 

Exit Emilia. 
She says enough; yet she's a simple bawd 20 
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle 

whore, 
A closet lock and key of villainous secrets : 
And yet she'll kneel and pray; I have seen 
her do't. 

Enter Desdemona and Emilia, 



Des. My lord, what is your will? 

0th. Pray you^ chuck, come hither. 



583 



38 



OTHELLO 



[act IV. SC. II. 



Des. What is your pleasure } 

0th. Let me see your eyes; 

Look in my face. 

Des. What horrible fancy's this ? 26 

0th. [To Emilia] Some of your function, mis- 
tress; 
Leave procrcants alone and shut the door; 
Cough, or cry 'hem/ if any body come: 
Your myster}^, your mystery: nay, despatch. 

Exit Emilia. 

Des. Upon my knee, what doth j^our speech im- 
port ? 31 
I understand a fury in your words, 
But not the words. 

0th. Wh}^, what art thou? 

Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true 

And loyal wife. 

0th. Come, swear it, damn thyself; 

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils them- 
selves 36 
Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double 

damn'd: 
Swear thou art honest. 

Des. Heaven doth truly know it. 

th. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as 
hell. 

Des. To whom, my lord? with whom? how am I 
false ? 40 

0th. O Desdemona ! away! away! away! 

Des. Alas the heavy day ! Why do you weep ? 
Am I the motive of these tears, my lord? 
If haply you my father do suspect 
An instrument of this your calling back, 45 

Lay not your blame on me: if you have lost 

him. 
Why, I have lost him too. 

0th. Had it pleas'd heaven 

To try me with affliction ; had they rain'd 
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare 

head, 
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips, 50 

Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes, 
I should have found in some place of my soul 
A drop of patience: but, alas, to make me 
The fixed figure for the time of scorn 
To point his slow and moving finger at ! 55 

^ Yet could I bear that too; well, very well: 
' But there, where I have garner'd up my heart. 
Where either I must live, or bear no life ; 
The fountain from the which my current runs, 
0|r else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! 60 
Olf keep it as a cistern for foul toads 



To knot and gender in ! Turn thy complexion 

there. 
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd clieru- 

bin, — 
Ay, there, look grim as hell! 
Des. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest. 65 
0th. O, ay; as summer flies are in the shambles. 
That quicken even with blowing. O thou 

weed. 
Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet 
That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst 
ne'er been born! 
Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed? 
0th. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book. 
Made to write 'whore' upon? What com- 
mitted ! 72 
Committed ! O thou public commoner ! 
I should make very forges of my cheeks. 
That would to cinders burn up modesty, 75 
Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed 1 
Heaven stops the nose at it and the moon 

winks. 
The bawdy wind that kisses all it meets 
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth. 
And will not hear it. What committed! 80 
Impudent strumpet ! 
Des. By heaven, you do me wrong. 

0th. Are not you a strumpet? 



Dt 



No, as I am a Christian. 



If to preserve this vessel for my lord 

From any other foul unlawful touch 

Be not to be a strumpet, I am none. 85 

0th. What, not a whore? 

Des. No, as I shall be sav'd. 

0th. Is't possible? 

Des. O, heaven forgive us ! 

0th. I cry you mercy, then: 

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice 
That married with Othello. [Raising his voice] 
You, mistress, 90 

That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, 
And keep the gate of hell ! 

Enter Emilia. 

You, you, ay, you ! 
We have done our course; there's money for 

your pains : 
I pray you, turn the key and keep our coun- 
sel. Exit. 
Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive? 
How do you, madam? how do you, my good 
lady ? 96 



584 



ACT IV. SC. II.] 



OTHELLO 



39 



Des. 'Faith, half asleep. 

Emil. Good madam, what's the matter with my 
lord.? 

Des. With who ? 

Emil. Why, with my lord, madam. loo 

Des. Who is thy lord? 

Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady. 

Des, I have none: do not talk to me, Emilia; 
I cannot weep ; nor answers have I none. 
But what should go hy water. Prithee, to- 
night 
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets : remember ; 
And call thy husband hither. io6 

Emil. Here's a change indeed! Exit. 

Des. 'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet. 
How have I been behav'd, that he might stick 
The small'st opinion on my least misuse .? 

Enter lago and Emilia. 

lago. What is your pleasure, madam .? How is't 
with you.? no 

Des. I cannot tell. Those that do teach young 
babes 

Do it with gentle means and easy tasks ; 

He might have chid me so ; for, in good faith, 

I am a child to chiding. 
lago. What's the matter, lady? 

Emil. Alas, lago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her. 

Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon 
her, ii6 

As true hearts cannot bear. 
Des. Am I that name, lago? 

lago. What name, fair lady ? 

Des. Such as she says my lord did say I was. 
Emil. He call'd her whore: a beggar in his 
drink 120 

Could not have laid such terms upon his callet. 
J ago. Why did he so ? 

Des. I do not know; I am sure I am none such. 
lago. Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day ! 
Emil. Hath she forsook so many noble matches. 

Her father and her country and her friends, 

To be call'd whore? would it not make one 
weep ? 127 

Des. It is my wretched fortune. 
lago. Beshrew him for't ! 

How comes this trick upon him ? 
Des. Nay, heaven doth know. 

Emil. I will be han^'d, if some eternal villain. 

Some busy and insinuating rogue, 131 

Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some 
office. 



Have not devis'd this slander; I'll be hang'd 

else. 

lago. Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible. 

Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him ! 

Emil. A halter pardon him! and hell gnaw his 

bones ! 136 

Why should he call her whore? who keeps her 



what time? what form? what 
by some most villainous 



company t 

What place ? 
likelihood ? 

The Moor's abus'd 
knave. 

Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fel- 
low. 140 

heaven, that such companions thou'ldst un- 
fold. 

And put in every honest hand a whip 

To lash the rascals naked through the world 

Even from the east to th' west ! 
lago. Speak within door. 

Emil. O, fie upon them! Some such squire he 
was 14s 

That turn'd your wit the seamy side without. 

And made you to suspect me with the Moor. 
lago. You are a fool ; go to. 
Des. O good lago. 

What shall I do to win my lord again ? 

Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of 
heaven, 150 

1 know not how I lost him. Here I kneel: 
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love. 
Either in discourse of thought or actual deed. 
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense. 
Delighted them in any other form; 155 
Or that I do not yet, and ever did. 

And ever will — though he do shake me off 
To beggarly divorcement — love him dearly. 
Comfort forswear me ! Unkindness may do 

much ; 
And his unkindness may defeat my life, 
But never taint my love. I cannot 

'whore :' 
It doth abhor me now I speak the word ; 
To do the act that might the addition earn 
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. 
lago. I pray you, be content; 'tis but his 
humour : 165 

The business of the state does him offence. 
And he does chide with you. 
Des. If 'twere no other, — 

lago. It is but so, I warrant. 

[Trumpets within.'] 



160 
say 



585 



iO 



OTHELLO 



ACT IV. SC. II. 



Hark, how these instruments summon to sup- 
per ! 
The messengers of Venice stays the meat: 170 
Go in, and weep not ; all things shall be well. 
Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 

Enter Roderigo. 

How now, Roderigo ? 

Rod. I do not find that thou deal'st justly with 
me. 

lago. What in the contrary ? 175 

Rod. Every day thou daff'st me with some de- 
vice, lago; and rather, as it seems to me now, 
keepest from me all conveniency than sup- 
pliest me with the least advantage of hope. I 
will indeed no longer endure it, nor am I yet 
persuaded to put up in peace what already I 
have foolishly suffered. 182 

lago. Will you hear me, Roderigo? 

Rod. 'Faith, I have heard too much, and your 
words and performances are no kin together. 

lago. You charge me most unjustly. 186 

Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted 
myself out of my means. The jewels you 
have had from me to deliver Desdemona would 
half have corrupted a votarist: you have told 
me she hath received them and returned me 
expectations and comforts of sudden respect 
and acquaintance, but I find none. 193 

lago. Well; go to; very well. 

Rod. Very well ! go to ! I cannot go to, man ; 
nor 'tis not very well : nay, I think it is scurvy, 
and begin to find myself fopped in it. 

lago. Very well. 198 

Rod. I tell you 'tis not very well. I will make 
myself known to Desdemona: if she will re- 
turn me my jewels, I will give over my suit 
and repent my unlawful solicitation; if not, 
assure yourself I will seek satisfaction of you. 

lago. You have said now. 

Rod. Ay, and said nothing but what I protest 
intendment of doing. 206 

lago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee, 
and even from this instant do build on thee a 
better opinion than ever before. Give me thy 
hand, Roderigo: thou hast taken against me a 
most j ust exception ; but yet, I protest, I have 
dealt most directly in thy affair. 212 

Rod. It hath not appeared. 

lago. I grant indeed it hath not appeared, and 
your suspicion is not without wit and judge- 



ment. But, Roderigo, if thou hast th;it in 
thee indeed, which I have greater reason to 
believe now than ever, I mean purpose, cour- 
age and valour, this night show it: if thou 
the next night following enjoy not Desdemona, 
take me from this world with treachery and 
devise engines for my life. 222 

Rod. Well, what is it.^ is it within reason and 
compass ? 

lago. Sir, there is especial commission come 
from Venice to depute Cassio in Othello's 
place. 

Rod. Is that true? why, then Othello and Des- 
demona return again to Venice. 228 

lago. O, no ; he goes into Mauretania and taketh 
away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his 
abode be lingered here by some accident: 
wherein none can be so determinate as the re- 
moving of Cassio. 233 

Rod. How do you mean, removing him? 

lago. Why, by making him uncapable of Othel- 
lo's place; knocking out his brains. 

Rod. And that you would have me to do? 237 

lago. Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit and a 
right. He sups to-night with a harlotry, and 
thither will I go to him: he knows not yet 
of his honourable fortune. If you will watch 
his going thence, which I will fashion to fall 
out between twelve and one, you may take 
him at your pleasure: I will be near to second 
your attempt, and he shall fall between us. 
Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along 
with me; I will show you such a necessity 
in his death that you shall think yourself 
bound to put it on him. It is now high sup- 
per-time, and the night grows to waste: about 
it. 250 

Rod. I will hear further reason for this. 

lago. And you shall be satisfied. Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [Another room in the castle.'] 

Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, 
and Attendants. 

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no 

further. 
0th. O, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk. 
Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your J 

ladyship. 1 

Des. Your honour is most welcome. 



586 



ACT IV. SC. III.] 



OTHELLO 



41 



Will you walk, sir 



0th. 

O, — Desdemona, — 5 

Des. My lord.? 

0th. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be 

returned forthwith: dismiss your attendant 

there : look it be done. 

Des. I will, my lord. 10 

[^Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants.'] 

Emit. How goes it now.? he looks gentler than 

he did. 
Des. He saj^s he will return incontinent: 
He hath commanded me to go to bed. 
And bade me to dismiss you. 
Emil. Dismiss me ! 

Des. It was his bidding; therefore, good Emilia, 
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu: 16 
We must not now displease him. 
Emil. I would you had never seen him! 
Des. So would not I: my love doth so approve 
him. 
That even his stubbornness, his checks, his 
frowns, — 20 

Prithee, unpin me, — have grace and favour in 
them. 
Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on 

the bed. 
Des. All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our 
minds ! 
If I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me 
In one of those same sheets. 
Emil. Come, come, you talk. 25 

Des. My mother had a maid call'd Barbaric: 
She was in love, and he she loved proved 

mad 
And did forsake her: she had a song of 'wil- 
low;' 
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her for- 
tune. 
And she died singing it: that song to-night 30 
Will not go from my mind; I have much to 

do. 
But to go hang my head all at one side. 
And sing it like poor Barbaric. Prithee, des- 
patch. 
Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown? 
Des. No, unpin me here. 

This Lodovico is a proper man. 35 

Emil. A very handsome man. 
Des. He speaks well. 

Emil. I know a lady in Venice would have 
walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of 
his nether lip. 40 



Des. [Singing] 'The poor soul sat sighing by a 
sycamore tree, 
Sing all a green willow; 
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her 
knee. 
Sing willow, willow, willow: 
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd 
her moans; 45 

Sing willow, willow, willow; 
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the 
stones ;' — 

Lay by these: — 

[Singing] 'Sing willow, willow, willow;' 

Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon: — 50 

[Singing] 'Sing all a green willow must be my 
garland. 
Let nobody blame him; his scorn I ap- 
prove,' — 

Nay, that's not next. — Llark! who is't that 
knocks ? 
Emil. It's the wind. 

Des. [Singing] 'I call'd my love false love; but 
what said he then.? 55 

Sing willow, willow, willow: 
If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe 
men.' — 

So, get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do 

itch; 

Doth that bode weeping? 

Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there. 

Des. I have heard it said so. O, these men, 

these men ! 60 

Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, 

Emilia, — 
That there be women do abuse their hus- 
bands 
In such gross kind? 
Emil. There be some such, no question. 

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the 

world ? 
Emil. Why, would not you? 

Des. No, by this heavenly light! 65 

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light; 

I might do't as well i' the dark. 
Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the 
world ? 



587 



42 



OTHELLO 



[act IV. SC. III. 



Emil. The world's a huge thing: it is a great 
price 
For a small vice. 

Des. In troth, I think thou wouldst not. 70 

Ejnil. In troth, I think I should; and undo't 
when I had done. Marry, I would not do such 
a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of 
lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor 
any petty exhibition; but, for the whole 
world, — why, who would not make her hus- 
band a cuckold to make him a monarch? I 
should venture purgatory for't. 

Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong 
For the whole world. 79 

Emil. Wh}^, the wrong is but a wrong i* the 
world; and having the world for your labour, 
'tis a wrong in your own world, and you might 
quickly make it right. 83 

Des. I do not think there is any such woman. 

Emil. Yes, a dozen; and as many to the van- 
tage as would store the world they played 

• for. 

But I do think it is their husbands* faults 
If wives do fall: say that they slack their du- 
ties. 
And pour our treasures into foreign laps. 
Or else break out in peevish jealousies, 90 
Throwing restraint upon us ; or say they strike 

us, • 

Or scant our former having in despite; 
Why, we have galls, and though we have some 

grace. 
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands 

know 
Their wives have sense like them; they see 
and smell . 95 

And have their palates both for sweet and 

sour. 
As husbands have. What is it that they do 
When they change us for others? Is it sport? 
I think it is: and doth affection breed it? 
I think it doth: is't frailty that thus errs? 100 
It is so too: and have not we affections. 
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have? 
Then let them use us well : else let them know, 
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so. 

Des. Good night, good night: heaven me such 

uses send, 105 

Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend ! 

Exeunt. 



ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — [A street near Bianca's lodging. '\ 
Enter lago and Roderigo. 

lago. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight will 

he come: 
Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home: 
Quick, quick; fear nothing; I'll be at thy el- 
bow: 
It makes us, or it mars us; think on that. 
And fix most firm thy resolution. 5 

Rod. Be near at hand; I may miscarry in't. 
lago. Here, at thy hand: be bold, and take thy 

stand. [Retires.'l 

Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed; 
And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons : 
'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword: he 

dies. 10 

lago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to 

the sense. 
And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill 

Cassio, 
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other. 
Every way makes my gain: live Roderigo, 
He calls me to a restitution large 15 

Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him, 
As gifts to Desdemona; 
It must not be: if Cassio do remain. 
He hath a daily beauty in his life 
That makes me ugly ; and, besides, the Moor 20 
May unfold me to him; there stand I in much 

peril : 
No, he must die. But so: I hear him coming. 

Enter Cassio. 

Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he. — Villain, thou 

diest! [Makes a pass at Cassio.] 

Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed. 

But that my coat is better than thou know'st : 25 

I will make proof of thine. 

[Wounds Roderigo.] 
Rod. O, I am slain ! 

[lago from behind wounds Cassio in the 

leg, and exit.] 
Cas. I am maim'd for ever. Help, ho ! murther ! 
murther ! 

Enter Othello. 



0th. The voice of Cassio: lago keeps his word. 
Rod. O, villain that I am! 



588 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



OTHELLO 



43 



th. It is even so. 

Cas. O, help, ho ! light ! a surgeon ! 30 

0th. 'Tis he: — O brave lago, honest and just, 
That hast such noble sense of thy friend's 

wrong r 
Thou teachest me. Minion, your dear lies 

dead, 

And your unblest fate hies: strumpet, I come. 

Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, 

are blotted; 35 

Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood 

be spotted. Exit Othello. 

Enter Lodovico and Gratiano. 

Cas. What, ho ! no watch ? no passage ? murther ! 

murther ! 
Gra. 'Tis some mischance; the voice- is very 

direful. 
Cas. O, help! 

Lod. Hark! 40 

Rod. O wretched villain! 

Lod. Two or three groan: it is a heavy night: 
These may be counterfeits: let's think't un- 
safe 
To come in to the cry without more help. 
Rod. Nobody come? then shall I bleed to death. 
Lod. Hark! 46 

Enter lago [with a light]. 

Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with light 

and weapons. 
lago. Who's there? whose noise is this that 

cries on murther? 
Lod. We do not know. 

lago. Did not you hear a cry? 

Cas. Here, here ! for heaven's sake, help me ! 
lago. What's the matter? 50 

Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. 
Lod. The same indeed; a very valiant fellow. 
lago. What are you here that cry so grievously? 
Cas. lago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by vil- 
lains ! 
Give me some help. 55 

lago. O me, lieutenant ! what villains have done 

this? 
Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout, 

And cannot make away. 
lago. O treacherous villains ! 

What are you there? come in, and give some 
help, [To Lodovico and Gratiano.] 

60 



Cas. That's one of them. 

lago. O murderous slave! O villain! 

[Stabs Roderigo.] 
Rod. O damn'd lago! O inhuman dog! 
lago. Kill men i' the dark! — Where be these 
bloody thieves? — 
How silent is this town ! — Ho ! murther ! 

murther ! — 
What may you be? are you of good or evil? 
Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 
lago. Signior Lodovico ? 
Lod. He, sir. 
lago. I cry you mercy. Here's Cassio hurt by 

villains. 
Gra. Cassio ! 70 

lago. How is't, brother ! 
Cas. My leg is cut in two. 

lago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 

Light, gentlemen: I'll bind it with my shirt. 

Enter Bianca. 



Rod. O, help me here 



IS 



the matter, ho? who is't that 



75 



Bian. What 

cried ? 
lago. Who is't that cried? 
Bian. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio ! 

O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio ! 
lago. O notable strumpet ! Cassio, may you 
suspect 
Who they should be that have thus mangled 
you? 
Cas. No. 80 

Gra. I am sorry to find you thus: I have been 

to seek you. 
lago. Lend me a garter. So. O, for a chair. 

To bear him easily hence! 
Bian. Alas, he faints ! O Cassio, Cassio, Cas- 
sio! 
lago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash 85 
To be a party in this injury. 
Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come; 
Lend me a light. Know we this face or no? 
Alas, my friend and my dear countryman 
Roderigo ! no : — yes, sure : — O heaven ! Ro- 
derigo. 
Gra. What, of Venice ? 
lago. Even he, sir: did 
Gra. 

lago. Signior Gratiano? 
don; 
These bloody accidents must excuse my man 
ners. 



90 



you 



know him? 

Know him ! ay. 
I cry you gentle par- 



589 



44 



OTHELLO 



[act v. SC. I. 



That so neglected you. 
Gra. I am glad to see you. 95 

lago. How do you, Cassio ? O, a chair, a chair ! 
Gra. Roderigo ! 

lago. He, he, 'tis he. \_A chair brought in.'\ 
O, that's well said; the chair. 
Some good man bear him carefull}^ from 

hence ; 
I'll fetch the general's surgeon. [To Biancal 
For you, mistress, 100 

Save you your labour. He that lies slain here, 

Cassio, 
Was my dear friend: what malice was be- 
tween you? 
Cas. None in the world; nor do I know the man. 
lago. [To Bian.'] What, look you pale? O, bear 
him out o' the air. 

[Cassio and Roderigo are borne off.] 
Stay you, good gentlemen. Look you pale, 
mistress ? 105 

Do you perceive the gastness of her eye ? 
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon. 
Behold her well; I pray you, look upon her: 
Do you see, gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will 

speak, 
Though tongues were out of use. no 

[Enter Emilia.^ 

Emit. 'Las, what's the matter? what's the mat- 
ter, husband? 
lago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark 
By Roderigo and fellows that are scap'd: 
He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 
Emil. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good Cassio ! 
lago. This is the fruits of whoring. Prithee, 
Emilia, 116 

Go know of Cassio wliere he supp'd to-night. 
[To Branca'] What, do you shake at that? 
Bian. He supp'd at my house; but I therefore 

shake not. 
J ago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with 
me. 120 

Emil. Oh, fie upon thee, strumpet! 
Bian. I am no strumpet; but of life as honest 

As 3''ou that thus abuse me. 

Emil. As I ! foh ! fie upon thee ! 

lago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio 

dress'd. 

Come, mistress, you must telTs another tale. 

Emilia, run you to the citadel. 126 

And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd. 



Will you go on afore? [Aside'] This is the 

night 
That either makes me or fordoes me quite. 

Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [A bedchamber in the castle.] 

Enter Othello [with a light], and Desdemona in 
her bed. 

0th. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — 
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — 
It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood; 
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
And smooth as monumental alablaster. 5 

Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
Put out the light, and then put out the light. 
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
I can again thy former light restore. 
Should I repent me : but once put out thy light. 
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, n 
I know^ not where is that Promethean heat 
That can thy light relume. When I have 

pluck'd thy rose, 
I cannot give it vital growth again. 
It must needs wither: I'll smell thee on the 
tree. [Kissing her.] 15 

Ah, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
Justice to break her sword! One more, one 

more. 
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill 

thee. 
And love thee after. One more, and that's 

the last: 
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 20 
But they are cruel tears: this sorrow's heav- 
enly; 
It strikes where it doth love. She wakes. 

Des. Who's there? Othello? 

th. Aj^, Desdemona. 

Des. Will you come to bed, my lord? 

0th. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona? 25 

Des. Ay, my lord. 

0th. If you bethink yourself of any crime 
Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace. 
Solicit for it straight. 

Des. Alack, my lord, what may you mean by 
that? 

0th. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by: 
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit; 31 

No; heavens forfend ! I would not kill thy 
soul. 



.590 



ACT V. SC. 



II.] 



OTHELLO 



45 



Des. Talk you of killing? 

th. Ay, I do. 

Des, Then heaven 

Have mercy on me ! 
0th. Amen, with all my heart! 

Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. 35 
0th. Hum! 
JDes. And yet I fear you; for you're fatal then 

When your eyes roll so: why I should fear I 
know not. 

Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I 
fear. 
0th. Think on thy sins. 

Des. They are loves I bear to you. 40 

0th. Ay, and for that thou diest. 
Des. That death's unnatural that kills for lov- 
ing. 

Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip ? 

Some bloody passion shakes your very frame: 

These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope, 45 

They do not point on me. 
0th. Peace, and be still! 

Des. I will so. What's the matter? 
0th. That handkerchief which I so lov'd and 
gave thee 

Thou gav'st to Cassio. 
Des. No, by my life and soul ! 

Send for the man, and ask him. 
0th. Sweet soul, take heed, 50 

Take heed of perjury; thou art on thy death- 
bed. 
Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 
0th. Yes, presently: 

Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin; 

For to deny each article with oath 

Cannot remove nor choke the strong concep- 
tion 55 

That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 
Des. Then Lord have mercy on me! 
0th. I say, amen. 

Des. And have you mercy too ! I never did 

Offend you in my life ; never lov'd Cassio 

But with such general warranty of heaven 60 

As I might love; I never gave him token. 
0th. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in's 
hand. 

perjur'd woman! thou dost stone my heart, 
And mak'st me call what I intend to do 

A murther, which I thought a sacrifice: 65 

1 saw the handkerchief. 

Des. He found it then; 

I never gave it him: send for him hither; 



Let him confess a truth. 
th. He hath confess'd. 

Des. What, my lord? 
0th. That he hath us'd thee. 
Des. How? unlawfully? 

th. Ay. 70 

Des. He will not say so. 
0th. No, his mouth is stopp'd; 

Honest lago hath ta'en order for't. 
Des. O ! my fear interprets : what, is he dead ? 
0th. Had all his hairs been lives, my great re- 
venge 

Had stomach for thorn all. 75 

Des. Alas ! he is betray'd and I undone. 
0th. Out, strumpet ! weep'st thou for him to my 

face? 
Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not ! 
0th. Down, strumpet! 

Des. Kill me to-morrow: let me live to-night! 80 
0th. Nay, if you strive, — 
Des. But half an hour! 

th. Being done, there is no pause. 

Des. But while I say one prayer ! 
Qth. It is too late. 

Smothers her. 
Emil. at the door. My lord, my lord ; what, ho ! 

my lord, my lord! 
0th. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet 
quite dead? 85 

I that am cruel am yet merciful; 

I would not have thee linger in thy pain: 

So, so. 
Emil. within. What, ho ! my lord, my lord ! 
0th. ' Who's there? 

Emil. O, good my lord, I would speak a word 
with you ! 90 

0th. Yes: 'tis Emilia. By and by. She's dead. 

'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's 
death. — 

The noise was here. Ha! no more moving? 

Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were't 
good ? — 

I think she stirs again: — no. What's best to 
do ? 95 

If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife. 

My wife ! my wife ! what wife ? I have no 
wife. 

O, insupportable ! O heavy hour ! 

Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse 

Of sun and moon, and that th' affrighted globe 

Should yawn at alteration. 
Emil. I do beseech you loi 



591 



46 



OTHELLO 



[act v. SC. II. 



That I may speak with you, O, good my lord ! 
Otli. I had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia. 
Soft; by and by. Let me the curtains draw. 
Where art thou? [Unlocks the door.'] 

What's the matter with thee now.'* 

Enter Emilia. 

Emit. O, my good lord, yonder's foul murthers 
done ! io6 

0th. What, now? 
Emit. But now, my lord. 
0th. It is the very error of the moon; 

She comes more nearer earth than she was 
wont, no 

And makes men mad. 
Emil. Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young 
Venetian 

Call'd Roderigo. 
0th. Roderigo kill'd! 

And Cassio kill'd ! 
Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 

0th. Not Cassio kill'd! then murther's out of 
tune, lis 

And sweet revenge grows harsh. 
Des. O, falsely, falsely murther'd! 
Emil. Alas, what cry is that? 

0th. That! what? 
Emil. Out, and alas ! that was my lady's voice. 

Help! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again! 

Sweet Desdemona ! O sweet mistress, speak ! 
Des. A guiltless death I die. 
Emil. O, who hath done this deed? 
Des. Nobody; I myself. Farewell: 

Commend me to my kind lord: O, fare- 
well ! [Dies.] 125 
0th. Why, how should she be murther'd? 
Emil. Alas, who knows ? 
0th. You heard her say herself, it was not L 
Emil. She said so : I must needs report the truth. 
0th. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell: 

'Twas I that kill'd her. 
Emil. O, the more angel she, 130 

And you the blacker devil! 
0th. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. 
Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. 
0th. She was false as water. 
Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say 

Tliat she was false: O, she was heavenly 

true ! 135 

0th. Cassio did top her; ask thy husband else. 

O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell. 



But that I did proceed upon just grounds 

To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all, 
Emil. My husband! 140 

0th. Thy husband. 

Emil, That she was false to wedlock? 
th. Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true. 

If heaven would make me such another world 

Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, 145 

I 'Id not have sold her for it. 
Emit. My husband ! 
0th. Ay, 'twas he that told me first: 

An honest man he is, and hates the slime 

That sticks on filthy deeds. 
Emil. My husband ! 

0th. What needs this iterance, woman? I say 
thy husband. 150 

Emil. O mistress, villainy hath made mocks with 
love ! 

My husband say that she was false! 
0th. He, woman; 

I say thy husband : dost understand the word ? 

My friend, thy husband, honest, honest lago. 
Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul 155 

Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart: 

She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 
0th. Ha! 
Emil. Do thy worst: 

This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven 

Than thou wast worthy her. 161 

0th. Peace, you were best. 

Emil. Thou hast not half that power to do me 
harm 

As I have to be hurt. O gull ! O dolt ! 

As ignorant as dirt! thou hast done a deed — 

I care not for thy sword; I'll make thee 
known, 165 

Though I lost twenty lives. — Help ! help, ho ! 
help ! 

The Moor hath kill'd my mistress ! Murther ! 
murther ! 

Enter Montano, Gratiano, and lago. 

Mon. What is the matter ? How now, general ! 

Emil. O, are you come, lago? you have done 

well. 

That men must lay their murthers on your 

neck. 170 

Gra. What is the matter? 

Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man: 
He says thou told'st him that his wife was 
false : 



592 



ACT V. SC. II.] 



OTHELLO 



47 



I know thou didst not^ thou 'rt not such a 

villain : 
Speak^ for my heart is full. 175 

lago. I told him what I thought, and told no 
more 
Than what he found himself was apt and 
true. 
Emit, But did you ever tell him she was false .^ 
lago. I did. 

Emil. You told a lie; an odious, damned lie; 180 
Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie. 
She false with Cassio ! — did you say with 



Cas 



sio.f' 



lago. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your 

tongue. 
Emil. I will not charm my tongue; I am bound 

to speak: 
My mistress here lies murther'd in her bed, — < 
AIL O heavens for fend! .186 

Emilo And your reports have set the murther 

on, 
0th. Nay, stare not, masters: it is true, indeed. 
Gra. 'Tis a strange truth. 
Mon. O monstrous act ! 

Emil. Villainy, villainy, villainy ! 190 

I think upon't, I think : I smell't : O villainy ! — 
I thought so then: — I'll kill myself for 

grief : — 

villainy, villainy! 

lago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get 

you homCo 
Emil, Good gentlemen, let me have leave to 
speak : 195 

'Tis proper I obey him, but not now. 

Perchance, lago, I will ne'er go home. 
0th. Oh! Oh! Oh! [He falls on the bed.] 

Emil. Nay, lay thee down and roar; 

For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent 

That e'er did lift up eye, 
0th. [Rising'] O, she was foul! 200 

1 scarce did know you, uncle: there lies your 
niece. 

Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly 

stopp'd: 
I know this act shows horrible and grim. 
Gra. Poor Desdemona ! I am glad thy father's 

dead. 
Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
Shore his old thread in twain: did he live 

now, 206 

This sight would make him do a desperate 

turn. 



Yea, curse his better angel from his side. 
And fall to reprobance. 

0th. 'Tis pitiful; but yet lago knows 210 

That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
A thousand times committed; Cassio confess'd 

it: 
And she did gratify his amorous works 
With that recognisance and pledge of love 
Which I first gave her; I saw it in his hand. 
It was a handkerchief, an antique token 216 
My father gave my mother. 

Emil. O heaven ! O heavenly powers ! 

lago. Come, hold your peace. 



Emilo 



'Twill out, 'twill out: I peace 



No, I will speak as liberal as the north: 
Let heaven and men and devils, let them all. 
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. 
lago. Be wise, and get you home. 

[Laying his hand upon his sword.] 
Emil. I will not. 

Gra. Fie ! 

Your sword upon a woman? 
Emil. O thou dull Moor ! that handkerchief thou 
speak'st of 225 

I found by fortune and did give my husband; 
For often, with a solemn earnestness. 
More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle. 
He begg'd of me to steal it, 
lago. Villainous whore ! 

Emil. She give it Cassio ! no, alas ! I found 
it, 230 

And I did give't my husband. 
lago. Filth, thou liest! 

Emil. By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentle- 
men. 
O murd'rous coxcomb ! what should such a 

fool 

Do with so good a woman? 

0th. Are there no stones in heaven 

But what serve for the thunder? — Precious 

villain ! 235 

[He runs at lago: lago, from behind, stabs 

Emilia, and exit.] 

Gra. The woman falls; sure, he hath kill'd his 

wife. 
Emil. Ay, ay: O, lay me by my mistress' side. 
Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd. 
Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this 
weapon. 
Which I have here recover'd from the Moor: 
Come, guard the door without; let him not 
pass,* 241 



593 



48 



OTHELLO 



[act v. SC. II. 



But kill him rather. I'll after that same vil- 
lain. 
For 'tis a damned slave. 

Exit [•with Gratiano.] 
th. I am not valiant neither, 

But every puny whipster gets my sword. 
But why should honour outlive honesty.^ 245 
Let it go all. 
Emil. What did thy song bode, lady? 

Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the 

swan. 
And die in music. [Singing] 'Willow, wil- 
low, willow.' — 
Moor, she was chaste; she lov'd thee, cruel 

Moor ; 
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true; 250 
So speaking as I think, I die, I die. [Dies.] 
0th. I have another weapon in this chamber; 
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's tem- 

jDer : — 
O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth. 
Gra. [Within] If thou attempt it, it will cost 
thee dear: 255 

Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must 
suffer. 
0th. Look in upon me then and speak with 
me. 
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 

Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. What is the matter? 

0th. Behold, I have a weapon; 

A better never did itself sustain. 260 

Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day, 
That, with this little arm and this good sword, 
I have made my way through more impedi- 
ments 
Than twenty times your stop: but, O vain 

boast ! 
Who can control his fate? 'tis not so now. 265 
Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd ; 
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt. 
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 
Do you go back dismay'd? 'tis a lost fear; 
Man but a rush against Othello's breast, 270 
And he retires. Where should Othello go? 
Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd 

wench ! 
Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at 

compt. 
This look of thine will hurl my soul from 
heaven. 



And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my 
girl ! 275 

Even like thy chastity. O cursed slave ! 
Whip me, ye devils. 

From the possession of this heavenly sight! 
Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur ! 
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! 280 
O Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead ! 
Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! 

Enter Lodovico, Cassio [carried in a chair], 
Montana, and I ago [prisoner] , with Offi- 



Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate 

man? 
0th. That's he that was Othello: here I am. 
Lod, Where is that viper? bring the villain 
forth. 28s 

0th. I look down towards his feet; but that's a 
fable. 
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. 

[Wounds lago.] 
Lod. Wrench his sword from him. 
lago. I bleed, sir; but not kill'd. 

0th. I am not sorry neither: I'ld have thee live; 
For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 290 
Lod. O thou Othello, that was once so good, 
Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave. 
What shall be said to thee? 
0th. Why, any thing: 

An honourable murtherer, if you will; 
For nought I did in hate, but all in honour. 295 
Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his vil- 
lainy : 
Did you and he consent in Cassio's death ? 
0th. Ay. 

Cas. Dear general, I never gave you cause. 
0th. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. 300 
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil 
Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body ? 
lago. Demand me nothing: what you know, you 
know: 
From this time forth I never will speak word. 
Lod. What, not to pray? 

Gra. Torments will ope your lips. 305 

0th. Well, thou dost best. 

Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath be- 
fall'n. 
Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a 

letter 
Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo; 



594 



ACT V. SC. 



11.] 



OTHELLO 



49 



And here another: the one of them imports 310 

The death of Cassio to be undertook 

By Roderigo. 
0th. O villain! 

Cas. Most heathenish and most gross ! 

Lod. Now here's another discontented paper. 

Found in his pocket too; and this^, it seems, 

Roderigo meant to have sent this damned vil- 
lain ; 315 

But that belike lago in the interim 

Came in and satisfied him. 
0th. O the pernicious caitiff! 

How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 

That was my wife's ? 
Cas. I found it in my chamber: 320 

And he himself confess'd but even now 

That there he dropp'd it for a special pur- 
pose 

Which wrought to his desire. 
0th. O fool! fool! fool! 

Cas. There is besides in Roderigo's letter. 

How he upbraids lago, that he made him 325 

Brave me upon the watch; whereon it came 

That I was cast: and even but now he spake, 

After long seeming dead, lago hurt him, 

lago set him on. 
Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with 
us : 330 

Your power and your command is taken off. 

And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave. 

If there be any cunning cruelty 

That can torment him much and hold him 
long. 

It shall be his. You shall close prisoner 
rest, 335 

Till that the nature of your fault be known 

To the Venetian state. Come, bring him 
away. 
0th. Soft you; a word or two before you go. 

I have done the state some service, and they 
know't. 

No more of that. I pray you, in your let- 
ters, 340 



When you shall these unlucky deeds relate. 
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate. 
Nor set down aught in malice: then must you 

speak 
Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well; 
Of one not easily jealious, but being wrought 
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand. 
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away 347 
Richer than all his tribe; of one whose sub- 
dued eyes. 
Albeit unused to the melting mood. 
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 350 
Their medicinable gum. Set you down this; 
And say besides, that in Aleppo once. 
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk 
Beat a Venetian and traduc'd the state, 
I took by the throat the circumcised dog, 355 
And smote him, thus. \^Stahs himself.'] 

Lod. O bloody period ! 

Gra. All that is spoke is marr'd. 

0th. I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee: no way but 
this ; 
Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. 

[Falls on the bed, and] dies. 

Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had no 

weapon ; 360 

For he was great of heart. 

Lod. [To lago] O Spartan dog. 

More fell than anguish, hunger, or the 

sea! 
Look on the tragic loading of this bed; 
This is thy work: the object poisons sight; 
Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house, 365 
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
For they succeed on you. To you, lord gov- 
ernor. 
Remains the censure of this hellish villain ; 
The time, the place, the torture: O, enforce 

it! 
Myself will straight aboard; and to the 
state 370 

This heavy act with heavy heart relate. 

Ea;eunt. 



FINIS. 



595 



50 



OTHELLO 



NOTES 



F indicates the text of the play in the First Folio 
edition of Shakespeare, 1623; Q, the first Quarto of 
Othello, 1622. The second quarto when especially 
alluded to is called 'Q 1630.' Acts and scenes are 
carefully indicated in F; acts only (omitting Act 
III) in Q. 

Names of the Actors] so F, which gives the list at 
the close of the play. Bracketed words added by 
the present editor. 

ACT I 

i. 1 Never] F ; Tush, never Q. 

4 'Sblood] om. F. The word is an oath, con- 
tracted from 'God's blood.' The use of such pro- 
fanity on the stage was illegal after 1605 (see 
note on Merchant of Venice I. ii. 121), and ob- 
jectionable words are nearly always omitted by 
F; but Q, based on a less carefully revised manu- 
script, retains them. In the present text they are 
kept, usually without further comment. It is, how- 
ever, an open question whether all these oaths be- 
long to the original manuscript of Shakespeare 
or whether many of them were gratuitously in- 
serted by the actors with the idea of making the 
lines 'stronger.' 

10 Off-capp'd, doffed their caps in token of sub- 
servience. 

13 bombast circumstance, pompous rigmarole. 
'Bombast' was a cheap cotton wool much used for 
padding Elizabethan garments. 

16 Nonsuits, puts out of court, repulses. 

21 A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife, a fa- 
mous 'crux,' still unexplained. Perhaps 'wife' may 
be taken in the general sense of 'woman' and the 
line interpreted: Cassio is a fellow so unsoldierly 
that his qualities would be almost condemnable in 
a fair lady. 

24 bookish theoric, book-knowledge of war. 

25 tog-ed] Q; tongued F, 'Toged consuls' means 
counselors wearing the toga or dress of peace. 
The reading of F is quite defensible. 

30 Christian] Q; Christen'd F. 

be-lee'd and calm'd, held back; a nautical meta- 
phor. 

31 debitor and creditor, one skilled in keeping ac- 
counts of debit and credit, a book-keeper. 

counter-caster. Counters were used to assist the 
memory in problems of mental arithmetic. 

32 in g-ood time, a scornful exclamation similar to 
?^rench 'a la bonne heure!' 

33 ancient, the same word as ensign; here used of 
the third in command. The actual rank of lago (an- 
cient) and Cassio (lieutenant) is, of course, higher 
than that indicated by the titles to-day, for they 
are immediately subordinate to the commanding 
general or 'captain' (Othello). Compare the Bibli- 
cal use of captain as commander-in-chief. 

39 affin'd, bound by a tie, obliged. 
50 visages, external appearances. 



63 compliment extern, outward ceremony. 

66 owe, possess. 

72 chances] F; changes Q. 

81 S. D.] Brabantio at a window Q; Bra. Above F 

(before next line). 
86 'Zounds, (God)'s wounds. See note on line 4. 
90 snorting, snoring. 
100 bravery, bravado. F reads 'knavery,' which is 

nearly as good. 
103 spirit . . . them] Q; spirits . . .their F. 
106 grange, secluded farm-house. 

114 gennets, small Spanish or Moorish horses; usually 
spelled 'jennets.' 

germans, cousins-german, near relatives. 
122-138 If't be . . . satisfy yourself] om. Q. 
128 your allowance, be what you allow or approve. 
137 extravagant and wheeling, vagrant and wander- 
ing. 
141 tinder, tinder-box. 
147 produc'd, brought forward as a witness. F reads 

'producted.' 
148-150 the state . . . Cannot with safety cast him. 
One of the rules of the Venetian state was that 
their armies should not be commanded by a na- 
tive of Venice, lest he use his military power to 
advance his personal ambition. Hence foreign gen- 
erals were in demand, 
cast, dismiss. 
151 the Cyprus wars. Cyprus was under the pro- 
tection of Venice for just a century, 1471-1571. 
In the latter year the Venetian forces were dis- 
lodged by the Turks. The date of the play is 
doubtless to be thought of as just previous to this 
period. 
159 the Sagittary, probably an inn. 
183 officers of night] Q; officers of might F. 

ii. 2 stuff o' the conscience, conscience itself; the 

actual material as opposed to subsidiary trimmings 

and ornaments. 
12 magnifico, the contemporary name of the 

grandees of Venice. Brabantio is meant. 
13, 14 a voice potential As double as the duke's, a 

voice or influence which in power carries a double 

weight like that of the duke. 
22 siege, rank, station. 
28 S. D. Torches, torch-bearers. 
33 By Janus. See note on Merchant of Venice I. i. 

50. The oath by the double-faced Roman god has, 

of course, a special appropriateness in lago's 

mouth. 

40 heat, hot haste. 

41 seqiiient, successive. 

50 carack, a large merchant vessel. 

65] om. Q. 

70 guardage, guarded security. 

72-77 Judge me . . . attach thee] om. Q. 

72 gross in sense, obvious in reason. 

75 weakens, the common plural in -s, originally a 
feature of the northern English dialect, but fre-' 
quent in standard Elizabethan English. 



596 



OTHELLO 



51 



78 For] F; Sucn Q. See note on lines 7^-77. 

84 Where] Q; Whether F. 'Whether' is a common 
spelling of 'whither,' and 'where' is here probably 
only the contract form of this word, 'whe'r.' 

iii. 4 a hundred forty, a hundred and forty. Q gives 
the latter reading. 
5 jump, agree, 
just, equal. 

14 makes for Rhodes. The island of Rhodes had 
really been captured by the Turks in 1530. From 
there was made the attack on Cj'prus. 

18 assay, test. 

23 more facile question, easier struggle or trial. 

35 after, in the rear. 

56 flood-gate, torrent; here used as an adjective. 

61 mountebanks. See note on Hamlet IV. vii. 143. 

64 Sains, without. Shakespeare is fond of this 
French preposition. 

80 head and front, the most glaring part; a meta- 
phor from two antagonists facing each other, fore- 
head (front) to forehead. 

84 some nine moons wasted, some nine months past. 

94 I won. The construction of these words is not 
logical. The meaning is: I won his daughter with, 
or, I employed to win his daughter. 
106 Duke] Q. F omits the speaker's name and thus 

continues the speech to Brabantio. 
130 battles . . . fortunes] Q; battle . . . fortune F. 

139 portance, deportment. 

my traveller's history, my nomad story. Most 
editors substitute 'my travels' history' from Q, 
which gives a flatter meaning. 

140 antres, caves. 

145 Do grow . . . This] Q; Grew . . . These things 

F. 
155 intentively] Q; instinctively F. Tntentively' 

and 'attentively' were synonyms in Shakespeare's 

time. 
159 sighs] Q; kisses F. This is one of the dozen 

cases in which the Q text corrects a great error 

in F. 
191 get, beget. 
197 escape, escapade. 
200 grise. Properly a plural form, meaning a flight 

of steps; connected with Latin gradus. 
227 slubber, sully. 
232 agnize, confess. 

238 exhibition, income or allowance. The word is 
still used at Oxford of the allowance granted by 
the colleges to certain scholars. 

239 besort, company. 

240 levels with, is equal with, suits. 

240,241 If you please, Be't] Q; Why F (perhaps 

better). 
242 Nor I; I would not] Q; Nor would I F. 
249 did love] Q; love F. 

257 a moth of peace, one who frets in the midst of 
peace. 

258 for which] Q; for why F (perhaps better). 

264 young affects, inclinations of youth. 

265 proper, personal. 
267 defend, forbid. 

270 seel, close; a hawking term used of a falcon's 
eyes, which were fastened shut in order to tame it. 



271 My speculative and offic'd instrument, my 
watchful and responsible brain. 

325, 326 set hyssop and weed up thyme. The two 
herbs were commonly grown together; therefore to 
plant the one and destroy the other is an example 
of captious wilfulness on the gardener's part. 

343, 344 perdurable, very durable. 

346 defeat thy favour, disguise your face. 

347 usurped, false. 

352 sequestration, separation. 

356, 357 coloquintida, colocynth, a bitter drug, 

379 Traverse, march. 

398 a proper man, a good-looking man. 

399 plume up, deck with plumes, glorify. 

ACT II 

i. 16 molestation, disturbance. 

18 embay 'd, sheltered in a bay. 

26 A Veronesa. The meaning of these words is 
uncertain. Most modern editors take them as re- 
ferring to the ship, perhaps one fitted out by the 
citizens of Verona, an inland town subject to 
Venice. The early editions place a colon before 
the words and a comma after, thus throwing them 
with 'Michael Cassio'; but Cassio is elsewhere said 
to be a Florentine. 

40 regard, view. The meaning of the passage is, 
strain the eyes for a glimpse of Othello's vessel 
till the gazers can no longer distinguish between 
sea (main) and sky. 

42 arrivance, arrival; spelled *Arrivancie' in F. 

43 this] Q; the F. 

51 stand in bold cure, feel confident of realiza- 
tion. 

63 quirks, subtleties, blazoning, descriptive. 

64 th' essential vesture of creation, the essence 
with which creation has invested her, her actual 
self. 

65 ingener, contriver, the inventor of artificial 
praises; spelled 'Ingeniuer' in F. 

82 And bring all Cyprus comfort] om. F. 

113 housewifery . . . housewives] Huswiferie . . . 
Huswiues F. Pronounce 'hussifry . . . hussives.' 
The modern 'hussy' is the same word as 'house- 
wife,' and it illustrates both the pronunciation and 
the derogatory suggestion which lago intends. 

124 The thing I am; i. e., my sadness. 

127 frize, a coarse woolen cloth. 

139 fond, foolish. 

141 foul, ugly. 

148 vouch, favorable testimony. 

161 chronicle small beer, keep a domestic 'chronicle' 
or account-book, in which the petty household ex- 
penditures are recorded. 

193 absolute, complete. 

203 set down the pegs, loosen the keys; hence, de- 
stroy the harmony. 

226 and will she] Q; To F. 

232 favour, face. 

237 heave the gorge, vomit. 

243 conscionable, conscientious. 

245 compassing] Q; compass F. The latter may be 
correct. See IV. ii. 224. 

247 slipper, slippery. 



597 



52 



OTHELLO 



266.267 mutualities] Q; mutabilities F. 

282. 283 qualification, a])peasing. 

296 apt and of great credit, natural and very cred- 
ible. 

312 whom I trash. 'Trash' was a hunting term, 
signifying the checking of a dog by tying a weight 
to him. The word is due to Steevens; F gives 
'trace' and Q 'crush.' 

315 right] F; rank Q. 

ii. 3 mere perdition, total loss. 

6 addition, rank, position in life. Q reads 'mind.' 
Most modern editors follow the later (1630) 
quarto, which has 'addiction.' 

iii. No new scene is indicated in F, and none would 

be required on the Elizabethan stage. 

2 stop, check. 
30 a stoup, a two-quart measure. 
41 qualified, diluted. 
49 dislikes, displeases. 

56 Potations pottle-deep, draughts to the bottom 
of the pottle or two-quart measure. 

57 Three else, three others. Q reads 'Three lads.' 
59 The very elements, the essential embodiments. 
66 rouse, bumper, 

92 and-a, a meaningless ballad mannerism. See 
Tioelfth Night V. i. 398. Lines 93-99 are from 
an old English ballad printed in Percy's Beliques 
under the title, 'Take thy old Cloak about thee' 
(stanza 7). 

120 speak] Q; I speak F. 

129 just, precise. 

135 watch the horologe a double set, remain awake 
through two revolutions of the clock, twenty-four 
hours. 

152 a twig-gen bottle, apparently a bottle covered 
with wicker-work. Booth suggested that 'beat . . . 
bottle' means 'slash him till he resembles a "Chi- 
anti" bottle covered with straw network,' a doubt- 
ful interpretation. 

156 mazzard, head. 

163 Fie, fie] F; God's will Q. See note on I. i. 4. 

176 propriety, natural or proper state. 

180 In quarter, on friendly terms. 

206 collied, darkened; literally made black as with 
coal. 

211 approv'd, proved guilty. 

218 partially affin'd, bound by partiality. See I. i. 
39. 

224 Thus] Q; This F. 

252 now] om. F. 

301 moraler, moralist. 

317 approved, made proof of. See line 211. 

323 denotement] Theobald; dcvotement Q F. 'De- 
notement' is taken to mean 'indication.' 

329 any lay, any wager. 

344 Probal, probable, plausible. 

358 suggest, tempt. 

392 jump, precisely. 

ACT III 

i. 4 speak i' the nose. The Neapolitan dialect of 
Italian was noted for its nasal pronunciation. 



25 quillets, verbal subtleties. 

27 general's wife] Q; general F. 

32 Do, good my friend] om. F. 

38 presently, immediately. 

49 affinity, family influence. 

52 To take . . . front] om. F. This line is a para- 
phrase of the proverb, 'To take time by the fore- 
lock.' For 'front' in the sense of brow, forehead, 
see I. iii. 80 and note. 

iii. 23 watch him tame, a figure from the taming 
of hawks, M'hich were subdued by being kept from 
sleep. 

66 their] Rowe; her Q F. 

70 mammering, hesitating. 

82 poise, weight; French poids is related to this 
word. 

90 wretch, a term of endearment. 

94 you] Q; he F. 

106, 107 By heaven, he echoes me . . . his thought] 
Q; Alas, thou echoest me . . . thy thought F. It 
is not easy to decide which of these readings is 
preferable. The 1630 quarto reads, 'Why dost thou 
echo me . . . thy thought?' 
123 close delations, secret accusations. 

135 free to] Q; free F (with a colon after 'that'). 

136 vild, vile; the regular form of the word in F. 
138, 139 a breast so pure. But] Q; that breast so 

pure. Wherein F. 

140 leets and law-days. The two words are syno- 
nyms. 

145 vicious, erroneous. 

166, 167 doth mock The meat it feeds on, plays 
with, tantalizes, its victim. 

173 fineless, endless, infinite. 

182 exsufflicate, puff'ed up. 

183 jealious, the regular spelling in F. Q prefers 
the modern form. 

198 eye] Q; eyes F. 

200 self-bounty, inward goodness. 

201 country, native. So in line 237. 
210 seel. See note on I. iii. 270. 
225 honest, virtuous. 

238 happily, haply, perhaps. 

253 busy, meddlesome. 

258 qualities] Q; quantities F. 

260 haggard, a wild female hawk, difficult to tame. 

261 jesses, the straps about the legs by which the 
hawk was fastened. 

265 chamberers, gallants. 

278 0, then heaven mocks] Q; heaven mock'd F. 

280 generous, noble, well-born; used in the sense 
of Latin generostis. 

296 have the work ta'en out, have the embroidery 
copied. 

302 A thing] Q; You have a thing F. 

319 Be not acknown on't, do not confess it. 

330 mandragora, the mandrake root, which has nar- 
cotic qualities. 

333 owedst. See note on I. i. QQ. 

338 sense, perception. 

of her] Q; in her F. 

346 Pioners, miners. 

350 makes. See note on I. ii. 75. 

355 mortal engines, death-dealing machines, cannon. 



598 



OTHELLO 



53 



376 liv'st] Q; lov'st F. 

379 profit, profitable experience. 

383-390 0th. By the world . . . satisfied] om. Q. 

386 Her name] Q 1630; My name F (perhaps bet- 
ter). 

395 supervisor] Q; supervision F (i. e., 'would you 
have the supervision?' which may be the correct 
reading) . 

408 may] Q; might F. 

428 a foregone conchision, a previous act; not as 
commonly understood. 

440 any that] Malone; any, it Q F (perhaps 'yt' in 
the poet's manuscript). 

447 thy hollow cell] Q; the hollow hell F. 

449 fraught, freight, contents. 

450 aspics' tongues, fangs of asps (serpents). 
452 perhaps] om. F. 

453-460. lago. Like to . . . yond marble heaven] 

om, Q. 
455 Ne'er feels retiring ebb. Shakespeare probably 

learned of the absence of tides in the Pontic or 

Black Sea from a passage in Philemon Holland's 

translation of Pliny (1601). 
459 capable, comprehensive. 
464 clip, embrace, enclose. 

iv. 26 crusadoes, Portuguese gold coins, so called 
from bearing the image of a cross {cruz). Their 
value was about that of the English 'noble,' be- 
tween six and seven shillings. 
40 sequester, separation. 

46 the hearts of old gave hands, formerly hands 
were given in marriage by true impulse of the 
heart, 

47 hands, not hearts, formal marriages in which 
hands are joined without any movement of the 
hearts. 

51 sorry rheum, distressing discharge (of eyes or 
nose). 

offends, which offends or irritates. The omis- 
sion of the relative is common. 

56 Did an Egyptian . . . give. See V. ii. 217 and 
note. 
64 wiv'd] F; wive Q. 

119 But to know, merely to know. 

125 favour. See notes on I. iii. 346 and II. i. 233. 

128 blank, bull's eye of a target; so called from 
being white (blanc). 

137 can he be] Q; is F. 

163 that] Q; the F (perhaps correct). 

173 keep a week away. This is perhaps the most 
striking illustration of the so-called phenomenon 
of 'double time' in Othello. Prof. John Wilson 
(Christopher North) first pointed out that this 
play contains two quite separate and irreconcil- 
able sets of time allusions, the one having the 
purpose of suggesting tremendous rapidity of 
movement, while the other gives the impression of 
gradual and leisurely development. References 
in the text make it quite clear, on the one hand, 
that the entire course of the play from the open- 
ing of Act II occupied only a little over twenty- 
four hours; that the principal characters all landed 
in Cyprus on a Saturday afternoon and that the 
tragedy was completed the next night (Sunday). 



Yet in the present passage Bianca reproaches Cas- 
sio, who arrived only the day before, for keeping 
a week away from her house in Cyprus. Again 
in III. iii. 292, Emilia says that she has been 
wooed to steal the handkerchief 'a hundred times' 
by lago, whose plan of action was still 'confused' 
and vague on the previous afternoon (II. i. 320). 
So too, lago tells Othello (III. iii. 113) that he 
'lay with Cassio lately,' though the two have 
come to Cyprus on different ships and Cassio has 
not been to bed since their arrival (III. i. 33-35). 
It is interesting to note the many other conflict- 
ing indications of lapse of time. The confusion, 
which appears also, in rather less striking degree, 
in Macbeth, Merchant of Venice, and other plays, 
seems to be an intentional dramatic device of 
Shakespeare. By means of it he is enabled to 
give the impression of rapid movement required 
for stage effect without sacrificing the naturalness 
of regular and gradual development. 

174 Eight score eight, eight score and eight, one 
hundred and sixty-eight; the number of hours in a 
week. 

178 continuate, uninterrupted. 

180 take me this work out. See note on III. iii. 
296. 

ACT IV 

i. 21 infectious, disease-laden. Q reads 'infected,' 

but in Winter's Tale III. ii. 99, Shakespeare uses 

'infectious' again in the same sense. 
28 convinced, overcome; referring to the objects of 

'importunate suit' (line 26). 

supplied, satisfied; referring to those who show 

'voluntary dotage.' 
38-44 To confess, and be hanged ... devil] 

om. Q. 
42 shakes. See note on I. ii. 75. 
53 No, forbear] Q; om. F. 
65 civil, citizen; an adjective. 

69 unproper, not private. 

70 peculiar, owned by one exclusively. 

76 in a patient list, within the limits of patience; 

'list' is properly the border or selvage of cloth. 
78 unsuiting] Q; resulting F. 
80 ecstasy, bewilderment. 
95 housewife. See note on II. i. 113. 
102 construe] Rowe; conserue F (misprint); con- 

ster Q. 
105 addition, title. See II. 11. 6. 
122 her] Q; om. F. 
150 fitchew, pole-cat. 

224 his undertaker, the one who undertakes his case. 
The present technical use of the word was not 
known in Shakespeare's time. 
227,228 Printed as in Q; F gives the lines as prose, 

with slight differences of wording. 
244 T' atone, to make at one, reconcile. 
257 falls, lets fall; a transitive verb. 
285 use, custom. 
287 this fault] Q; his fault F. 

ii. 3 she. The loose use of nominative instead of 
objective pronouns was sanctioned by habit in 
Shakespeare's time. 



599 



54 



OTHELLO 



27 function, profession. Othello ironically pretends 
to take Emilia for a professional bawd. 

30 mystery, trade; an old word derived from Latin 
miniaierium, office. Not connected with the famil- 
iar modern word. 

47 Why] Q; om. F. 

48 they, referring to 'heaven', which is thought of 
as a collective noun, tlie celestial powers. 

54, 55 A difficult passage, here given as in F. Q 
reads 'A fixed figure' and 'slow unmoving fiti(/ers.' 
The idea seems to be that Othello is a station- 
ary, conspicuous figure at which tlie scornful gos- 
sip of his age will point like the slowly moving 
haiul of a clock. 'Slow and moving,' hendiadys for 
'slowly moving,' is more poetic and more sensible 
than 'slow unmoving,' which most editors have 
adopted. 

62 gender, engender, multiply. 

63 cherubin, really a plural form, cherubs, but not 
so intended by the poet. 

64 there] Capell; here Q F. 

91 Saint Peter, who kept the gate of heaven. 

92 keep] Rowe; keeps Q F. 

104 go by water, express themselves in tears. 

117 As . . . bear] Q; That . . . bear it F. 

119 says] Q; said F. 

121 callet, a coarse woman; literally, a little quail. 

132 cogging, deceiving; cozening has the same mean- 
ing. 

144 within door, so as not to be heard out of doors, 
quietlv. 

148 good] Q; Alas F. 

156 Or that I do not yet. The meaning is com- 
plete without 'not,' which is used as in similar 
French constructions because of the general nega- 
tive force of the clause. 

163 addition. See note on II. ii. 6. 

167 And he does chide with you] om. F. 

170 stays the meat, stay for supper. For 'stays' as 
a plural form see note on I. ii. 75. 

222 engines, plots. 

iii. 12 incontinent, immediately. 
13 He] Q; And F. 
21 in them] om. F. 
23 Good faith] Q; good Father F. 

28 a song of 'willow,' an old song of which one 
version, containing lines closely parallel to those 
Desdemona sings, is given in Percy's Reliques. 

31-53 I have much to do . . . that's not next] 

om. Q. 
31, 32 I have much to do. But to go hang, it is as 

much as I can do to refrain from hanging. 
41 sighing] Q 1630; singing F. 
55-57 I call'd . . . moe men] om. Q. 
57 moe, more, other. 
63 kind, manner. 
73 joint-ring, ring made in separate halves, which 

would join together. 
75 exhibition. See note on I. iii. 238. 
92 having, allowance. 
in despite, maliciously. 



ACT V 

i. 1 bulk] Q; Barke F. 'Bulk' is defined as the 
projecting part of a shop. It has been plausibly 
conjectured that the true reading is 'balk,' a post. 
11 quat, pimple; a contemptuous word for the irri- 
tating Roderigo. 

to the sense, to the quick. 
16 bobb'd, filched. 

31-36 Ingleby denies that these lines are by Shake- 
speare, and thinks that Othello was not meant to 
appear in this scene. The speech is hardly worthy 
of Othello. 
42 it is a] Q; 'Tis F. 
69 I cry you mercy, I beg your pardon. 
78 notable, notorious. 

90 heaven] Q; Yes, 'tis F. See note on I. i. 4. 
98 well said, well 'sayed, well done. 
106 gastness, terror. 
129 fordoes, undoes. 

ii. S. D. A typical old stage direction. The brack- 
eted words are from Q. The drawing of the cur- 
tain in front of the rear stage reveals Desdemona 
in bed asleep. 

15 thee, Desdemona's breath or life. Q reads 'it' 
and in line 13 'the rose.' 

52 presently, at once. F omits 'Yes.' 

63 stone, petrify. 

75 stomach, appetite. 
127 heard] Q; hear F. 

144 such another world, another world like this. 

145 chrysolite, a precious stone of a green color. 
147 told me] Q; told me on her F. 

177 apt. See note on II. i. 296. 

183 charm your tongue, silence it immediately, as 
if by magic. A favorite trick of magicians was 
to charm speakers dumb. 

192 I thought so then. See IV. ii. 130-133. 

209 reprobance, reprobation of God. 

212 a thousand times committed. See note on III. 
iv. 173. 

214 recognizance, token; a legal word. 

217 My father gave my mother. Compare III. iv. 
55, 56, where an Egyptian 'charmer' is said to have 
given the handkerchief. In the earlier passage 
Othello is probably exaggerating the mystic value 
of the handkerchief in order to intensify the im- 
portance of its loss. 

220 as liberal as the north, as freely as the north 
wind. 

234 stones in heaven. Thunder was supposed to be 
associated with the falling of stones from the sky. 
See Julius Ccrsar I. iii. 49 and note. 

251 I die, I die] Q; alas, I die F. 

286 I look down toward his feet, to see the cloven 
hoof that marks the devil. 

292 practice, fraud. 

327 cast, dismissed. See I. i. 150. 

347 Indian] Q; Judean F. There has been much 
discussion of the respective claims of the two 
words. No particular Indian seems to be meant. 

351 medicinable. Pronounce 'med'cinable.' 



600 



KING LEAR 



Of all the themes selected by Shakespeare for 
treatment in tragedy, that of King Lear was most 
familiar to the reading public of his day. Originally, 
doubtless, an old wives' tale, it became a part of 
the popular history of early Britain by Geoffrey 
of Monmouth (1135), and was accepted as truth 
until the tinie of John Milton. All the impor- 
tant chronicles gave full space to it, notably that 
of Raphael Holinshed (1577, second edition, 1587). 
Its popularity is proved by versions of the tale in 
the Gesta Bomanorum, the chief story-book of the 
later Middle Ages. In Elizabethan poetry it had al- 
ready found a secure place, in The Mirror for Mag- 
istrates (1574), Albion's England, by William War- 
ner (1586), and notably in The Faerie Queene, by 
Edmund Spenser (1590). Of these later versions 
of the story only the poem last named seems to 
have been used by Shakespeare; from it he adopted 
the name Cordelia for his heroine. In Holinshed it 
was Cordilla. 

King Lear is also unique among the tragedies of 
Shakespeare in being based, for the greater part of 
its story, upon an earlier play which has survived, 
The True Chronicle History of King Leir, printed 
in 1605, but written earlier. In this play, however, 
we have, as the title suggests, a mere dramatization 
— ^with some ability, it is true — of the pseudo-his- 
torical narrative. A brief summary of the plot will 
indicate Shakespeare's indebtedness to the earlier 
play. 

King Leir announces to his court that his daugh- 
ters are to be married and to inherit his kingdom. 
One of his counselors, Skalliger, proposes the ques- 
tion of love as a scale in which to weigh their dow- 
ries. The two older sisters then plot to flatter the 
father, and Cordelia replies in words which recall 
Shakespeare's: 

"I cannot paint my duty forth in words, 
. I hope my deeds shall make report for me: 
But look what love the child doth owe the father. 
The same to you I bear, my gracious lord." 

Leir in anger, then divides his kingdom between 
Gonorill and Ragan. Perillus, in whom we recog- 



nize Shakespeare's conception of Kent, protests 
against this injustice, but is silenced. Cordelia, 
disinherited and driven from court, is met by the 
king of Gallia in disguise, and is wooed and won by 
him. On the day of her wedding her sisters are mar- 
ried to the Dukes of Cornwall and Cambria. 

Counseled by Skalliger, Gonorill decides to limit 
her father's allowances, and the distressed Leir se- 
cretly departs to dwell with Ragan. Ragan, set 
on by Gonorill, then plots the assassination of her 
father; but the assassin is frightened away by the 
divine interposition of a terrifying thunder storm. 
Leir and his faithful Perillus escape to Brittany and 
meet Cordelia, who is in disguise and is not recog- 
nized by the old king. The dialogue which follows 
contains a hint of the pathos which distinguishes 
the like scene in Shakespeare's play. 

Cor. But look, dear father, look, behold, and see 
Thy loving daughter speaketh unto thee. 

She kneels. 
Leir. O, stand thou up, it is my part to kneel. 
And ask forgiveness for my former faults. 

He kneels. 
Cor. O, if you wish I should enjoy my breath, 
Dear father rise, or I receive my death. 

He riseth. 
Leir. Then I will rise, to satisfy your mind. 
But kneel again, till pardon be resigned. 

He kneels. 
Cor. I pardon you, the word beseems not me: 
But I do say so, for to ease your knee: 
You gave me life, you were the cause that I 
Am what I am, who else had never been. 

Shortly after, the Gallian king sails to Britain, and 
after an interchange of abuse by the three sisters, 
puts the Dukes of Cornwall and Cambria to flight 
and reinstates Leir in his kingdom. 

Such, briefly, is the main outline of the historical 
comedy upon which the mightiest of tragedies was 
founded. 

It is a curious fact that the chief claim of this 
play as literature lies in the portrait of Cordelia, the 
one character to which Shakespeare gave the briefest 
possible space. Of one or two details in language 



601 



KING LEAR 



we catch possible reminiscences in Shakespeare's lines, 
chiefly in two or three figures of speech, such as the 
reference to the pelican (IIL iv. 71). Of the various 
plays utilized b}' Shakespeare, one feels that King 
Leir approaches closest to genuine interest as com- 
edy; and it is a proof of the complete dramatiza- 
tion which has taken place in Shakespeare's work, 
that hardly an echo of this romantic comedy re- 
mains. The setting, from beginning to end, is re- 
lentlessly tragic. 

The underplot of Lear, the story of Gloucester and 
his two sons, used by Shakespeare as commentary 
upon the main theme, was taken from Sir Philip Sid- 
ney's "Arcadia" (1590) ; there the story is told of 
the blind prince of the country of Paphlagonia, who 
is abused by his unkind, illegitimate son to the very 
verge of self-destruction, and rescued by his kind 
and true son as the father is about to leap over the 
precipice. In Sidney's tale the story occupies but a 
few pages, as a mere episode in a pastoral romance, 
and the characters are wholly undeveloped, Shake- 
speare's devoted labors in interweaving this story 
with the tale of Lear and Cordelia show, perhaps 
more clearly than any other single contrivance of 
his, his genuine interest in problems of dramatic con- 
struction. 

All else in this tragedy may safely be concluded 
to have been original with Shakespeare. The mad- 
ness of Lear; the disguise of Tom of Bedlam; the 
villainy of Edmund; and the supremely tragic scenes 
with the Fool are all additions to the story for which 
no source has been found. The great dramatist's 
most original contribution is, however, the atmosphere 
of poetic tragedy with which the whole story is in- 
vested. 

THE DATE— The play may be dated with fair 
certainty between the years 1603 and 1606. The Dec- 
laration of Egregious Popish Impostures by Dr. Hars- 
nett, was published in 1603. From this book Shake- 
speare apparently derived the names of the devils 
and some other ravings of Edgar's Tom of Bed- 
lam. This, therefore, probably gives the earliest 
possible date. An entry in the Stationers' Registers, 
November 26, 1607, states that King Lear had been 
acted by the King's players before James I on De- 
cember 26 of the previous year. This gives the lat- 
est possible date. Some, however, have suggested 
still closer limits. King Leir, the old play, was pub- 
lished in 1605; its appearance has been thought to be 
due to the popularity of Shakespeare's tragedy. In 
the same year, October, 1605, occurred eclipses of 
the sun and moon, to which it is believed that Ed- 



mund makes reference in Act I, Scene ii. It is likely 
also, that a play selected for Christmas performance 
before the king must be of recent appearance. Met- 
rical tests confirm this evidence, and place the play 
between Othello and Macbeth. 

TEXT — King Lear was printed in 1608 in a quarto 
which, for the sake of distinction, has been called 
"The Pied Bull" edition from the sign of the shop 
at which it was first sold. This edition was re- 
printed in 1619 by Thomas Pavier and his associates, 
who, however, to give their reprint the appearance 
of authority, repeated the date of 1608 falsely upon 
their title-page. The quarto thus printed formed one 
of nine Shakespearean quartos which were bound as 
a single volume in 1619. The only other edition of 
the play is that of the folio of 1623, which has been 
taken as the basis of the present edition. The first 
quarto contains at least 300 lines which do not ap- 
pear in the folio; the folio, on the other hand, con- 
tains at least 100 lines that are not in the quartos. 
It is difficult to say whether either version represents 
the form of the play which was really acted, but 
it is not improbable that the play was performed 
with some cuts, such as these omissions indicate. 
Some scholars have thought that the omissions in 
the folio are the work of the poet himself, and it 
is certain that these omissions involve little which is 
indispensable to the play as a whole. The passages 
found only in the quarto have been marked with a 
dagger wherever they occur, an asterisk indicating 
the place where the folio text resumes. 

CRITICAL COMMENT— Most readers of the play 
have confirmed Dr. Johnson's comment: "The trag- 
edy of Lear is deservedly celebrated among the 
dramas of Shakespeare. There is, perhaps, no play 
which keeps the attention so strongly fixed; which so 
much agitates our passions and interests our curi- 
osity." Hazlitt called it "the best of Shakespeare's 
plays, for it is the one in which he was the most 
in earnest. He was here fairly caught in the web 
of his own imagination." From the time of the 
earliest critics, however. King Lear has been praised 
as poetry rather than as drama. Addison was alone 
in his day in preferring Shakespeare's ending to 
Tate's; Dr. Johnson sided with the public in desiring 
Cordelia to retire "with victory and felicity." Lamb 
considered Lear "impossible to be represented on a 
stage." The highest praise of the play has come 
from poets. Keats loved "the bitter-sweet of this 
Shakespearean- fruit." Shelley, with but a single 
qualification, considered it "the most perfect speci- 
men of the dramatic art existing in the world." The 



602 



INTRODUCTION 



judgments of the present support him. Maeterlinck 
says; "It surpasses all (^Prometheus, (Edipus Tyran- 
nus, Orestes) in the mass, the rarity, the density, 
the strange mobility, the prodigious bulk of the tragic 
beauties which it contains." John Masefield writes: 
"No image in the world is so fierce with imaginative 
energy." And he vehemently defends the tragic ca- 
tastrophe of Shakespeare: "He gave to every soul 
in this play an excessive and terrible vitality. On 
the excessive terrible soul of Lear he poured such 
misery that the cracking of the great heart is a thing 
of joy, a relief so fierce that the audience should go 
out in exultation singing — 

'O, our lives' sweetness \ 
That we the pain of death would hourly die 
Rather than die at once !' " 

Of the cooler, more searching criticism by unim- 
passioned students, King Lear has been less pro- 
ductive than some of the other tragedies. Most crit- 
ics have agreed with Hazlitt: "All that we can say 
must fall far short of the subject." So far as ana- 
lytic criticism has been attempted, the chief points 
of nineteenth century discussion have been the un- 
naturalness of the daughters and the villainy of 
Edmund; the nature and extent of Lear's insanity, 
and its reflection in the Fool. It is only of late 
years that the interest has been transferred to the 
general theme. Professor Bradley sees in the play 
the redemption of Lear, the rescue of an aged man 
through suff'ering from the effects of a selfish life. 
Professor Brooke, more recently, has emphasized the 
aspect of the play as a "domestic tragedy," in which 
through the first half of the action the force of 
intense poetry alone maintains sympathy with the 
utterly wrong-headed father, while reason sides 
rather with the elder daughters. "Not only has he 
chosen to present under the tattered veil of myth- 
ical royalty a bourgeois family group; he has even 
dethroned all the conventional tragic passions, and 
. . . petty domestic discord is raised to the white 
heat of tragedy." 

STAGE HISTORY— The first recorded perform- 
ance is that mentioned on the title-page of the 
first quarto, St. Stephen's night in Christmas holi- 
days, Dec. 26, 1606. Richard Burbage, the great 
tragedian of Shakespeare's company, must then have 
assumed the role. Shakespeare's play held the stage 
for a time after the Restoration, and Thomas Bet- 
terton is supposed to have appeared as Lear. But in 
an age incapable of tragedy the return of the comedy 
form was inevitable. Nahum Tate, in 1681, provided 



the version which was to hold the stage for a hun- 
dred and sixty years. His alterations were in strict 
accord with the best opinion of his time. A happy 
device, as he thought, was the invention of love be- 
tween Edgar and Cordelia; scarcely less satisfying 
was the heightening of intrigue between Edmund 
and the other sisters. Edgar's love and virtue de- 
manded a happy ending, and Lear was restored to 
his kingdom, excepting Albany's share. Stage de- 
corum, finally, required the expulsion of the Fool. 
The play was now "correct." Ludicrous to us, but 
highly pleasing in its day, was the prison-scene of 
Tate's version, where the sleeping Lear, with his 
head pillowed in Cordelia's lap, fights in his dreams 
old wars again. 

Betterton made Tate's Lear one of his most ad- 
mired parts, and the play was constantly on the 
stage throughout the eighteenth century. David Gar- 
rick's Lear shared the honors with his Richard III 
in his first London season in 1741-2. Dr. Johnson 
resolved not to see it a second time, lest the terrific 
efi^ect of the impersonation might be impaired. In 
1755-6, Spranger Barry at Covent Garden rivaled 
Garrick's performances at Drury Lane. After this 
time the play languished for want of a great actor. 
Colman's version (1768) did not succeed in supplant- 
ing Tate's, and John Kemble's cold impersonation 
aroused no favor. In 1820 Junius Brutus Booth, 
with Macready as Edmund, gave a notable perform- 
ance. Three years later Edmund Kean, at Drury 
Lane, restored Shakespeare's catastrophe, but not the 
Fool's part. Macready acted this version in 1833-4; 
but in 1838, under his own management, he gave 
the complete Shakespearean form, which has since 
held the stage. Of the tragedians of the mid-cen- 
tury, Phelps and McCullough were the most noted. 
Two Americans, Edwin Forrest (1827) and Edwin 
Booth (1878), were famous in the title-role. For- 
rest's vehement declamation won high praise from 
Longfellow and Leigh Hunt; Booth's rendering was 
finely restrained but no less powerful. Most noted 
of later English Lears was Sir Henry Irving (1892). 
He was much praised by some critics, but was cen- 
sured by many for the overemphasis of age, in- 
firmity, and inarticulateness. His conception of the 
part, however, is continued to-day by Robert Man- 
tell. In 1909 a more original impersonation was given 
by Norman McKinnel at the Haymarket, in which 
pathos and restraint were the ruling tones. 

At least three famous Italian tragedians, Signor 
Rossi, T. Salvini, and E. Novelli, have played Lear 
in Italian with English support, in England and 



603 



KING LEAR 



America. The play is a favorite in Germany, but 
has seldom been praised in France. Maeterlinck in 
1905 defended Antoine's production of Loti's trans- 
lation, but the violence of the action oifended most 
Parisian critics. Upon the whole, although great ac- 
tors have delighted in the fine opportunities aflForded 
by the majesty, infirmity, and passion of King Lear, 



the tragedy is conceived on too tremendous a scale 
to win popularity on the stage without the coopera- 
tion of a great actor. With a tragedian of ordinary 
ability the disproportion between the conception and 
its interpreter is too manifest. 

M. 



604 



THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR 



Lear, king of Britain. 

King of Fraxce. 

Duke of Burguxdy. 

Duke of Cornwall. 

Duke of Albany. 

Earl of Kent. 

Earl of Gloucester. 

Edgar, son to Gloucester. 

Edmund, bastard son to Gloucester. 

Curan, a courtier. 

Old Man, tenant to Gloucester. 

ACT FIRST 



Scene I. — [King Lear's palace.'] 
Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund. 

Kent. I thought the king had more affected the 
Duke of Albany than Cornwall. 

Glou. It did always seem so to us ; but now, in 
the division of the kingdom, it appears not 
which of the dukes he values most; for quali- 
ties are so weighed, that curiosity in neither 
can make choice of cither's moiety. 7 

Kent. Is not this your son, my lord? 

Glou. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge ; 
I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, 
that now I am brazed to't. n 

Kent. I cannot conceive you. 

Glou. Sir, this young fellow's mother could ; 
whereupon she grew round-womb'd, and had, 



[Scene: Britain. 
NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 

Gentleman attendant on Lear. 

Fool. 

Oswald, steward to Goneril. 

A Captain employed by Edmund. 

A Herald. 

Servants to Cornwall. 

Goneril, "| 

Regan, r-^kughters to Lear. 

Cordelia, ^ 



Knights of Lear's train, Captains, Messengers, Sol- 
diers, and Attendants,] 



605 



indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a 
husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? 

Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue 
of it being so proper. 18 

Glou. But I have a son, sir, by order of law, 
some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer 
in my account; though this knave came some- 
thing saucily to the world before he was sent 
for, yet was his mother fair, there was good 
sport at his making, and the whoreson must be 
acknowledged. Do you know this noble gen- 
tleman, Edmund? 25 

Edm. No, my lord. 

Glou. My lord of Kent; remember him here- 
after as my honourable friend. 

Edm. My services to your lordship. 

Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you bet- 
ter. 31 

Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. 

Glou. He hath been out nine years, and away 
he shall again. The king is coming. 



6 



KING LEAR 



[act I. SC. I 



Sennet. Enter ]one hearing a coronet,^ King 
Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cor- 
delia, and Attendants. 



Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, 

Gloucester. 35 

Glou. I shall, my lord. 

Exeunt [^Gloucester and Edmund^. 
Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker 

purpose. 
Give me the map there. Know that we have 

divided 
In three our kingdom, and 'tis our fast intent 
To shake all cares and business from our age; 
Conferring them on younger strengths, while 

we 41 

Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of 

Cornwall, 
And you, our no less loving son of Albany, 
We have this hour a constant will to publish 
Our daughters' several dowers, that future 

strife 45 

May be prevented now. The princes, France 

and Burgundy, 
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love. 
Long in our court have made their amorous 

soj ourn. 
And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my 

daughters, — 
Since now we will divest us, both of rule, 50 
Interest of territory, cares of state, — 
Which of you shall we say doth love us most? 
That we our largest bounty may extend 
Where nature doth with merit challenge. 

Goneril, 
Our eldest-born, speak first. S5 

Gon. Sir, I love you more than word can wield 

the matter; 
Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; 
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; 
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, 

honour; 
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found; 
A love that makes breath poor, and speech 

unable; 61 

Beyond all manner of so much I love you. | 

Cor. [Aside] What shall Cordelia speak? 

Love, and be silent. 
Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line 

to this, 
With shadowy forests and with champains 

rich'd 65 

606 



With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, 

We make thee lady; to thine and Albany's 
issue 

Be this perpetual. What says our second 
daughter. 

Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Speak. 
Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister. 

And prize me at her worth. In my true 
heart 71 

I find she names my very deed of love; 

Only she comes too short, that I profess 

Myself an enemy to all other joys, 75 

Which the most precious square of sense pos- 
sesses. 

And find I am. alone felicitate 

In your dear highness' love. 
Cor. [Aside] Then poor Cordelia ! 

And yet not so ; since, I am sure, my love's 

More ponderous than my tongue. 80 

Lear. To thee and thine hereditary ever 

Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; 

No less in space, validity, and pleasure. 

Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our 

Although the last and least; to whose young 
love 8s 

The vines of France and milk of Burgundy 
Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to 

draw 
A third more opulent than your sisters? 
Speak. 
Cor. Nothing, my lord. 

Lear. Nothing? 90 

Cor. Nothing. 
Lear. Nothing will come . of nothing ! Speak 

again. 
Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 

My heart into my mouth. I love your maj- 
esty 
According to my bond ; no more, nor less. 95 
Lear. How, how, Cordelia ! mend your speech a 
little. 
Lest you may mar your fortunes. 
Cor. Good my lord, 

You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me; I 
Return those duties back as are right fit, 
Obey you, love jou, and most honour you. 100 
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say 
They love you all ? Haply, when I shall wed. 
That lord whose hand must take my plight 

shall carry 
Half my love with him, half my care and duty. 



ACT I. SC 



• I.] 



KING LEAR 



Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 105 
fTo love my father all. 

"^Lear, But goes thy heart with this ? 

Cor. Ay, my good lord. 

Lear. So j^oung, and so untender? 

Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 

Lear. Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy 
dower ; 
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, m 
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; 
By all the operation of the orbs 
From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; 
Here I disclaim all my paternal care, ns 

Propinquity and property of blood. 
And as a stranger to my heart and me 
Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbar- 
ous Scythian, 
Or he that makes his generation messes 
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom, 120 
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd. 
As thou my sometime daughter. 

Kent. Good my liege, — 

Lear. Peace, Kent! 

Come not between the dragon and his wrath. 
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest 125 
On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my 

sight ! 
So be my grave my peace, as here I give 
Her father's heart from her ! Call France ; 

who stirs? 
Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, 
With my two daughters' dowers digest the 
third ; 130 

Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry 

her. 
I do invest you jointly with my power. 
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects 
That troop with majesty. Ourself, by 

monthly course. 
With reservation of an hundred knights, 135 
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
Make with you by due turn. Only we shall 

retain 
The name, and all the addition to a king; 
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest. 
Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, 140 
This coronet part betwixt you. 

Kent. Royal Lear, 

Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, 
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd, 
As my great patron thought on jn my 
prayers, — 



Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from 

the shaft! 145 

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 

The region of my heart; be Kent unmannerly. 

When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old 

man? 
Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to 

speak. 
When power to flattery bows ? To plainness 
honour's bound, 150 

When majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy 

state; 
And in thy best consideration check 
This hideous rashness ; answer my life my 

j udgment. 
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee 

least; 

Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sounds 

Reverb no hollowness. 

Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 

Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn 157 

To wage against thy enemies; ne'er fear to 

lose it. 
Thy safety being motive. 
Lear. Out of my sight ! 

Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain 
The true blank of thine eye. 161 

Lear. Now, by Apollo, — 
Kent. Now, by Apollo, king. 

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 
Lear. O, vassal ! miscreant ! 

[Laying his hand on his sword.^ 

^ ' [ Dear sir, forbear. 165 

Kent. Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift; 
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, 
I'll tell thee thou dost evil. 
Lear. Hear me, recreant ! 

On thine allegiance, hear me ! 170 

That thou hast sought to make us break our 

vow. 
Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd 

pride 
To come between our sentences and our 

power. 
Which nor our nature nor our place can 

bear, 
Our potency made good, take thy reward. 175 
Five days we do allot thee, for provision 
To shield thee from disasters of the world; 
And on the sixth to turn thy hated back 



607 



KING LEAR 



[act I. SC. I 



Upon our kingdom; if, on the tenth day fol- 
lowing. 

Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, 

The moment is thy death. Away ! by Jupi- 
ter, i8i 

This shall not be revok'd. 
Kent. Fare thee well, king; sith thus thou wilt 
appear. 

Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. 

\^To Co7'delia] The gods to their dear shelter 
take thee, maid, 185 

That justly think'st, and hast most rightly 
said! 

[To Regan and Goneril] And your large 
speeches may your deeds approve. 

That good effects may spring from words of 
love. 

Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; 

He'll shape his old course in a country new. 190 

Exit. 

Flourish. Enter Gloucester, with France, Bur- 
gundy, and Attendants. 

Glou. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble 

lord. 
Lear. My lord of Burgundy, 

We first address toward you, who with this 

king 
Hath rivall'd for our daughter; what, in the 

least. 
Will you require in present dower with her, 195 
Or .cease your quest of love? 
Bur. Most royal maj estj. 

I crave no more than hath your highness of- 

f er'd ; 
Nor will you tender less ? 
Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; 
But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she 
stands ; 200 

If aught within that little seeming substance, 
Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd. 
And nothing more, may fitly like your grace. 
She's there, and she is yours. 
Bur. I know no answer. 

Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes. 
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, 206 

Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with 

our oath. 
Take her, or leave her? 
Bur, Pardon me, royal sir ; 



Election makes not up in such conditions. 
Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the pov/er tl . 

made me, 210 

I tell you all her wealth. [To France'] For 

you, great king, 
I would not from your love make such a straj''. 
To match you where I hate; therefore beseech 

you 
To avert your liking a more worthier way 
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd 215 
Almost to acknowledge hers. 
France. This is most strange. 

That she, who even but now was your best ob- 

ject. 
The argument of your praise, balm of your 

age. 
The best, the dearest, should in this trice of 

time 
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 220 
So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence 
Must be of such unnatural degree. 
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affec- 
tion 
Fall'n into taint; which to believe of her. 
Must be a faith that reason without miracle 225 
Should never plant in me. 
Cor. I yet beseech your maj esty, — • 

If for I want that glib and oily art. 
To speak and purpose not; since what I well 

intend, 
I'll do't before I speak, — that you make 

known 
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 230 
No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step. 
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and 

favour ; 
But even for want of that for which I am 

richer, 
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue 
That I am glad I have not, though not to have 

it 235 

Hath lost me in your liking. 
Lear. Better thou 

Hadst not been born than not to have pleas'd 

me better. 
France. Is it but this, — a tardiness in nature 
Which often leaves the history unspoke 
That it intends to do ? My lord of Burgundy, 
What say you to the lady ? Love's not love 241 
When it is mingled with regards that stand 
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have 

her? 



608 



ACT I. SC. 



^] 



KING LEAR 



She is herself a dowry. 
Bur. Royal king, 

Give but that portion which yourself pro- 

pos'd. 
And here I take Cordelia by the hand, 246 

Duchess of Burgundy. 
Lear. Nothing ! I have sworn. I am firm. 
Bur. I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father 

That you must lose a husband. 
Cor. Peace be with Burgundy ! 250 

Since that respect and fortunes are his love, 
I shall not be his wife. 
France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, 
being poor; 
Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, de- 

spis'd ! 
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon; 255 
Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. 
Gods, gods ! 'tis strange that from their cold'st 

neglect 
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect. 
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my 

chance. 
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: 
Not all the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy 261 
Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me. 
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind; 
Thou losest here, a better where to find. 
Lear. Thou hast her, France; let her be thine, 
for we 265 

Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
That face of hers again. Therefore be gone 
Without our grace, our love, our benison. 
Come, noble Burgundy. 

Flourish. Exeunt [all but France, 

Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia^. 

France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 270 

Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd 

eyes 

Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you 

are; 
And like a sister am most loath to call 
Your faults as they are nam'd. Love well 
• our father; 

To your professed bosoms I commit him; 275 
But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, 
I would prefer him to a better place. 
So, farewell to you both. 
Reg. Prescribe not us our duty. 
Gon. Let your study 

Be to content your lorcj, who hath receiv'd 
you 280 



At fortune's alms. You have obedience 

scanted, 
And well are worth the want that you have 
wanted. 

Cor. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning 
hides ; 
Who covers faults, at last shame them derides. 
Well may you prosper! 

France'. Come, my fair Cordelia. 285 

Exeunt [France and Cordelia^. 

Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say of 
what most nearly appertains to us both. I 
think our father will hence to-night. 

Reg. That's most certain, and with you; next 
month with us. 290 

Gon. You see how full of changes his age is; 

. the observation we have made of it hath not 

been little; he always loved our sister most; 

and with what poor judgment he hath now 

cast her off appears too grossly. 295 

Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath 
ever but slenderly known himself. 

Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath 
been but rash; then must we look from his 
age to receive, not alone the imperfections of 
long-engrafFed condition, but therewithal the 
unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric 
years bring with them. 303 

Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have 
from him as this of Kent's banishment. 

Gon. There is further compliment of leave-tak- 
ing between France and him. Pray you, let's 
hit together; if our father carry authority 
with such disposition as he bears, this last 
surrender of his will but olFend us. 310 

Reg. We shall further think of it. 

Gon. We must do something, and i' the heat. 

Exeunt. 

Scene II. — [The Earl of Gloucester's castle.^ 

Enter Edmund, [with a letter^. 

Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law 
My services are bound. Wherefore should I 
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit 
The curiosity of nations to deprive me. 
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon- 
shines 5 
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore 

base? 
When my dimensions are as well compact, 



609 



10 



KING LEAR 



;t I. sc. II. 



My mind as generous, and my shape as true_, 
As honest madam's issue ? Why brand they us 
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, 
base ? ■ 10 

Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take 
More composition and fierce quality 
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed. 
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops. 
Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well, then, 15 
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land; 
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund 
As to the legitimate: fine word, — legitimate! 
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed. 
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 20 
Shall top the legitimate. I grow, I prosper; 
Now, gods, stand up for bastards ! 

Enter Gloucester. 

Glou. Kent banish'd thus ! and France in choler 
parted ! 
And the king gone to-night ! subscrib'd his 

power ! 
Confin'd to exhibition ! All this done 25 

Upon the gad ! Edmund, how now ! what 
news ? 

Edm. So please your lordship, none. 

[^Putting up the letter.] 

Glou. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that 
letter ? 

Edm. I know no news, my lord. 

Glou. What paper were you reading? 30 

Edm. Nothing, my lord. 

Glou. No? What needed, then, that terrible 
dispatch of it into your pocket? the quality of 
nothing hath not such need to hide itself. 
Let's see; come, if it be nothing, I shall not 
need spectacles. 36 

Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a let- 
ter from my brother, that I have not all o'er- 
read; and for so much as I have perused, I 
find it not fit for your o'er-looking. 40 

Glou. Give me the letter, sir. 

Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. 
The contents, as in part I understand them, 
are to blame. 

Glou. Let's see, let's see. 45 

Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, he 
wrote this but as an essay or taste of my vir- 
tue. 

Glou. [Reads'] 'This policy and reverence of 
age makes the world bitter to the best of our 

61 



times ; keeps our fortunes from us till our old- 
ness cannot relish them. I begin to find an 
idle and fond bondage in the oppression of 
aged tyranny; who sways, not as it hath 
power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, 
that of this I may speak more. If our father 
would sleep till I waked him, you should enj oy 
half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved 
of your brother, Edgar/ 57 

Hum — consjjiracy! — 'Sleep till I waked him, 
— you should enjoy half his revenue,' — My 
son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a 
heart and brain to breed it in.^* — When came 
you to this? Who brought it? 62 

Edm. It was not brought me, my lord; there's 
the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the 
casement of my closet. 65 

Glou. You know the character to be your 
brother's ? 

Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst 
swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I 
would fain think it were not. 70 

Glou. It is his. 

Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his 
heart is not in the contents. 

Glou. Has he never heretofore sounded you in 
this business? 75 

Edm. Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft 
maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, 
and fathers declined, the father should be as 
ward to the son, and the son manage his reve- 
nue. 79 

Glou. O villain, villain ! His very opinion in 
the letter! Abhorred villain I Unnatural, 
detested, brutish villain ! worse than brutish ! 
Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him. 
Abominable villain ! Where is he ? 84 

Edm: I do not well know, my lord. If it shall 
please you to suspend your indignation against 
my brother till you can derive from him better 
testimony of his intent, you shall run a cer- 
tain course; where, if you violently proceed 
against him, mistaking his purpose, it would 
make a great gap in your own honour, and 
shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I 
dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath 
wrote this to feel my affection to your honour, 
and to no other pretence of danger. 95 

Glou. Think you so ? 

Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will place 
you where you shall hear us confer of this, 
and by an auricular assurance have your sat- 





ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



KING LEAR 



11 



isfaction; and that without any further delay 
than this very evening. loi 

Glou. He cannot be such a monster — 

f Edm. Nor is not, sure. 

Glou. To his father, that so tenderly and en- 
tirely loves him. Heaven and earth ! * Ed- 
mund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray 
you; frame the business after your own wis- 
dom. I would unstate myself, to be in a due 
resolution. io8 

Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently, convey the 
business as I shall find means, and acquaint 
you withal. m 

Glou. These late eclipses in the sun and moon 
portend no good to us; though the wisdom of 
nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature 
finds itself scourged by the sequent effects. 
Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers di- 
vide. In cities, mutinies; in countries, dis- 
cord; in palaces, treason; and the bond 
cracked 'twixt son and father. This villain 
of mine comes under the prediction; there's 
son against father ; the king falls from bias of 
nature ; there's father against child. We have 
seen the best of our time; machinations, hol- 
lowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, 
follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out 
this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee noth- 
ing. Do it carefully. And the noble and 
true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, hon- 
esty! 'Tis strange. Exit. 127 

Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world, 
that, when we are sick in fortune, — often the 
surfeit of our own behaviour, — we make guilty 
of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars: 
as if we were villains on necessity; fools by 
heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and 
treachers, by spherical predominance; drunk- 
ards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced 
obedience of planetary influence; and all that 
we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An 
admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay 
his goatish disposition to the charge of a star ! 
My father compounded with my mother under 
the dragon's tail; and my nativity was under 
Ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough 
and lecherous. Fut, I should have been that 
I am, had the maidenliest star in the firma- 
ment twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar — 



Enter Edgar. 
pat; he comes like the catastrophe of the old 



comedy: my cue is villainous melancholy, with 
a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses 
do portend these divisions ! fa, sol, la, mi. 149 

Edg. How now, brother Edmund! what serious 
contemplation are you in.^ 151 

Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I 
read this other day, what should follow these 
eclipses. 

Edg. Do you busy yourself about that? 155 

Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of 
succeed unhappily ; f as of unnaturalness be- 
tween the child and the parent; death, dearth, 
dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in 
state, menaces and maledictions against king 
and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment 
of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial 
breaches, and I know not what. 163 

Edg. How long have you been a sectary astro- 
nomical } 

Edm. Come, come ; ^ when saw you my father 
last.? 

Edg. The night gone by. 168 

Edm. Spake you with him? 

Edg. Ay, two hours together. 

Edm. Parted you in good terms? Found you 
no displeasure in him by word nor counte- 
nance ? 

Edg. None at all. 173 

Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may have 
offended him: and at my entreaty forbear his 
presence until some little time hath qualified 
the heat of his displeasure; which at this in- 
stant so rageth in him, that with the mischief 
of your person it would scarcely allay. 

Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. 180 

Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a con- 
tinent forbearance till the speed of his rage 
goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to 
my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring 
you to hear my lord speak; pray ye, go; 
there's my key. If you do stir abroad^ go 
armed. 186 

Edg. Armed, brother ! 

Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best; I am 
no honest man if there be any good meaning 
toward you. I have told you what I have 
seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the 
image and horror of it; pray you, away. 192 

Edg. Shall I hear from you anon? 

Edm. I do serve you in this business. 

Exit Edgar. 
A credulous father ! and a brother noble. 



611 



KING LEAR 



[act 



I. SC. II. 



Whose nature is so far from doing harms, 
Tliat he suspects none; on whose foolish 

honesty 
My practices ride easy ! I see the business. 
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit : 199 
All with me's meet that I can fashion fit. 

Exit. 

Scene III. — [The Duke of Albany's palace.] 

Enter Goneril, and [Oszvald, he?-] steward. 

Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for 

chiding of his ioo\} 
Osw. Aj^, madam. 

Gon. By day and night he wrongs me; every 
hour 
He flashes into one gross crime or other, 
That sets us all at odds. I'll not endure it; 5 
His knights grow riotous, and himself up- 
braids us 
On every trifle. When he returns from hunt- 
ing, 
I will not speak with him; say I am sick. 
If you come slack of former services. 
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer. 
Osw. He's coming, madam; I hear him. n 

Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please. 
You and your fellows; I'd have it come to 

question. 
If he distaste it, let him to my sister. 
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are 
one, 15 

t Not to be over-rul'd. Idle old man. 
That still would manage those authorities 
That he hath given away ! Now, by my life. 
Old fools are babes again; and must be us'd 
With checks as flatteries, — when they are seen 
abus'd, 20 

* Remember what I have said. 
Osw., Well, madam. 

Gon. And let his knights have colder looks 
among you; 
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fel- 
lows so. 
f I would breed from hence occasions, and I 

shall. 
That I may speak; * I'll write straight to my 
sister, 25 

To hold my very course, Prepare for din- 
ner. Exeunt. 



61 



Scene IV. — \_A hall in the same.] 

Enter Kent, [disguised]. 

Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow. 
That can my speech defuse, my good intent 
May carry through itself to that full issue 
For which I raz'd my likeness. Now, ban- 

ish'd Kent, 
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand 

condemn'd, 5 

So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest. 
Shall find thee full of labours. 

Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and 
Attendants. 

Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get 
it ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now! 
what art thou ? 10 

Kent. A man, sir. 

Lear. What dost thou profess.^ what wouldst 
thou with us? 13 

Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem; 
to serve him truly that will put me in trust; 
to love him that is honest; -to converse with 
him that is wise, and says little; to fear judg- 
ment; to fight when I cannot choose; and to 
eat no fish. 

Lear. What art thou? 19 

Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor 
as the king. 

Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject as he is 
for a king, thou art poor enough. What 
wouldst thou? 

Kent. Service. 25 

Lear. Who wouldst thou serve? 

Kent. You. 

Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow ? 

Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your coun- 
tenance which I would fain call master. 30 

Lear. What's that? 

Kent. Authority. 

Lear. What services canst thou do? 

Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar 
a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain 
message bluntly. That which ordinary men 
are fit for, I am qualified in; and the best of 
me is diligence. 38 

Lear. How old art thou? 

Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for 
singing, nor so old to dote on her for any 

2 



ACT I. SC. IV.] 



KING LEAR 



13 



thing. I have years on my back forty-eight. 
Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I 
like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part 
from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner ! Where's 
mv knave? my fool? Go you, and call my 
fool hither. \^Exit an Attendant.^ 47 

Enter Oswald. 

You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? 

Osiv. So please you, — Exit. 

Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the 
clotpoll back. \^Exit a Gentlem<in.'\ Where's 
my fool, ho? I think the world's asleep. 52 

[Enter Gentleman.'] 

How now ! where's that mongrel ? 

Gent. He says, my lord, your daughter is not 
well. 

Lear. Why came not the slave back to me when 
I called him? 

Gent. Sir, he answered me in the roundest 
manner, he would not. 

Lear. He would not! 60 

Gent. My lord, I know not what the matter 
is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not 
entertained with that ceremonious affection as 
you were wont; there's a great abatement of 
kindness appears as well in the general de- 
pendants as in the duke himself also and your 
daughter. 67 

Lear. Ha! sayest thou so? 

Gent. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I 
be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent 
when I think your highness wronged. 71 

Lear. Thou but rememberest me of mine own 
conceiDtion. I have perceived a most faint 
neglect of late, which I have rather blamed as 
mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pre- 
tence and purpose of unkindness. I will look 
further into't. But where's my fool ? I have 
not seen him this two days. 78 

Gent. Since my young lady's going into 
France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. 

Lear. No more of that. I have noted it well. 
Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak 
with her. [Exit an Attendant.] Go you, call 
hither my fool. [Exit an Attendant.] 84 



Enter Oswald. 



0, vou sir, vou, come you hither, sir: who 

1, sir? 



am 



61 



Ostv. My lady's father. 

Lear. 'My lady's father' ! my lord's knave : you 
whoreson dog ! you slave ! you cur ! 

Osw. I am none of these, my lord; I beseech 
your pardon. 91 

Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you 
rascal? [Striking him:] 

Osw. I'll not be strucken, my lord. 

Kent. Nor tripped neither, you base foot-ball 
player. [Tripping up his heels.] 

Lear. I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and 
I'll love thee. 97 

Kent. Come, sir, arise, away ! I'll teach you 
differences: away, away! If you will meas- 
ure your lubber's length again, tarry. But 
away! go to; have you wisdom? so. 

[Pushes Oswald out.] 

Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: 

there's earnest of thy service. 103 

[Giving Kent money.] 

Enter Fool. 

Fool. Let me hire him too: here's my cox- 
comb. [Offering Kent his cap.] 

Lear. How now, my pretty knave ! how dost 
thou ? 

Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. 

Kent. Why, fool? no 

Fool. Why, for taking one's part that's out of 
favour; na}^, and thou canst not smile as the 
wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: there, 
take my coxcomb. Why, this fellow has 
banished two on's daughters, and did the third 
a blessing against his will ; if thou follow liim^ 
thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How 
now, nuncle ! Would I had two coxcombs and 
two daughters ! 118 

Lear. Why, my boy? 

Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'd keep 
my coxcombs myself. There's mine; beg an- 
other of thy daughters. 122 

Lear. Take heed^ sirrah, the whip. 

Fool. Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must 
be whipped out, when Lady the brach mnj 
stand by the fire and stink. 126 

Lear. A pestilent gall to me ! 

Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. 

Lear. Do. 

Fool. Mark it, nuncle: 130 

'Have more than thou showest, 
Speak less than thou knowest, 

3 



14 



KING LEAR 



[act I. SC. IV. 



135 



140 



Lend less than thou owest, 
Ride more than thou goest, 
Learn more than thou trowest, 
Set less than thou throwest; 
Leave thy drink and thy whore. 
And keep in-a-door. 
And thou shalt have more 
Than two tens to a score/ 
Kent. This is nothing, fool. 

Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd 

lawyer; you gave me nothing for't. Can you 

make no use of nothing, nuncle? 144 

Lear. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out 

of nothing. 
Fool. [To Kent] Prithee, tell him, so much the 
rent of his land comes to. He will not be- 
lieve a fool. 
Lear. A bitter fool ! 150 

Fool. Dost thou know the diiFerence, my boy, 

between a bitter fool and a sweet one ? 
Lear. No, lad; teach me. 
Fool, f 'That lord that counsell'd thee 

To give away thy land, 155 

Come place him here by me. 

Do thou for him stand: 
The sweet and bitter fool 
Will presently appear; 
The one in motley here, 160 

The other found out there.* 
Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy.? 
Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away; 
that thou wast born with. 164 

Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 
Fool. No, faith, lords and great men will not 
let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would 
have part on't. And ladies too, they will not 
let me have all fool to myself; they'll be 
snatching."* Nuncle, give me an Qgg, and I'll 
give thee two crowns. 171 

Lear. What two crowns shall they be? 
Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg 1 the mid- 
dle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of 
the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the 
middle, and gavest away both parts, thou 
borest thy ass on thy back o'er the dirt. 
Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when 
thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak 
like myself in this, let him be whipped that 
firsts finds it so. 180 

[Singing'] 'Fools had ne'er less wit in a year; 

For wise men are grown foppish. 
They know not how their wits to wear 

61 



Their manners are so apish.' 

Lear. When were you wont to be so full of 
songs, sirrah.? 186 

Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou 
madest thy daughters thy mothers: for when 
thou gavest them the rod, and put'st down 
thine own breeches, 190 

[Singing] 'Then they for sudden joy did 
weep. 
And I for sorrow sung. 
That such a king should play bo-peep. 

And go the fools among.' 
Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can 
teach thy fool to lie. I would fain learn to 
lie. 196 

Lear. And you lie, sirrah, we'll have you 
whipped. 

Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy daugh- 
ters are: they'll have me whipped for speak- 
ing true, thou'lt have me whipped for Ij^ing; 
and sometimes I am whipped for holding my 
peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing 
than a fool: and yet I would not be thee, 
nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, 
and left nothing i' the middle. Here comes 
one o' the parings. 206 

Enter Goneril. 

Lear. How now, daughter ! what makes that 
frontlet on.? You are too much of late i' the 
frown. 209 

Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou 
hadst no need to care for her frowning; now 
thou art an O without a figure. I am better 
than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art noth- 
ing. [To Gon.] Yes, forsooth, I will hold 
my tongue; so your face bids me, though you 
say nothing. Mum, mum, 216 

'He that keeps nor crust nor crum. 

Weary of all, shall want some.' 
[Pointing to Lear.] That's a shealed peas- 
cod. 
Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool. 
But other of your insolent retinue 221 

Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking 

forth 
In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, 
I had thought, by making this well known 

unto you. 
To have found a safe redress; but now grow 

fearful, 225 

4 



ACT I. SC. IV.] 



KING LEAR 



15 



By what yourself too late have spoke and 

done^ 
That you protect this course, and put it on 
By your allowance; which if you should, the 

fault 
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses 

sleep. 
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, 230 
Might in their working do you that offence. 
Which else were shame, that then necessity 
Will call discreet proceeding. 
Fool. For, you know, nuncle, 

'The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so 
long, 235 

That it had it head bit off by it young.' 
So, out went the candle, and we were left 
darkling. 
Lear. Are you our daughter.^ 
Gon. Come, sir, 

I would you would make use of that good 

wisdom, 240 

Whereof I know you are fraught; and put 

away 
These dispositions, that of late transform you 
From what you rightly are. 
Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws 
the horse .^ 'Whoop, Jug! I love thee,' 245 
Lear. Does any here know me? This is not 
Lear: 
Does Lear walk thus.^ speak thus? Where 

are his eyes? 
Either his notion weakens, his discernings 
Are lethargied — Ha! waking? 'tis not so. 
Who is it that can tell me who I am? 250 

Fool. Lear's shadow. 

■j" Lear. I would learn that ; for, by the marks 
of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I 
should be false persuaded I had daughters. 
Fool. Which they will make an obedient fa- 
ther. 256 
* Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman ? 
Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour 
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech 

you 
To understand my purposes aright; 260 

As you are old and reverend, should be wise. 
Here do you keep a hundred knights and 

squires ; 
Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold. 
That this our court, infected with their man- 
ners, 
Shows like a riotous inn ; epicurism and lust 265 

61 



Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel 
Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth 

speak 
For instant remedy. Be then desir'd 
By her, that else will take the thing she begs, 
A little to disquantity your train; 270 

And the remainders, that shall still depend. 
To be such men as may besort your age. 
And know themselves, and you. 

Lear. Darkness and devils ! 

Saddle my horses; call my train together. 
Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee! 
Yet have I left a daughter. 276 

Gon. You strike my people; and your disorder'd 
rabble 
Make servants of their betters. 

Enter Albany. 

Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — [To Alb.'] 

f O, sir, are you come ? 

^ Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my 

horses. 280 

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend. 

More hideous when thou show'st thee in a 

child 
Than the sea-monster ! 
Alb. Pi'ay, sir, be patient. 

Lear. [To Gon.] Detested kite! thou liest: 
My train are men of choice and rarest parts. 
That all particulars of duty know, 286 

And in the most exact regard support 
The worships of their name. O most small 

fault. 
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show ! 
That, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of 
nature 290 

From the fix'd place; drew from my heart all 

love. 
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! 
Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, 

[Striking his head.] 
And thy dear judgement out! Go, go, my 
people ! 
Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
Of what hath moved you. 296 

Lear. It may be so, my lord. 

Hear, nature ! hear, dear goddess, hear ! 
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend 
To make this creature fruitful! 
Into her womb convey sterility ! 300 

Dry up in her the organs of increase; 
5 



16 



KING LEAR 



[act I. SC. IV. 



And from her derogate body never spring 
A babe to honour her! If she must teem, 
Create her child of spleen; that it may live, 
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her ! 305 
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; 
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks ; 
Turn all her mother's pains and benefits 
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel 
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 310 
To have a thankless child ! Away, away ! 

Exit. 

Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes 
this ? 

Gon. Never afflict yourself to know more of it; 
But let his disposition have that scope 
As dotage gives it. 315 

Re-enter Lear. 

Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap? 

Within a fortnight? 
Alb. What's the matter, sir? 

Lear. I'll tell thee. [To Gon.] Life and 
death ! I am asham'd 
That thou hast power to shake my manhood 

thus; 
That these hot tears, which break from me 
perforce, 320 

Should make thee worth them. Blasts and 

fogs upon thee! 
The untented woundings of a father's curse 
Pierce every sense about thee ! Old fond 

eyes, 
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out. 
And cast you, with the waters that you lose, 325 
To temper clay, f Yea, is it come to this ? 
* Let it be so ; I have another daughter. 
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable: 
When she shall hear this of thee, with her 

nails 
She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt 
find 330 

That I'll resume the shape which thou dost 

think 
I have cast off for ever; f thou shalt, I war- 
rant thee. 

Exeunt [Lear, Kent, and Attendants]. 
* Gon. Do you mark that, my lord ? 
Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, 

To the great love I bear you, — 335 

Gon. Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho ! 



[To the Fool.] You, sir, more knave than fool, 

after your master. 
Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take 

the fool with thee. 

A fox, when one has caught her, 340 

And such a daughter. 
Should sure to the slaughter. 
If my cap would buy a halter: 
So the fool follows after. Exit. 

Gon. This man hath had good counsel; a hun- 
dred knights ! 345 

'Tis politic and safe to let him keep 

At point a hundred knights ! yes, that, on 
every dream. 

Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dis- 
like. 

He may enguard his dotage with their pow- 
ers. 

And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say ! 
Alb. Well, you may fear too far. 
Gon. Safer than trust too far. 351 

Let me still take away the harms I fear. 

Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart. 

What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister; 

If she sustain him and his hundred knights, 355 

When I have show'd the unfitness. — 

Re-enter Oswald. 



How now, Oswald! 
What, have you writ that letter to my sis- 
ter? 
Osw. Ay, madam. 

Gon. Take you some company, and away to 
horse: 
Inform her full of my particular fear; 360 
And thereto add such reasons of your own 
As may compact it more. Get you gone; 
And hasten your return. [Exit Oswald.] 

No, no, my lord. 
This milky gentleness and course of yours 
Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, 365 
You are much more at task for want of wis- 
dom 
Than prais'd for harmful mildness. 
Alb. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot 
tell: 
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. 
Gon. Nay, then — 370 

Alb. Well, well, the event. Exeunt. 



616 



ACT I. SC. v.] 



KING LEAR 



17 



Scene V. — [Court before the same.] 
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 

Lear. Go you before to Gloucester with these 
letters. Acquaint my daughter no further 
with any thing you know than comes from 
her demand out of the letter. If your dili- 
gence be not speedy^ I shall be there afore 
you. 5 

Kent. I will not sleep, my lord;, till I have de- 
livered your letter. Exit. 

Fool. If a man's brains were in's heels, were't 
not in danger of kibes? 

Lear. Ay, boy. 

Fool. Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall 
ne'er go slip-shod. 

Lear. Ha, ha, ha! 

Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee 
kindly; for though she's as like this as a 
crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I 
can tell. 

Lear. What canst tell, boy? 17 

Fool. She will taste as like this as a crab does 
to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose 
stands i' the middle on's face? 20 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's 
nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he 
may spy into. 

Lear. I did her wrong. 25 

Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his 
shell? 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail 
has a house. 30 

Lear. Why? 

Fool. Why, to put his head in; not to give it 
away to his daughters, and leave his horns 
without a case. 

Lear. I will forget my nature. So kind a fa- 
ther ! Be my horses ready? 36 

Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The rea- 
son why the seven stars are no mo than 
seven is a pretty reason. 

Lear. Because they are not eight? 40 

Fool. Yes, indeed; thou wouldst make a good 
fool. 

Lear, To take 't again perforce ! Monster in- 
gratitude ! 

Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have 
thee beaten for being old before thy time. 46 



Lear. How 's that? 

Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old till thou 

hadst been wise. 
Lear. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet 
heaven ! 50 

Keep me in temper, I would not be mad! 

[Enter Gentleman.] 

How now ! are the horses ready ? 
Gent. Ready, my lord. 
Lear. Come, boy. 

Fool. She that's a maid now, and laughs at my 

departure, 55 

Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut 

shorter. Exeunt. 



ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — [The Earl of Gloucester's castle.] 
Enter Edmund and Curan severally. 

Edm. Save thee, Curan. 

Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your fa- 
ther, and given him notice that the Duke of 
Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here 
with him this night. 5 

Edm. How comes that? 

Cur. Nay, I know not. You have heard of the 
news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, for 
they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? 

Edm. Not I ; pray you, what are they ? 10 

Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 
'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany? 

Edm. Not a word. 

Cur. You may do, then, in time. Fare you 
well, sir. Exit. 15 

Edm. The duke be here to-night? The better! 
best! 
This weaves itself perforce into my business. 
My father hath set guard to take my brother ; 
And I have one thing, of a queasy question. 
Which I must act. Briefness and fortune, 
work ! 20 

Brother, a word ! descend ! brother, I say ! 

Enter Edgar. 

My father watches; O sir, fly this place; 
Intelligence is given where you are hid; 



617 



18 



KING LEAR 



[act II. SC. I. 



You have now the good advantage of the 
night. 

Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of 
Cornwall ? 25 

He's coming hither; now, i' the night, i' the 
haste, 

And Regan with him. Have you nothing said 

Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany? 

Advise yourself. 
Edg. I am sure on't, not a word. 

Edm. I hear my father coming. Pardon me; 

In cunning I must draw vaj sword upon you ; 

Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you 
well. 32 

Yield ! come before my father. Light, ho, 
here ! 

Fly, brother. Torches, torches ! So, fare- 
well. Exit Edgar. 

Some blood drawn on me would beget opin- 
ion [Wounds his arm.^ 35 

Of my more fierce endeavour. I have seen 
drunkards 

Do more than this in sport. Father, father ! 

Stop, stop ! No help ? 

Enter Gloucester, and Servants with torches. 

Glou. Now, Edmund, where's the villain? 
Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp 
sword out, 40 

Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the 

moon 
To stand auspicious mistress, — 
Glou. But where is he? 

Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. 

Glou. Where is the villain, Edmund? 

Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means 

he could — 
Glou. Pursue him, ho ! Go after. [Exeunt 
some Servants.'] By no means, what? 45 

Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your lord- 
ship. 
But that I told him, the revenging gods 
'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend ; 
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond 
The child was bound to the father; sir, in 
fine, 50 

Seeing how loathly opposite I stood 
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion. 
With his prepared sword, he charges home 
My unprovided body, latch'd mine arm: 
But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, 55 

6 



would, ay, though thou didst pro- 



Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the en- 
counter. 

Or whether gasted by the noise I made. 

Full suddenly he fled. 
Glou. Let him fly far. 

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; 

And found — dispatch ! The noble duke my 
master, 60 

INIy worthy arch and patron, comes to-night; 

By his authority I will proclaim it, 

That he which finds him shall deserve our 
thanks. 

Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; 

He that conceals him, death. 65 

Edm. When I dissuaded him from his intent. 

And found him pight to do it, with curst 
speech 

I threaten'd to discover him; he replied, 

'Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think. 

If I would stand against thee, would the re- 
posal 70 

Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee 

Make thy words faith'd? No, what I should 
deny, — 

As this I would, ay, though 
duce 

My very character, — I'd turn it all 

To thy suggestion, plot, and damned prac- 
tice : 75 

And thou must make a dullard of the world. 

If they not thought the profits of my death 

Were very pregnant and potential spurs 

To make thee seek it.' 
Glou. Strong and fasten'd villain! 

Would he deny his letter? f I never got him. 

Tucket within. 

^ Hark, the duke's trumpets ! I know not 
why he comes. 81 

All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape; 

The duke must grant me that. Besides, his 
picture 

I will send far and near, that all the king- 
dom 

May have due note of him ; and of my land, 85 

Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means 

To make thee capable. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. 

Corn. How now, my noble friend ! since I came 
hither. 
Which I can call but now, I have heard 
strange news. 
18 



ACT 11. SC. I.] 



KING LEAR 



19 



Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too 

short 90 

Which can pursue the offender. How dost^ 

my lord? 

Glou. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's 

crack'd ! 
Reg. What, did mv father's godson seek your 
life? 
He whom my father nam'd? your Edgar? 
Glou. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid ! 95 
Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous 
knights 
That tend upon my father? 
Glou. I know not, madam. 'Tis too bad, too 

bad. 
Edm. Yes, madam, he was of that consort. 
Reg. No marvel, then, though he were ill af- 
fected. 100 
'Tis they have put him on the old man's 

death. 
To have the expense and waste of his rev- 
enues. 
I have this present evening from my sister 
Been well inform'd of them; and with such 

cautions. 
That if they come to sojourn at my house, 105 
I'll not be there. 
Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan. 

Edmund, I hear that you have shown your 

father 
A child-like office. 
Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir. 

Glou. He did bewray his practice; and receiv'd 
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 
Corn. Is he pursued? m 

Glou. Ay, my good lord. 

Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more 
Be fear'd of doing harm. Make your own 

purpose. 
How in my strength you please. For you, 

Edmund, 
Whose virtue and obedience doth this in- 
stant 115 
So much commend itself, you shall be ours: 
Natures of such deep trust we shall much 

need; 
You we first seize on. 
Edm. I shall serve you, sir, 

Truly, however else. 
Glou. For him I thank your grace. 

Corn. You know not why we came to visit 
you — 120 

61 



Reg. Thus out of season_, threading dark-ey'd 
night ; 
Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, 
Wherein we must have use of your advice. 
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister. 
Of differences, which I best thought it fit 125 
To answer from our home; the several mes- 
sengers 
From hence attend dispatch. Our good old 

friend. 
Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow 
Your needful counsel to our businesses. 
Which craves the instant use. 
Glou. I serve you, madam. 130 

Your graces are right welcome. 

Exeunt. Flourish. 



[Scene II. — Before Gloucester's castle.^ 
Enter Kent and Oswald, severally. 

Osw. Good dawning to thee, friend; art of this 
house? 

Kent. Ay. 

Osw. Where may we set our horses? 

Kent. I' the mire. 

Osw. Prithee, if thou lov'st me, tell me. 

Kent. I love thee not. 

Osw. Why, then, I care not for thee. 

Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I 
would make thee care for me. 10 

Osw. Why dost thou use me thus? I know 
thee not. 

Kent. Fellow, I know thee. 

Osw. What dost thou know me for? 14 

Kent. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken 
meats ; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three- 
suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking 
knave; a lily-livered, action-taking whoreson, 
glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; 
one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst 
be a bawd, in way of good service, and art 
nothing but the composition of a knave, beg- 
gar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of 
a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into 
clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least 
syllable of thy addition. 26 

Osw. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, 
thus to rail on one that is neither known of 
thee nor knows thee ! 29 

Kent. What a brazen-fac'd varlet art thou, to 

9 



20 



KING LEAR 



[act II. SC. II. 



deny thou knowest me! Is it two days ago 
since I tripped up thy heels, and beat thee 
before the king? Draw, you rogue; for, 
though it be night, yet the moon shines; I'll 
make a sop o' the moonshine of you: draw, 
you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw. 
[Drawing his szvord.^ 

Osza. Away ! I have nothing to do with thee. 

Kent. Draw, you rascal: you come with letters 
against the king; and take vanity the puppet's 
part against the royalty of her father. Draw^ 
you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks! 
draw, you rascal ! come your ways ! 42 

Osw. Help, ho ! murder ! help ! 

Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand, 
you neat slave; strike! [Beating him.] 

Osw. Help, ho ! murder ! murder ! 46 

Enter Edmund, with his rapier drawn, Corn- 
wall, Regan, Gloucester, and Servants. 

Edm. How now! What's the matter? Part: 

Kent. With you, goodman boy, and you please: 
come, I'll flesh ye; come on, young master. 

Glou. Weapons ! arms ! What's the matter 
here? si 

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives ! 

He dies that strikes again. What is the mat- 
ter? 

Reg. The messengers from our sister and the 
king. 55 

Corn. What is your difference? speak. 

Osw. I am scarce in breath, my lord. 

Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirred your 
valour. You cowardly rascal, nature dis- 
claims in thee ! a tailor made thee. 60 

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow; a tailor make 
a man ? 

Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir; a stone-cutter or a 
painter could not have made him so ill, though 
he had been but two hours at the trade. 65 

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? 

Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have 
spared at suit of his grey beard, — 

Kent. Thou whoreson zed ! thou unnecessary 
letter ! My lord, if you will give me leave, 
I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, 
and daub the walls of a jakcs with him. 
Spare my grey beard, you wagtail? 73 

Corn. Peace, sirrali ! 

You beastly knave, know you no reverence? 75 

Kent. Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege. 



Corn. Why art thou angry ? 

Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a 
sword. 
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues 

as these. 
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain 80 
Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth 

every passion 
That in the natures of their lords rebel; 
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; 
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks 
With every gale and vary of their masters, 85 
Knowing nought, like dogs, but following. 
A plague upon your epileptic visage ! 
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? 
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, 
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot. 90 

Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow? 

Glou. How fell you out? say that. 

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy 
Than I and such a knave. 

Corn. Why' dost thou call him knave ? What is 
his fault? 95 

Kent. His countenance likes me not. 

Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, 
nor hers. 

Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain: 
I have seen better faces in my time 
Than stands on any shoulder that I see 100 
Before me at this instant. 

Corn. This is some fellow. 

Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth 

affect 
A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb 
Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he, 
An honest mind and plain, he must speak 
truth ! 105 

And they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. 
These kind of knaves I knoM^, which in this 

plainness 
Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends 
Than twenty silly ducking observants 
That stretch their duties nicely. no 

Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, 
Under the allowance of your great aspect, 
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant 

fire 
On flickering Phoebus' front, — 

Corn. What mean'st by this? 

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you dis- 
commend so much. I know, sir, I am no 
flatterer. He that beguiled you in a plain 



620 



ACT II. SC. 



II.] 



KING LEAR 



21 



accent was a plain knave; which for my part 
I will not be, though I should win your dis- 
pleasure to entreat me to't. 120 

Corn. What was the offence you gave him? 

Osw. I never gave him any. , 

It pleas'd the king his master very late 
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; 
When he, conjunct, and flattering his dis- 
pleasure, 125 
Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, 

rail'd. 
And put upon him such a deal of man, 
That worthied him, got praises of the king 
For him attempting who was self-subdued; 
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, 130 
Drew on me here again. 

Kent. None of these rogues and cowards 

But Ajax is their fool. 

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks ! 

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend 

braggart. 
We'll teach you — 

Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn: 



Call not your stocks for me. I serve the 
king, 135 

On whose employment I was sent to you. 
You shall do small respects, show too bold 

malice 
Against the grace and person of my master. 
Stocking his messenger. 
Corn. Fetch forth the stocks ! As I have life 
and honour, 140 

There shall he sit till noon. 
Reg. Till noon! till night, my lord; and all 

night too. 
Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's 
dog, 
You should not use me so. 
Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. 

Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour 145 
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the 
stocks ! Stocks brought out. 

Glou. Let me beseech your grace not to do so: 
f His fault is much, and the good king his 

master 
Will check him for't: your purpos'd low cor- 
rection 
Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches 
For pilferings and most common trespasses 151 
Are punish'd with.* The king must take it 

ill, 

That he so slightly valued in his messenger, 

621 



Should have him thus restrain'd. 
Corn. I'll answer thato 

Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse. 

To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted, 15^ 

f For following her affairs. Put in his legs. 
[Kent is put in the stocJcs.'\ 

■^ Come, my good lord, away. 

Exeunt [all but Gloucester and Kent]. 
Giouu I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis tlie 
duke's pleasure. 

Whose disposition, all the world well knows. 

Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd. I'll entreat 
for thee. 161 

Kent. Pray, do not, sir. I have watched and 
travell'd hard; 

Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll 
whistle. 

A good man's fortune may grow out at heels; 

Give you good morrow ! 165 

Glou. The duke 's to blame in this; 'twill be ill 
taken. Exit. 

Kent. Good king, that must approve the com- 
mon saw. 

Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st 

To the warm sun ! 

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, 170 

That by thy comfortable beams I may 

Peruse this letter ! Nothing almost sees mir- 
acles 

But misery. I know 'tis from Cordelia, 

Who hath most fortunately been inform'd 

Of my obscured course; [reading] 'and shall 
find time 175 

From this enormous state, seeking to give 

Losses their remedies.' All weary and o'er- 
watch'd, 

Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 

This shameful lodging. 

Fortune, good night ! smile once more ; turn 
thy wheel! [Sleeps.] 180 



[Scene III. — The same.] 

Enter Edgar. 

Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd; 
And by the happy hollow of a tree 
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place. 
That guard,^ and most unusual vigilance, 
Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may 
'scape, 5 



22 



KING LEAR 



[act II. SC. III. 



I will preserve myself: and am bethought 
To take the basest and most poorest shape 
That ever penury, in contempt of man. 
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime 

with filth; 
Blanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots; lo 
And with presented nakedness out-face 
The winds and persecutions of the sky. 
The country gives me proof and precedent 
Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, 
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare 
arms is 

Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rose- 
mary; 
And with this horrible object, from low 

farms. 
Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills, 
Sometimes with lunatic bans, sometime with 

prayers. 
Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod ! poor 
Tom ! 20 

That's something yet; Edgar I nothing am. 

Ej;it. 



Scene IV. — [The same.'] 

Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. 

Lear. 'Tis strange that they should so depart 
from home. 

And not send back my messengers. 
Gent. As I learn'd. 

The night before there was no purpose in 
them 

Of this remove. 
Kent. Hail to thee, noble master ! 

Lear. Ha! s 

Makest thou this shame thy pastime? 
Kent. No, my lord. 

Fool. Ha, ha ! he wears cruel garters. Horses 

are tied by the heads, dogs and bears by the 

neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the 

legs: when a man's over-lusty at legs, then 

he wears wooden nether-stocks. n 

Lear. What's he that hath so much thy place 
mistook 

To set thee here? 
Kent. It is both he and she; 

Your son and daughter. 15 

Lear. No. 
Kent. Yes. 



Lear. No, I say. 
Kent. I say, yea. 
f Lear. No, no, they would not. 
Kent. Yes, they have. 20 

* Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 
Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 
Lear. They durst not do't; 

They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse 

than murder. 
To do upon respect such violent outrage: 
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which 
way 25 

Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this 

usage. 
Coming from us. 
Kent. My lord, when at their home 

I did commend your highness' letters to them. 
Ere I was risen from the place that show'd 
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking 
post, 30 

Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting 

forth 
From Goneril his mistress salutations; 
Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission. 
Which presently they read: on those contents. 
They summon'd up their meiny, straight took 
horse ; 35 

Commanded me to follow, and attend 
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold 

looks. 
And meeting here the other messenger. 
Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd 

mine, — 
Being the very fellow that of late 40 

Display'd so saucily against your highness, — 
Having more man than wit about me, drew; 
He rais'd the house with loud and coward 

cries. 
Your son and daughter found this trespass 

worth 
The shame which here it suffers. 45 

Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-geese 
fly that way. 

'Fathers that wear rags 

Do make their children blind; 
But fathers that bear bags 5c 

Shall see their children kind. 
Fortune, that arrant whore. 
Ne'er turns the key' to the poor.' 
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many 
dolours for thy daughters as thou canst tell 
in a year. 55 



622 



ACT II. SC. IV.] 



KING LEAR 



Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my 
heart ! 
Hysterica passio^, down, thou climbing sor- 
row. 
Thy element's below ! Where is this daugh- 
ter? 

Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. 
Lear. Follow me not; 

Stay here. Exit. 60 

Gent. Made you no more oiFence but what you 

speak of? 
Kent. None. 

How chance the king comes with so small 
a number? 

Fool. And thou hadst been set i' the stocks for 
that question, thou'dst well deserved it. 66 
Kent. Why, fool? 

Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach 
thee there's no labouring i' the winter. All 
that follow their noses are led by their eyes 
but blind men; and there's not a nose among 
twenty but can smell him that's stinking. 
Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs 
down a hill, lest it break thy neck with fol- 
lowing; but the great one that goes up the 
hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise 
man gives thee better counsel, give me mine 
again; I would have none but knaves follow 
it, since a fool gives it. 

'That sir which serves and seeks for gain. 

And follows but for form, 80 

Will pack when it begins to rain. 
And leave thee in the storm. 
But I will tarry; the fool will stay. 

And let the wise man fly; 
The knave turns fool that runs away; 85 
The fool no knave, perdy.' 
Kent. Where learned you this, fool? 
Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool. 

Re-enter Lear, and Gloucester. 

Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are sick? 

they are weary? 
They have travell'd all the night? Mere 

fetches ; 90 

The images of revolt and flying off". 
Fetch me a better answer. 
Glou. My dear lord. 

You know the flery quality of the duke; 
How unremoveable and fix'd he is 
In his own course. 95 



Lear. Vengeance ! plague ! death ! confusion ! 
Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloucester, 

Gloucester, 
I'd speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his 

wife. 
Glou. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd 

them so. 
Lear. Inform'd them ! Dost thou understand 

me, man? 100 

Glou. Ay, my good lord. 
Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall; the 

dear father 
Would with his daughter speak, commands her 

service. 
Are they inform'd of this? My breath and 

blood! 
Fiery? the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke 

that — 105 

No, but not yet; may be he is not well; 
Infirmity doth still neglect all office 
Whereto our health is bound; we are not our- 
selves 
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the 

mind 
To suff*er with the body. I'll forbear; no 

And am fall'n out with my more headier will. 
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 
For the sound man. Death on my state ! 

wherefore [Looking on Kent.'] 

Should he sit here ? This act persuades me 
That this remotion of the duke and her 115 

Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. 
Go tell the duke and's wife I'd speak with 

them. 
Now, presently. Bid them come forth and 

hear me. 
Or at their chamber-door I'll beat the drum 
Till it cry sleep to death. 120 

Glou. I would have all well betwixt you. Exit. 
Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart ! but, 

down ! 
Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to 
the eels when she put 'em i' the paste alive; 
she knapped 'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, 
and cried 'Down, wantons, down !' 'Twas her 
brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, 
buttered his hay. 128 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, and 
Servants. 



Lear. Good morrow to you both. 



623 



24 



KING LEAR 



[act II. SC. IV. 



Corn. Hail to your grace! 

Kent here set at liberty. 
Reg. I am glad to see your highness. 130 

Lear. Regan, I think you are ; I know what rea- 
son 
I have to think so. If thou shouldst not be 

glad, 
I would divorce me from thy mother tomb, 
Sepulchring an adultress. [To Kent] O, are 

you free.^ 
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan, 135 
Thy sister's naught. O Regan, she hath tied 
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here : 
• [Points to his heart.] 
I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe 
With how deprav'd a quality — O Regan ! 
Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience. I have 
hope 140 

You less know how to value her desert 
Than she to scant her duty. 
[Lear. Say, how is that? 

Reg. I cannot think my sister in the least 

Would fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance 
She have restrain'd the riots of your follow- 
ers, 145 
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome 

end. 
As clears her from all blame. 
Lear. My curses on her ! 

Reg. O, sir, you are old; 

Nature in you stands on the very verge 
Of her confine. You should be rul'd and led 
By some discretion, that discerns your state 151 
Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray 

you, 

That to our sister you do make return; 
Say you have wrong'd her, sir. 
Lear. Ask her forgiveness? 

Do you but mark how this becomes the house : 
'Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; 156 

[Kneeling.] 
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg 
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and 
food.' 
Reg. Good sir, no more; these are unsightly 
tricks. 
Return you to my sister. 
Lear. [Rising] Never, Regan: 160 

She hath abated me of half my train ; 
Look'd black upon me; struck me with her 

tongue. 
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart: 



All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall 
On her ingrateful top! Strike her young 
bones, 165 

You taking airs, with lameness ! 
Corn. Fie, sir, fie! 

Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding 
flames 
Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty, 
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful 

sun. 
To fall and blast her pride ! 170 

Reg. O the blest gods ! so will you wish on me. 

When the rash mood is on. 
Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my 
curse. 
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
Thee o'er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce; 
but thine 175 

Do comfort and not burn. 'Tis not in thee 
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train. 
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes. 
And in conclusion to oppose the bolt 
Against my coming in. Thou better know'st 
The offices of nature, bond of childhood, 181 
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; 
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not for- 
got. 
Wherein I thee endow'd. 
Reg. Good sir, to the purpose. 

Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks? 

Tucket within. 
Corn. What trumpet's that? 185 

Reg. I know't, my sister's; this approves her 
letter, 
That she would soon be here. 

Enter Oswald. 



Lear. This 
pride 



is a slave, 



Is your lady come? 
whose easy-borrow'd 



Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. 
Out, varlet, from my sight! 



Corn. 



What means your grace ? 190 



Enter Goneril. 



Regan, I have 



Lear. Who stock'd my servant? 
good hope 
Thou didst not know on't. Who comes here? 

O heavens. 
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
624 



ACT II. SC. IV. 



KING LEAR 



25 



Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, 
Make it your cause ; send down, and take my 

part ! 195 

\_To Gon.] Art not asham'd to look upon this 

beard ? 

Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 
Gon. Why not b}^ the hand, sir.^ How have I 

offended ? 
All's not offence that indiscretion finds 
And dotage terms so. 
Lear. O sides, you are too tough; 200 

Will you yet hold ? How came my man i' the 
stocks ? 
Corn. I set him there, sir; but his own disor- 
ders 
Deserv'd much less advancement. 
Lear. You ! did you .^ 

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
If, till the expiration of your month, 205 

You will return and sojourn with my sister. 
Dismissing half your train, come then to me. 

1 am now from home, and out of that provision 
Which shall be needful for your entertain- 
ment. 

Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? 210 
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose 
To wage against the enmity o' the air; 
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, — 
Necessity's sharp pinch ! Return with her ? 
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless 
took 215 

Our youngest born, I could as well be brought 
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension 

beg 
To keep base life afoot. Return with her? 
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 
To this detested groom. 

[^Pointing at Oswald. '\ 

Gon. At your choice, sir. 220 

Lear. I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad : 

I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell. 

We'll no more meet, no more see one another; 

But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, m)^ 

daughter ; 
Or rather a disease that's in my flesh, 225 

Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a 

boil, 
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle. 
In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide 

thee; 
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it; 
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, 230 



Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove. 
Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leis- 
ure. 
I can be patient; I can stay with Regan, 
I and my hundred knights. 
Reg. Not altogether so. 

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 235 
For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my 

sister; 
For those that mingle reason with your pas- 
sion 
Must be content to think you old, and so — 
But she knows what she does. 
Lear. Is this well spoken? 

Reg. I dare avouch it, sir! what, fifty followers? 
Is it not well? What should you need of 
more ? 241 

Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and 

danger 
Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in 

one house. 
Should many people, under two commands, 
Hold amity? 'Tis hard; almost impossible. 245 
Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive at- 
tendance 
From those that she calls servants or from 
mine? 
Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd 
to slack ye. 
We could control them. If you will come to 

me, — 
For now I spy a danger, — I entreat you 250 
To bring but five and twenty ; to no more 
Will I give place or notice. 
Lear. I gave you all — - 

Reg. And in good time you gave it. 

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries; 

But kept a reservation to be follow'd 255 

With such a number. What, must I come to 

you 
With five and twenty, Regan? said you so? 
Reg. And speak't again, my lord; no more with 

me. 

Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well- 

favour'd. 

When others are more wicked; not being the 

worst 260 

Stands in some rank of praise. [To Gon.'] I'll 

go with thee; 
Tliy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, 
And thou art twice her love. 
Gon. Hear me, my lord: 



625 



26 



KING LEAR 



[act II. SC. IV. 



What need }■ ou five and twenty, ten, or five, 
To follow in a house where twice so many 265 
Have a command to tend you? 
Reg. What need one ? 

Lear. O, reason not the need; our basest beg- 
gars 
Are in the poorest thing superfluous. 
Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
Man's life's as cheap as beast's. Thou art a 

lady ; 270 

If only to go warm were gorgeous, 
Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous 

wear'st. 
Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for 

true need, — 
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I 

need! 
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, 275 
As full of grief as age; wretched in both! 
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
Against their father, fool me not so much 
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger. 
And let not women's weapons, water-drops, 280 
Stain my man's cheeks ! No, you unnatural 

hags, 
I will have such revenges on you both. 
That all the world shall — I will do such 

things, — 
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall 

be 
The terrors of the earth. You think I'll 

weep ; 285 

No, I'll not weep. 
I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 

Storm and tempest. 
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws. 
Or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad! 

Exeunt [Lear, Gloucester, Kent, and Fool]. 



290 
his 



Corn. Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm. 
Rego This house is little; the old man and 
people 
Cannot be well bestow'd. 
Gon. 'Tis his own blame; hath put himself from 
rest. 
And must needs taste his folly. 
Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly. 

But not one follower. 
Gon. So am I purpos'd. 

Where is my lord of Gloucester? 297 

626 



Corn. Follow'd 
turn'd. 



the old man forth. He is re- 



Re-enter Gloucester. 

Glou. The king is in high rage. 
Corn. Whither is he going? 

Glou. He calls to horse; but will I know not 
whither. 300 

Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads him- 
self. 
Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. 
Glou. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak 
winds 
Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about 
There's scarce a bush. 
Reg. O, sir, to wilful men, 305 

The injuries that they themselves procure 
Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your 

doors. 
He is attended with a desperate train; 
And what they may incense him to, being apt 
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. 310 
Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild 
night : 
My Regan counsels well. Come out o' the 
storm. Exeunt. 



ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — \_A heath.] 

Storm still. Enter Kent and a Gentleman, 
severalty. 

Kent. Who's there, besides foul weather? 

Gent. One minded like the weather, most un~ 
quietly. 

Kent. I know you. Where's the king? 

Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; 
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, 5 
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, 
That things might change or cease ; f tears his 

white hair. 
Which the impetuous blasts, with ej^eless rage. 
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of; 
Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn 
The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. n 
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would 

couch. 
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf 



ACT III. 



SC. I.] 



KING LEAR 



27 



Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs. 
And bids what will take all. 
Kent. * But who is with him ? is 

Gent. None but the fool, who labours to outjest 

His heart-struck injuries. 
Kent. Sir, I do know you; 

And dare, upon the warrant of my note. 
Commend a dear thing to you. There is di- 
vision. 
Although as yet the face of it be eover'd 20 
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Corn- 
wall; 
Who have — as who have not, that their great 

stars 
Thron'd and set high ? — servants, who seem no 

less, 
Which are to France the spies and speculations 
Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen, 
Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes, 26 
Or the hard rein which both of them have 

borne 
Against the old kind king; or something 

deeper. 
Whereof perchance these are but furnishings; 
f But, true it is, from France there comes a 
power 30 

Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already. 
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet 
In some of our best ports, and are at point 
To show their open banner. Now to you: 
If on my credit you dare build so far 35 

To make your speed to Dover, you shall find 
Some that will thank you, making just report 
Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow 
The king hath cause to plain. 
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding; 40 
And, from some knowledge and assurance, 

offer 
This office to you. 
* Gent. I will talk further with you. 
Kent. No, do not. 

For confirmation that I am much more 44 

Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take 
What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia, — 
As fear not but you shall, — show her this 

ring; 
And she will tell you who your fellow is 
That yet you do not know. Fie on this 

storm ! 
I will go seek the king. 50 

Gent. Give me your hand. Have you no more 
to say? 



Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all 

yet; 
That, when we have found the king, — in which 

your pain 
That way, I'll this, — he that first lights on 

him 
Holla the other. Exeunt [severally]. 



Scene II. — [Another part of the heath.] 
Storm still. 

Enter Lear and Fool. 

Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! 

blow ! 
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout 
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd 

the cocks ! 
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires. 
Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, s 
Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking 

thunder. 
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world! 
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at 

once, 
That makes ingrateful man ! 9 

Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house 
is better than this rain-water out o' door. 
Good nuncle, in, ask thy daughters' bless- 
ing: here's a night pities neither wise men 
nor fools. 13 

Lear. Rumble thy bellyful ! Spit, fire ! spout, 

rain ! 
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daugh- 
ters. IS 
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness ; 
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children. 
You owe me no subscription. Then let fall 
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your 

slave, 
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man; 
But yet I call you servile ministers, 21 

That have with two pernicious daughters 

join'd 

Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head 

So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul ! 

Fool. He that has a house to put's head in has 

a good head-piece. 26 

*The cod-piece that will house 

Before the head has any. 



627 



28 



KING LEAR 



[act III. SC. II. 



The head and he shall louse; 

So beggars marry many. 3J 

The man that makes his toe 

What he his heart should make 
Shall of a corn cry woe. 

And turn his sleep to wake.' 
For there was never yet fair woman but she 
made mouths in a glass. 36 

Enter Kent. 

Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience; 

I will say nothing. 
Kent. Who's there? 

Fool. Marry, here's grace and a cod-piece ; that's 

a wise man and a fool. 41 

Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? things thert love 

night 

Love not such nights as these; the wrathful 

skies 
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, 
And make them keep their caves. Since I was 
man, 45 

Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thun- 
der. 
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
Remember to have heard. Man's nature can- 
not carry 
The affliction nor the fear. 
Lear. Let the great gods, 

That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads. 
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou 
wretch, 51 

That Iiast within thee undivulged crimes, 
Unwhipp'd of justice. Hide thee, thou 

bloody hand ; 
Thou perjured, and thou simular of virtue 
That art incestuous ! Caitiff, to pieces shake. 
That under covert and convenient seeming 56 
Has practis'd on man's life! Close pent-up 

guilts. 
Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
These dreadful summoners grace. I am a 

man 
More sinn'd against than sinning. 



Kent. 



Alack, bare-headed ! 60 



Gracious my lord, hard by liere is a hovel ; 
Some friendsliip will it lend you 'gainst the 

tempest. 
Repose you there, wliile I to this hard house 
(More harder than the stones whereof 'tis 

rais'd; 



Which even but now, demanding after you. 
Denied me to come in) return, and force 
Their scanted courtesy. 
Lear. My wits begin to turn. 

Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? art 

cold? 
I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my 

fellow ? 
Tlie art of our necessities is strange, 70 

And can make vile things precious. Come, 

your hovel; 
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my 

heart 
That's sorry jet for thee. 
Fool. [Singing] 'He that has and a little tiny 
wit, — 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, — 75 
Must make content with his fortunes fit. 

For the rain it raineth every day.' 
Lear. True, my good boy. Come, bring us to 

this hovel. Exeunt [Lear and Kent]. 

Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. 

I'll speak a prophecy ere I go: 80 

When priests are more in word than matter ; 

When brewers mar their malt with water; 

When nobles are their tailors' tutors; 

No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors; 

When every case in law is right; 

No squire in debt, nor no poor knight; 

When slanders do not live in tongcues ; 

AT 

Nor cutpurses come not to throngs; 
When usurers tell their gold i' the field ; 
And bawds and whores do churches build ; 90 
Then shall the realm of Albion 
Come to great confusion. 
Then comes the time, who lives to see't, 
That going shall be us'd with feet. 
This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live 
before his time. Exit. 96 



85 



SCE] 



HI. 



Enter Gloucestc 



— [Gloucester's castle.] 
and Edmund, f with lights. 



Glou, Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this un- 
natural dealing. When I desired their leave 
that I might pity him, they took from me tlie 
use of mine own house; charg'd me, on pain of 
their perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of 
him, entreat for him, or any way sustain him. 6 

Edm. Most savage and unnatural! 



628 



ACT II. SC. 



III.] 



KING LEAR 



29 



Glou. Go to ; say you nothing. There is division 
between the dukes; and a worse matter than 
that. I have received a letter this night; 'tis 
dangerous to be spoken; I have locked the let- 
ter in my closet. These injuries the king now 
bears will be revenged home; there's part of a 
power alreadj^ footed. We must incline to the 
king. I will seek him^ and privily relieve 
him; go you and maintain talk with the duke^ 
that my charity be not of him perceived. If 
he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed. If I 
die for it, as no less is threatened me, the king 
my old master must be relieved. There is 
strange things toward, Edmund; pray you, be 
careful. Exit. 21 

Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke 
Instantly know ; and of that letter too. 
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw 

me 
That which my father loses ; no less than all. 25 
The younger rises when the old doth fall. 

Exit. 



Scene IV. — [The heath. Before a hovel.'] 

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 

Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, 
enter. 
The tyranny of the open night's too rough 
For nature to endure. Storm still. 

Lear. Let me alone. 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
Lear. Wilt break my heart? 

Kent. I had rather break mine own. Good my 
lord, enter. 5 

Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this conten- 
tious storm 
Invades us to the skin ; so 'tis to thee ; 
But where the greater malady is fix'd. 
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a 

bear; 
But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, 10 
Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When 

the mind's free. 
The body's delicate; the tempest in my mind 
Doth from my senses take all feeling else 
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude ! 
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand 15 
For lifting food to't.^ But I will punish 
home ! 



No, I will weep no more. In such a night 
To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure. 
In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril ! 
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave 
all, — 20 

O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; 
No more of that. 
Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Prithee, go in thyself; seek thine own 
ease. 
This tempest will not give me leave to pon- 
der 
On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in. 
[To the Fool] In, boy; go first. You house- 
less poverty, — 26 
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll 
sleep. [Fool goes in.] 
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm. 
How shall your houseless heads and unfed 
sides, 30 
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend 

you 
From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en 
Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp; 
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel. 
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them. 
And show the heavens more just. 36 

Edg. [Within] Fathom and half, fathom and 
half! Poor Tom! 

[The Fool 7'uns out from the hovel.] 

Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. 

Help me, help me ! 40 

Kent. Give me thy hand. Who's there? 

Fool. A spirit! a spirit! he says his name's poor 

Tom. 
Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i' 
the straw? Come forth. 45 

[Enter Edgar disguised as a madman.] 

Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! 

'Through the sharp hawthorn blow the winds.' 
Hum ! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 

Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters ? 
And art thou come to this ? 50 

Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom 
the foul fiend hath led through fire and 
through flame, through ford and whirlpool, 
o'er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives 
under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set 
ratsbane by his porridge; made him proud of 



629 



so 



KING LEAR 



[act III. SC. IV. 



hearty to ride on a bay trotting-horse over 
four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow 
for a traitor. Bless thy five wits ! Tom's a- 
cold, — O, do de, do de, do de. Bless thee 
from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! 
Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul 
fiend vexes. There could I have him now, — 
and there, — and there again, and there ! 

Storm still. 

Lear. What, has his daughters brought him to 
this pass.^ 65 

Couldst thou save nothing.^ Wouldst thou 
give 'em all.^^ 

Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had 
been all shamed. 

Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous 
air 
Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy 
daughters ! • 70 

Kent. He hath no daughters, sir! 

Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have sub- 
dued nature 
To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. 
Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers 
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh ? 75 
Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot 
Those pelican daughters. 

Edg. Tillicock sat on Pillicock-hill; 
Halloo, halloo, loo, loo !' 

Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools 
and madmen. 81 

Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend; obey thy 
parents; keep thy words justly; swear not; 
commit not with man's sworn spouse; set not 
thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom's a-cold. 

Lear. What hast thou been? 86 

Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; 
that curled my hair; wore gloves in my cap; 
served the lust of my mistress' heart, and did 
the act of darkness with her; swore as many 
oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the 
sweet face of heaven. One that slept in the 
contriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine 
loved I deeply, dice dearly ; and in woman out- 
paramoured the Turk: false of heart, light of 
ear, bloody of hand ; hog in sloth, fox in 
stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, 
lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes 
nor the rustling of silks betray thy poor heart 
to woman. Keep thy foot out of brothels, 
thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' 
books, and defy the foul fiend. loi 



'Still through the hawthorn blows the cold 

wind :' 
Saj'S suum, mun, ha, no, nonny. 
Dolphin my boy, boy, sessa ! let him trot by. 

Storm still. 
Lear. Thou wert better in thy grave than to an- 
swer with thy uncover'd body this extremity of 
the skies. Is man no more than this ? Con- 
sider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, 
the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no 
perfume. Ha ! here's three on 's are sophisti- 
cated ! Thou art the thing itself ; unaccom- 
modated man is no more but such a poor, bare, 
forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you 
lendings ! come, unbutton here. 114 

[Tearing off his clothes.'] 

Enter Gloucester, with a torch. 

Fool. Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a 
naughty night to swim in. Now a little fire in 
a wild field were like an old lecher's heart; a 
small spark, all the rest on 's body cold. Look, 

119 



here comes a walking; fire. 



Edg. This is the foul Flibbertigibbet: he begins 
at curfew, and walks at first cock; he gives 
the web and the pin, squints the eye, and 
makes the hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, 
and hurts the poor creature of earth. 
'St. Withold footed thrice the 'old; 125 

He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold ; 
Bid her alight. 
And her troth plight. 
And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee I 
Kent. How fares your grace? 130 

Lear. What's he? 

Kent. Who's there? What is't you seek? 
Glou. What are you there? Your names? 
Edg. Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, 
the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the 
water ; that in the fury of his heart, when the 
foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets ; 
swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog; drinks 
the green mantle of the standing pool ; who is 
whipped from tithing to tithing, and stock- 
punished, and imprison'd ; who hath three suits 
to his back, six shirts to his body. 142 

'Horse to ride, and weapon to wear; 
But mice and rats, and such small deer, 
Have been Tom's food for seven long year.' 
Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, 
thou fiend ! . 146 



630 



ACT III. SC. IV.] 



KING LEAR 



31 



Glou. What, hath your grace no better company? 
Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman: 

Modo he's call'd, and Mahu. 
Glou. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so 
vile 150 

That it doth hate what gets it. 
Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. 
Glou. Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer 
To obey in all your daughters' hard com- 
mands : 
Though their injunction be to bar my doors, 155 
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon 

you. 
Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out. 
And bring you where both flre and food is 
ready. 
Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher. 

What is the cause of thunder? 160 

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer ; go into the 

house. 
Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned 
Theban. 
What is your study? 
Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill ver- 
min. 
Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. i6j 
Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord; 

His wits begin to unsettle. 
Glou. Canst thou blame him ? 

Storm still. 
His daughters seek his death; ah, that good 

Kent! 
He said it would be thus, poor banish'd man ! 
Thou say'st the king grows mad; I'll tell thee, 
friend, 170 

I am almost mad myself. I had a son. 
Now outlaw'd from my blood; he sought my 

life. 
But lately, very late. I lov'd him, friend ; 
No father his son dearer; true to tell thee, 
The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a 
night's this ! 175 

I do beseech your grace^ — 
Lear. O, cry j^ou mercy, sir. 

Noble philosopher, your company. 
Edg. Tom's a-cold. 
Glou. In, fellow, there, into the hovel : keep thee 

warm. 
Lear. Come, let's in all. 
Kent. This way, my lord. 

Lear. With him; 180 

I will keep still with my philosopher. 

63 



Kent. Good my lord, soothe him; let him take 

the fellow. 
Glou. Take him you on. 
Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. 
Lear. Come, good Athenian. 185 

Glou. No words, no words: hush. 
Edg. 'Child Rowland to the dark tower came, 
His word was still, — Fie, fob, and fum, 
I smell the blood of a British man.' 

Exeunt. 



Scene V. — [^Gloucester's castle.^ 
Enter Cornwall and Edmund. 

Corn. I will have my revenge ere I depart his 
house. 

Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that 
nature thus gives way to loyalty, something 
fears me to think of. 5 

Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your 
brother's evil disposition made him seek his 
death; but a provoking merit, set a-work by a 
reproveable badness in himself. 9 

Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I must 
repent to be just! This is the letter he spoke 
of, which approves him an intelligent party to 
the advantages of France. O heavens ! that 
this treason were not, or not I the detector ! 14 

Corn. Go with me to the duchess. 

Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you 
have mighty business in hand. 

Corn. True or false, it hath made thee earl of 
Gloucester, Seek out where thy father is, 
that he may be ready for our apprehension. 20 

Edm. [As^de^^ If I find him comforting the 
king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. — I 
will persevere in my course of loyalty, though 
the conflict be sore between that and my blood. 

Corn. I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt 
find a dearer father in my love. Exeunt. 26 



Scene VL — \_A chamber in a farmhouse adjoin- 
ing the castle.'] 

Enter Kent and Gloucester. 

Glou. Here is better than the open air; take it 
thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with 
1 



32 



KING LEAR 



[act III. SC. VI. 



what addition I can: I will not be long from 
you. Exit. 

Kent. All the power of his wits have given way 
to his impatience; the gods reward your kind- 
ness ! 6 

Enter Lear, Edgar, and Fool. 

Edg. Frateretto calls me; and tells me Nero is 
an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray^ in- 
nocent, and beware the foul fiend. 
Fool. Prithee_, nuncle, tell me whether a mad- 
man be a gentleman or a yeoman.^ n 
Lear. A king, a king! 

Fool. No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman 
to his son; for he's a mad yeoman that sees 
his son a gentleman before him. 15 

Lear. To have a thousand with red burning 
spits 
Come hissing in upon 'em, — 
t Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 
Fool. He's mad that trusts in the tameness of 
a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a 
whore's oath. 21 

Lear. It shall be done; I will arraign them 
straight. 
[To Edgar'] Come, sit thou here, most learned 

justicer; 
[To the Fool~\ Thou, sapient sir, sit here. 
Now, you she foxes ! 
Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! 

Want'st thou eyes at trial, madam? 26 

'Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me, — ' 
Fool. 'Her boat hath a leak. 

And she must not speak 
Why she dares not come over to thee.' 30 
Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the 
voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in 
Tom's belly for two white herring. Croak 
not, black angel ; I have no food for thee. 
Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so 
amaz'd: 35 

Will you lie down and rest upon tlie cushions? 
Lear. I'll see their trial first. Bring in their 
evidence. 
[To Edgar] Thou robed man of justice, take 

thy place; 
[To the Fool] And thou, his yoke-fellow of 

equity. 
Bench by his side: [To Kent] you are o' the 
commission, 40 



Sit you too. 
Edg. Let us deal justly. 

'Steepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? 

Thy sheep be in the corn; 
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 45 
Thy sheep shall take no harm.' 
Pur! the cat is grey. 
Lear. Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here 
take my oath before this honourable assembly, 
she kicked the poor king her father. 50 

Fool. Come hither, mistress. Is your name 

Goneril ? 
Lear. She cannot deny it. 

Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint- 
stool. 55 
Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks 
proclaim 
What store her heart is made on. Stop her 

there ! 
Arms, arms, sword, fire ! Corruption in the 

place ! 
False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 
* Edg. Bless thy five wits ! 60 

Kent. O pity! Sir, where is the patience now, 

That you so oft have boasted to retain? 
Edg. [Aside] My tears begin to take his part 
so much. 
They'll mar my counterfeiting. 
Lear. The little dogs and all, 65 

Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark 
at me. 
Edg. Tom will throw his head at them. 
Avaunt, 5^ou curs ! 

'Be thy mouth or black or white. 
Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 70 

Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim. 
Hound or spaniel, brach or lym. 
Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail, 
Tom will make them weep and wail: 
For, with throwing thus my head, 75 

Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled.' 
Do de, de, de. Sessa ! Come, march to 
wakes and fairs and market-towns. Poor 
Tom, thy horn is dry. 79 

Lear, Then let them anatomize Regan ; see what 
breeds about her heart. Is there any cause 
in nature that makes these hard hearts? [To 
Edgar] You, sir, I entertain for one of my 
hundred; only I do not like the fashion of 
your garments. You will say they are Per- 
sian, but let them be changed. 86 



6S2 



ACT III. SC. VI.] 



KING LEAR 



S3 



Enter Gloucester. 

Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here and rest 

awhile. 

Lear. Make no noise, make no noise; draw the 

curtains; so, so, so. We'll go to supper i' the 

morning. So, so, so. 91 

Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. 

Glou, Come hither, friend ; where is the king my 

master .^ 
Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits 

are gone. 
Glou. Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy 
arms ; 95 

I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him; 
There is a litter ready; lay him in't, 
And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou 

shalt meet 
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy 

master: 
If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, 100 
With thine, and all that offer to defend him. 
Stand in assured loss : take up, take up ; 
And follow me, that will to some provision 
Give thee quick conduct. 
f Kent. Oppressed nature sleeps ; 

This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken 
sinews, 105 

Which, if convenience will not allow. 
Stand in hard cure. [To the Fool] Come, 

help to bear thy master; 
Thou must not stay behind. 
* Glou. Come, come, away. 

Exeunt [all hut Edgar]. 
f Edg. When we our betters see bearing our 
woes. 
We scarcely think our miseries our foes. no 
Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind. 
Leaving free things and happy shows behind: 
But then the mind much sufferance doth o'er- 

skip. 
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellow- 
ship. 
How light and portable my pain seems now, 115 
When that which makes me bend makes the 

king bow, 
He childed as I f ather'd ! Tom, away ! 
Mark the high noises; and thyself bewray. 
When false opinion, whose wrong thought de- 
files thee. 
In thy just proof, repeals and reconciles thee. 



What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the 

king ! 121 

Lurk, lurk. [Exit.] 

* Scene VII. — [Gloucester's castle.] 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, and 
Servants. 

Corn. Post speedily to my lord your husband; 
show him this letter; the army of France is 
landed. Seek out the traitor Gloucester. 

[Exeunt some of the Servants.] 

Reg. Hang him instantly. 

Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 5 

Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, 
keep you our sister company: the revenges we 
are bound to take upon your traitorous father 
are not fit for your beholding. Advise the 
duke, where you are going, to a most festinate 
preparation; we are bound to the like. Our 
posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt us. 
Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my lord of 
Gloucester. 13 

Enter Oswald. 

How now! where's the king? 
Osw. My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him 
hence : ' 15 

Some five or six and thirty of his knights. 
Hot questrists after him, met him at gate; 17 
Who, with some other of the lords dependants. 
Are gone with him towards Dover; where they 

boast 
To have well-armed friends. 
Corn. Get horses for your mistress. 20 

Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. [Exit.] 
Corn. Edmund, farewell. 

[Exeunt Edmund and Oswald.] 
Go seek the traitor Gloucester, 
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us. 

[Exeunt other Servants.] 
Though well we may not pass upon his life 
Without the form of justice, yet our power 25 
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men 
May blame, but not control. Who's there .^ 
the traitor? 

Enter Gloucester and Servants. 

Reg. Ingrateful fox ! 'tis he. 



633 



34 



KING LEAR 



[act III. SC. VII. 



Corn. Bind fast his corky arms. 
Glou. What means your graces ? Good my 
friends, consider 30 

You are my guests; do me no foul play, 
friends. 
Corn. Bind him, I say. \^Servants hind him.'] 
Reg. Hard, hard. O filthy traitor! 

Glou. Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none. 
Corn. To this chair bind him. Villain, thou 
shalt find — [Regan plucks his heard.'] 

Glou. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done 35 

To pluck me by the beard. 
Reg. So white, and such a traitor ! 
Glou. Naughty lady, 

These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my 

chin. 
Will quicken, and accuse thee. I am your 

host; 
With robbers' hands my hospitable favours 40 
You should not ruffle thus. What will you 
dot 
Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from 

France } 
Reg. Be simple answer'd, for we know the 

truth. 
Corn. And what confederacy have you with the 
traitors 
Late footed in the kingdom? 45 

Reg. To whose hands you have sent the lunatic 
king } 
Speak. 
Glou. I have a letter guessingly set down, 

Which came from one that's of a neutral heart, 
And not from one oppos'd. 
Corn. Cunning. 

Reg. And false. 

Corn. Where hast thou sent the king? 50 

Glou. To Dover. 
Reg. Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not 

charg'd at peril — 
Corn. Wherefore to Dover? Let him answer 

that. 
Glou. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand 

the course. 
Reg. Wherefore to Dover, sir? S5 

Glou. Because I would not see thy cruel nails 
Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce 

sister 
In his annointed flesh stick boarish fangs. 
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head 
In hell-black night endur'd, would have 
buoy'd up, 60 



And quench'd the stelled fires: 

Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to 

rain. 
If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern 

time. 
Thou shouldst have said 'Good porter, turn 

the key'; 
All cruels else subscribe; but I shall see 6s 
The winged vengeance overtake such children. 
Corn. See't shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the 
chair. 
Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot. 
Glou. He that will think to live till he be old. 

Give me some help ! O cruel ! O you gods ! 
Reg. One side will mock another; the other 
too. 71 

Corn. If you see vengeance, — 
First Serv. Hold your hand, my lord: 

I have serv'd you ever since I was a child; 
But better service have I never done you 
Than now to bid you hold. 



Reg. 



How now, you dog 



First Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your 

chin, 

I'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you 

mean ? 

Corn. My villain! [They] draw and fight. 

First Serv. Nay, then, come on, and take the 

chance of anger. 
Reg. Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up 
thus ! 80 

She takes a sword, and runs at him hehind. 
First Serv. O, I am slain! My lord, you have 
one eye left 
To see some mischief on him. O ! [Dies.] 
Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile 
jelly! 
Where is thy lustre now ? 
Glou. All dark and comfortless. Where's my 
son Edmund? 85 

Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature. 
To quit this horrid act. 
Reg. Out, treacherous villain ! 

Thou call'st on him that hates thee. It was he 
That made the overture of thy treasons to us, 
Who is too good to pity thee. 90 

Glou. O my follies ! then Edgar was abus'd. 

Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! 
Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him 
smell 
His way to Dover. Exit [one] with GlouceS' 
ter. How is't, my lord? how look you? 



QS']' 



ACT III. SC. VII.] 



KING LEAR 



35 



Corn, I have receiv'd a hurt ; follow me, lady. 95 
Turn out that eyeless villain ; throw this slave 
Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace. 
Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm. 
[^Ejcit Cornwall, led by Regan.'] 
t Sec. Serv. I'll never care what wickedness I 
do. 
If this man come to good. 
Third Serv. If she live long, 100 

And in the end meet the old course of death. 
Women will all turn monsters. 
Sec. Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and get the 
Bedlam 
To lead him where he would; his roguish mad- 
ness 
Allows itself to any thing. • 105 

Third Serv. Go thou; I'll fetch some flax and 
whites of eggs 
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven 



help him! 



Exeunt [^severally']. 



*ACT FOURTH 

Scene L — [The heath.] 
Enter Edgar. 
thus, and known 



to b 



e con- 



contemn'd and flatter'd, to be 
and most dejected thing of for- 



Edg. Yet better 

temn'd. 
Than still 

w^orst ; 
The lowest 

tune. 
Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear. 
The lamentable change is from the best; 5 
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, 

then. 
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace ! 
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the 

worst 
Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes 

here } 

Enter Gloucester, led by an Old Man. 

My father, poorly led? World, world, O 
world ! 10 

But that thy strange mutations make us hate 
thee, 

Life would not yield to age. 
Old Man. O, my good lord, I have been your 



tenant, and your father's tenant, these four- 
score years. 15 
Glou. Away, get thee away. Good friend, be 
gone. 
Thy comforts can do me no good at all ; 
Thee they may hurt. 
Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. 
Glou. I have no way, and therefore want no 
eyes ; • 20 
I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen. 
Our means secure us, and our mere defects 
Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar, 
The food of thy abused father's wrath. 
Might I but live to see thee in my touch, 25 
I'd say I had eyes again! 
Old Man. How now! Who's there? 
Edg. [Aside] O gods! Who is't can say 'I am 
at the worst'? 
I am worse than e'er I was. 
Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. 
Edg. [Aside] And worse I may be yet; the 
worst is not 
So long as we can say 'This is the worst.' 30 
Old Man. Fellow, where goest? 
Glou. Is it a beggar-man? 
Old Man. Madman and beggar too. 
Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw; 
Which made me think a man a worm. My 
son 35 
Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind 
Was then scarce friends with him. I have 

heard more since. 
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. 
They kill us for their sport. 
Edg. [Aside] How should this be? 

Bad is the trade that must play fool to sor- 
row, 40 
Ang'ring itself, and others. — Bless thee, mas- 
ter ! 
Glou. Is that the naked fellow ? 
Old Man. Ay, my lord. 
Glou. Then, prithee, get thee gone. If, for my 
sake. 
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient 
love ; 45 
And bring some covering for this naked soul. 
Which I'll entreat to lead me. 
Old Man. Alack, sir, he is mad. 
Glou. 'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead 
the blind. 



635 



36 



KING LEAR 



[act 



IV. SC. I. 



Do as I bid thee^ or rather do thy pleasure ; 
Above the rest^ be gone. 5^ 

Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that I 
have, 
Come on't what will. Ed'it. 

Glou. Sirrah, naked fellow, — 

Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. [Aside'\ I cannol 
daub it further. 

Glou. Come hither, fellow. 55 

Edg. [Aside'] And yet I must. — Bless thy sweet 
eyes, they bleed. 

Glou. Know'st thou the way to Dover? 

Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot- 
path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his 
good wits. Bless thee, good man's son, from 
the foul fiend ! \ Five fiends have been in 
poor Tom at once; of lust, as Obidicut; Hob- 
bididance, prince of dumbness ; Mahu, of steal- 
ing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of 
mojDping and mowing, who since possesses 
chambermaids and waiting-women. So, bless 
thee, master ! 66 

* Glou. Here, take this purse, thou whom the 
heavens' plagues 
Have humbled to all strokes. That I am 

wretched 
IVIakes thee the happier ; heavens, deal so still ! 
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, 70 
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
Because he doth not feel, feel your power 

quickly ; 
So distribution should undo excess. 
And each man have enough. Dost thou know 
Dover? 

Edg. Ay, master. 75 

Glou. There is a cliff, whose high and bending 
head 
Looks fearfully in the confined deep; 
Bring me but to the very brim of it. 
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear 
With something rich about me. From that 
place 80 

I shall no leading need. 

Edg. Give me thy arm ; 

Poor Tom shall lead thee. Exeunt. 

Scene II. — [Before the Duke of Albany's 
palace.] 

Enter Goneril, Edmund, and Oswald. 

Gon. Welcome, my lord; I marvel our mild hus- 
band 



Not met us on the way. Now, where's your 

master ? 
Osic}. Madam, within; but never man so chang'd. 
I told him of the army that was landed; 
He smiled at it. I told him you were coming; 
His answer was 'The worse;' of Gloucester's 

treachery, 6 

And of the loyal service of his son. 
When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot. 
And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out: 
What most he should dislike seems pleasant to 

him ; 10 

What like, offensive. 
Gon. [To Edm-.] Then shall you go no further. 
It is the cowish terror of his spirit. 
That dares not undertake. He'll not feel 

wrongs 
Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on 

the way 
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my 

brother ; is 

Hasten his musters and conduct his powers. 
I must change names at home, and give the 

distaff 
Into my husband's hands. This trusty serv- 
ant 
Shall pass between us; ere long you are like 

to hear, 
If you dare venture in your own behalf, 20 

A mistress's command. Wear this, sjjare 

speech. 
Decline your head; this kiss, if it durst speak. 
Would stretch thy spirits up in to the air. 
Conceive, and fare thee well. 
Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. Exit. 

Gon. My most dear Gloucester! 25 

O, the difference of man and man ! 
To thee a woman's services are due ; 
My fool usurps my body. 
Osw. Madam, here comes my lord. 

Exit. 
Enter Albany. 

Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 

Alb. OGoneril! 

You are not worth the dust which the rude 
wind 30 

Blows in your face, f I fear your disposition ; 
That nature, which contemns its origin. 
Cannot be border'd certain in itself; 
She that herself will sliver and disbranch 
From her material sap, perforce must wither 35 



QSQ 



ACT IV. SC. 



11.] 



KING LEAR 



37- 



And come to deadly use. 
Gon, No more ; the text is foolish. 
Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; 
Filths savour but themselves. What have you 

done ? 
Tigers, not daughters, what have you per- 
form 'd ? 40 
A father, and a gracious aged man. 
Whose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear 

would lick, 
(Most barbarous, most degenerate!) have you 

madded. 
Could my good brother suffer you to do it? 
A man, a prince, by him so benefited! 45 

If that the heavens do not their visible spirits 
Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, 
It will come. 

Humanity must perforce prey on itself, 
Like monsters of the deep. 
Gon. * Milk-liver'd man ! 50 

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for 

wrongs. 
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning 
Thine honour from thy suffering ; f that not 

know'st 
Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd 
Ere they have done their mischief, where's 

thy drum? ss 

France spreads his banners in our noiseless 

land. 
With plumed helm thy state begins to threat; 
Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and criest 



why does he so! 



'Alack 
Alb. * See thyself, devil ! 

Proper deformity seems not in the iiend 60 

So horrid as in woman. 
Gon, O vain fool ! 

^ Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for 
shame, 

Be-monster not thy feature. Were 't my fit- 
ness 

To let these hands obey my blood. 

They are apt enough to dislocate and tear 65 

Thy flesh and bones. Howe'er thou art a 
fiend, 

A woman's shape doth shield thee. 
Gon, Marry, your manhood — Mew! 

Enter a Messenger. 

Alb. What news? 

■^ Mess. O, my good lord, the Duke of Corn- 
wall's dead; 70 



Slain by his servant, going to put out 
The other eye of Gloucester. 
Alb. Gloucester's eyes ! 

Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with re- 
morse, 
Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword 
To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd, 75 
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him 

dead; 
But not without that harmful stroke, which 

since 
Hath pluck'd him after. 
Alb. This shows you are above. 

You justicers, that these our nether crimes 
So speedily can venge ! But, O poor Glouces- 
ter ! 80 
Lost he his other eye? 
Mess. Both, both, my lord. 
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; 
'Tis from your sister. 
Gon. [Aside.] One way I like this well; 

But being widow, and my Gloucester with 

her. 
May all the building in my fancy pluck 85 
Upon my hateful life. Another way. 
The news is not so tart. — I'll read, and an- 
swer. Exit. 
Alb. Where was his son when they did take his 

eyes ? 
Mess. Come with my lady hither. 
Alb. He is not here. 90 

Mess. No, my good lord; I met him back again. 
Alb. Knows he the wickedness? 
Mess. Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd 
against him; 
And quit the house on purpose, that their 

punishment 
Might have the freer course. 
Alb. Gloucester, I live 95 

To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the 

king. 
And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, 

friend ; 
Tell me what more thou know'st. Exeunt. 



\ Scene III. — [The French camp near Dover."] 

Enter Kent and a Gentleman. 

Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly 
gone back know you no reason? 



637; 



38 



KING LEAR 



[act IV. sc. 



Gent, Something he left imperfect in the state^ 

which since his coming forth is thought of; 

which imports to the kingdom so much fear 

and danger^ that his personal return was most 

required and necessary. 7 

Kent. Who hath he left behind him general? 

Gent. The Marshal of France, Monsieur La 

Far. 10 

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any 

demonstration of grief .^ 
Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my 
presence ; 
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down 
Her delicate cheek; it seem'd she was a queen 
Over her passion, who, most rebel-like, i6 

Sought to be king o'er her. 
Ke?it. O, then it mov'd her. 

Gent. Not to a rage ; patience and sorrow strove 
Who should express her goodliest. You have 

seen 

Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and 

tears 20 

Were like, a better way; those happy smilets, 

That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to 

know 
What guests were in her eyes; which parted 

thence. 
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief, 
Sorrow w^ould be a rarity most belov'd, 25 

If all could so become it. 
Kent. Made she no verbal question? 

Gent. 'Faith, once or twice she heav'd the name 
of 'father' 
Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart; 
Cried 'Sisters ! sisters ! Shame of ladies ! sis- 
ters ! 
Kent ! father ! sisters ! What, i' the storm ? i' 
the night? 30 

Let pity not be believ'd !'• There she shook 
The holy water from her heavenly eyes. 
And clamour moisten'd her; then away she 

started 
To deal with grief alone. 
Kent. It is the stars. 

The stars above us, govern our conditions; 35 
Else one self mate and make could not be- 
get 
Such different issues. You spoke not with 
her since? 
Gent. No. 

Kent. Was this before the king return'd? 
Gent, No, since. 



Kent. Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' 
the town; 40 

Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers 
What we are come about, and by no means 
Will yield to see his daughter. 
Gent. Why, good sir? 

Kent, A sovereign shame so elbows him; his 
own unkindness. 
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd 
her 45 

To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
To his dog-hearted daughters, these things 

sting 
His mind so venomously, that burning shame 
Detains him from Cordelia. 
Gent, Alack, poor gentleman ! 

Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you 
heard not? 50 

Gent. 'Tis so, they are afoot. 
Kent, Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master 
Lear, 
And leave you to attend him. Some dear 

cause 
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile; 
When I am known aright, you shall not 
grieve ^ 55 

Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, 

go 
Along with me. Exeunt. 



* Scene [IV. — The same. A tent.] 

Enter, with drum and colours, Cordelia, Gentle- 
man, and Soldiers. 

Cor, Alack, 'tis he ! why, he was met even now 
As mad as the vex'd sea ; singing aloud ; 
Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds. 
With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flow- 
ers. 
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 5 
In our sustaining corn. A century send forth ; 
Search every acre in the high-grown field. 
And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] 

What can man's wisdom 
In the restoring his bereaved sense? 
He tliat helps him take all my outward 
worth. 10 

Gent. There is means, madam: 

Our foster-nurse of nature is repose. 

The which he lacks; that to provoke in him. 



638 



ACT IV. SC. IV.] 



KING LEAR 



39 



Are many simples operative, whose power 
Will close the eye of anguish. 
Cor. All blest secrets, 15 

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, 
Spring with my tears ! be aidant and remediate 
In the good man's distress ! Seek, seek for 

him; 
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life 
That wants the means to lead it. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. News, madam; 20 

The British powers are marching hitherward. 

Cor. 'Tis known before; our preparation stands 
In expectation of them. O dear father, 
It is thy business that I go about; 
Therefore great France 25 

My mourning and importun'd tears hath pitied. 
No blown ambition doth our arms incite. 
But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's 

right : 
Soon may I hear and see him! Exeunt. 



Scene [V. — Gloucester's castle.'] 

Enter Regan and Oswald. 

Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth? 
Osiv. Ay, madam. 

Reg. Himself in person there? 
Osw. Madam, with much ado. 

Your sister is the better soldier. 
Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord 

at home? 
Osw. Noj madam. s 

Reg. What might import my sister's letter to 

him; 
Osw. I know not, lady. 

Reg. 'Faith;, he is posted hence on serious mat- 
ter. 
It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes be- 
ing out. 
To let him live; where he arrives he moves 10 
All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is 

gone, 
In pity of his misery, to dispatch 
His nighted life ; moreover, to descry 
The strength o' the enemy. 
Osw. I must needs after him, madam, with my 
letter. 15 



Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with 
us; 
The ways are dangerous. 
Osw: I may not, madam: 

My lady charg'd my duty in this business. 
Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might 
not you 
Transport her purposes by word? Belike, 20 
Some things I know not what. I'll love thee 

much, — 
Let me unseal the letter. 
Osw. Madam, I had rather — 

Reg. I know your lady does not love her hus- 
band, 
I am sure of that; and at her late being here 
She gave strange oeillades and most speaking 
looks 25 

To noble Edmund. I know you are of her 
bosom. 
Osw. I, madam? 

Reg. I speak in understanding; y' are, I know't. 
Therefore I do advise you, take this note. 
My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd; 
And more convenient is he for my hand 31 
Than for your lady's. You may gather more; 
If you do find him, pray you, give him this; 
And when your mistress hears thus much 

from you, 
I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her. 35 
So, fare you well. 

If you do chance to hear of that blind trai- 
tor, 
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. 
Osw. Would I could meet him, madam! I 
should show 
What party I do follow. 
Reg. Fare thee well. Exeunt. 40 



Scene [VI. — Fields near Dover.'] 

Enter Gloucester, and Edgar [dressed like a 
peasant] . 

Glou. When shall I come to the top of that 

same hill? 
Edg. You do climb up it now; look, how we 

labour. 
Glou. Methinks the ground is even. 
Edg. Horrible steep. 

Hark, do you hear the sea? 
Glou. No, truly. 



-iO 



KING LEAR 



[act IV. SC. VI. 



Edg. Wli}^, then^ your other senses grow im- 
perfect 5 
By your eyes' anguish. 
Glou. So may it be^, indeed: 
^lethinks thy voice is alter'd: and thou 

speak'st 
In better phrase and matter than thou didst. 
Edg. You're much deceiv'd: in nothing am I 
chang'd 
But in my garments 
Glou, iMethinks j^ou're better spoken. lo 

Edg. Come on, sir; here's the place; stand still. 
How fearful 
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low ! 
The crows and choughs that wing the midway 

air 
Show scarce so gross as beetles; half way 

down 
Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful 
trade ! 15 

Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. 
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring 

bark, 
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy 
Almost too small for sight. The murmuring 
surge, 2c 

That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, 
Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more; 
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
Topple down headlong. 
Glou. Set me where you stand. 

Edg. Give me your hand: you are now withir! 
a foot 2: 

Of the extreme verge. For all beneath the 

moon 
Would I not leap upright. 
Glou. Let go my hand. 

Here, friend, 's another purse; in it a jewel 
Well worth a poor man's taking: fairies and 

gods 
Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off; 30 
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 
Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. 
Glou. With all my heart. 

Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair 

Is done to cure it. 
Glou. O you mighty gods ! He kneels. 

This world I do renounce, and, in your sights, 
Shake patiently my great affliction off. 36 

If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, 



My snufF and loathed part of nature should 
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless 
him ! 40 

Now, fellow, fare thee well. 4i_ 

He falls [forward]. 
Edg. Gone, sir ! farewell ! 

And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
The treasury of life, when life itself 
Yields to the theft; had he been where he 

thought. 
By this had thought been past. Alive or 
dead ? 45 

Ho, you sir ! friend ! Hear you, sir ! speak ! 
Thus might he pass indeed ! yet he revives. 
What are you, sir.^* 
Glou. Away, and let me die. 

Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, 
feathers, air. 
So many fathom down precipitating, 50 

Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg; but thou dost 

breathe; 
Hast heavy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, 

art sound. 
Ten masts at each make not the altitude 
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell; 
Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again. 55 

Glou. But have I fall'n, or no? 
Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky 
bourn. 
Look up a-height; the shrill-gorg'd lark so 

far 
Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up. 
Glou. Alack, I have no eyes. 60 

Is. wretchedness depriv'd that benefit. 
To end itself by death ? 'Twas yet some com- 
fort. 
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage. 
And frustrate his proud will. 
Edg. Give me your arm. 

Up ! so. How is't ? Feel you your legs ? 
You stand. 65 

Glou. Too well, too well. 

Edg. This is above all strangeness. 

Upon the crown o' the clifF, what thing M^as 

that 
Which parted from you? 
Glou. A poor unfortunate beggar. 

Edg. As I stood here below, methought his eyes 
Were two full moons ; he had a thousand 
noses, 70 

Horns whelk'd and waved like the enridged 
sea. 



640 



ACT IV. SC. VI,] 



KING LEAR 



41 



It was some fiend; therefore^ thou happy fa- 
ther, 

Think -that the clearest gods, who make them 
honours 

Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee. 

Glou. I do remember now. Henceforth I'll 

bear 75 

Affliction till it do cry out itself 

'Enough, enough,' and die. That thing you 
speak of, 

r took it for a man; often 'twould say 

'The fiend ! the fiend !' He led me to that 
place. 
Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. 

JEntef Lear, [^fantastically dressed with wild 
flowers^. 

But who comes here ? 80 
The safer sense "wilL ne'er accommodate 
Hisfirmaster thus. 

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining; 
I am^the king himself. 

Edg. O thou side-piercing sight ! 85 

Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. 
There's your press-money. That fellow han- 
dles his bow like a crow-keeper; draw me a 
clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse ! Peace, 
peace; this piece of toasted cheese will do't. 
There's my gauntlet; I'll prove it on a giant. 
Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, 
bird ! i' the clout, i' the clout : hewgh ! Give 
the word. 

Edg. Sweet marjoram. 

Lear. Pass. 

Glou. I know that voice. 

Lear. Ha ! Goneril, with a white beard ! They 
flattered me like a dog ; and told me I had 
white hairs in my beard ere the black ones 
were there. To say 'ay' and 'no' to every 
thing that I said ! — 'Ay' and 'no' too was no 
good divinity. When the rain came to wet 
me once, and the wind to make me chatter; 
when the thunder would not peace at my bid- 
ding ; there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. 
Go to, they are not men o' their words: they 
told me I was every thing; 'tis a lie, I am not 
ague-proof. 107 

Glou. The trick of that voice I do well remem- 
ber: 
Is't not the king? 

Lear. Ay, every inch a king! 



93 



95 



When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. 
I pardon that man's life. What was thy 
cause? Ill 

Adultery ? 

Thou shalt not die : die for adultery ! No : 
The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly 
Does lecher in my sight. 115 

Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester's bas- 
tard son 
Was kinder to his father than my daughters 
Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 
To't, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers. 
Behold yond simpering dame, 120 

Whose face between her forks presages snow ; 
That minces virtue, and does shake the head 
To hear of pleasure's name; 
The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to't 
With a more riotous appetite. 125 

Down from the waist they are Centaurs, 
Though women all above: 
But to the girdle do the gods inherit. 
Beneath is all the fiends'; 

There's hell, there's darkness, there's the sul- 
phurous pit, 130 
Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie, 
fie, fie ! pah, pah ! Give me an ounce of civet, 
good apothecary, sweeten my imagination. 
There's money for thee. 

Glou. O, let me kiss that hand ! 135 

Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortal- 
ity. 

Glou. O ruin'd piece of nature ! This great 
world 
Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know 
me? 

Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost 
thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind 
Cupid; I'll not love. Read thou this chal- 
lenge ; mark but the penning of it. 

Glou. Were all the letters suns, I could not see 
one. 

Edg. I would not take this from report; it is. 
And my heart breaks at it. 14s 

Lear. Read. 

Glou. What, with the case of eyes? 

Lear. O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes 
in your head, nor no money in your purse? 
Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in 
a light, yet you see how this world goes. 151 

Glou. I see it feelingly. 

Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how 
this world goes with no eyes. Look with 



641 



KING LEAR 



[act IV. SC. VI. 



thine ears; see how yond justice rails upon 

yond simple thief. Hark, in thine ear. 

Change places ; and, handy-dandy, which is 

the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast 

seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar } 
Glou. Ay, sir. i6o 

Lea?'. And the creature run from the cur? 

There thou mightst behold the great image 

of autliority; a dog's obeyed in office. 

Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand ! 

Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thy 
own back; 165 

Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind 

For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer 
hangs the cozener. 

Through tatter'd clothes great vices do ap- 
pear ; 

Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin 
with gold, 

And the strong lance of justice hurtless 
breaks ; 170 

Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce 
it. 

None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 
'em. 

Take that of me, my friend, who have the 
power 

To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass 
eyes ; 

And, like a scurvy politician, seem 175 

To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, 
now, now ! 

Pull off my boots; harder, harder; so. 
Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd ! 

Reason in madness ! 
Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my 
eyes. 180 

I know thee well enough; thy name is Glou- 
cester : 

Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: 

Thou know'st, the first time that we smell 
the air. 

We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee; 
mark. 
Glou. Alack, alack the day! 185 

Lear. When we are born, we cry that we are 
come 

To this great stage of fools ; this a good block. 

It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 

A troop of horse with felt: I'll put't in proof; 

And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in- 
law, 190 



Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill ! 

Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants. 

Gent. O, here he is; lay hand upon him. Sir^ 

Your most dear daughter — 
Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am 
even 
The natural fool of fortune. Use me well ; 195 
You shall have ransom. Let me have sur- 
geons ; 
I am cut to the brains. 
Gent. You shall have any thing. 

Lear. No seconds? all myself? 

Why, this would make a man a man of salt. 
To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 200 
f Ay, and laying autumn's dust. 
Gent. ' Good sir, — 

* Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. 
What! 
I will be jovial; come, come; I am a king. 
My masters, know you that? 
Gent, You are a royal one, and we obey you. 205 
Lear. Then there's life in't. Come, and you 
get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, 
sa, sa. 

Ea;it [running; Attendants follow]. 
Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest 
wretch. 
Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one 

daughter. 
Who redeems nature from the general curse 210 
Which twain have brought her to. 
Edg. Hail, gentle sir. 

Gent. Sir, speed you: what's your will? 

Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle to- 
ward? 
Gent. Most sure and vulgar; every one hears 
that. 
Which can distinguish sound. 
Edg. But, by your favour, 215 

How near*s the other army? 
Gent. Near and on speedy foot; the main 
descry 
Stands on the hourly thought. 
Edg. I thank you, sir; that's all. 

Gent. Though that the queen on special cause 
is here. 
Her army is mov'd on. Exit. 

Edg. I thank you, sir. 220 

Glou. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath 
from me; 



642 



ACT IV. SC. VI.] 



KING LEAR 



43 



Let not my worser spirit tempt me again 
To die before you please! 
Edg. Well pray you^ father. 

Glou. Now, good sir, what are you.'' 
Edg. A most poor man, made tame to fortune's 
blows ; 225 

Who, by the art of known and feeling sor- 
rows, 
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your 

hand, 
I'll lead you to some biding. 
Glou. Hearty thanks : 

The bounty and the benison of heaven 
To boot, and boot ! 

Enter Oswald. 



Osw. A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy ! 230 

That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd 

flesh 
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy 

traitor. 
Briefly thyself remember; the sword is out 
That must destroy thee. 

Glou. Now let thy friendly hand 

Put strength enough to't. 

[Edgar interposes.'] 

Osw. Wherefore, bold peasant, 235 

Barest thou support a publish'd traitor? 

Hence ; 
Lest that the infection of his fortune take 
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. 

Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 
'casion. 240 

Osw. Let go, slave, or thou diest! 

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, pnd let poor 
volk pass. And chud ha' bin zw^ggered out 
of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis 
by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th* old 
man; keep out, che vor ye, or ise try whether 
your costard or my hallow be the harder ; chill 
be plain with you. 248 

Osw. Out, dunghill ! 

Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir: come; no mat- 
ter vor your foins. 
[They fight, and Edgar Jcnocks him down.] 

Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me; villain, take my 
purse. 252 

If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body ; 
And give the letters which thou find'st about 



me 



To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him. 

out 255 

Upon the British party. O, untimely death! 

Death! He dies. 

Edg. I know thee well: a serviceable villain; 

As duteous to the vices of thy mistress 

As badness would desire. 

Glou. What, is he dead? 

Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you. 260 

Let's see these pockets; the letters that he 

speaks of . 
May be my friends. He's dead; I am only 

sorry 
He had no other death's-man. Let us see. 
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us 

not; 
To know our enemies' minds, we rip their 

hearts ; 265 

Their papers is more lawful. 

Heads the letter. 
'Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. 
You have many opportunities to cut him off: 
if your will want not, time and place will be 
fruitfully ofl*ered. There is nothing done, if 
he return the conqueror; then am I the pris- 
oner, and his bed my gaol; from the loathed 
warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the 
place for your labour. 

'Your — wife, so I would say — 275 

'Affectionate servant, 

'GONERIL.' 

O indistinguish'd space of woman's will ! 
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life; 
And the exchange my brother ! Here, in the 

sands, 280 

Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified 
Of murderous lechers ; and in the mature time 
With this ungracious paper strike the sight 
Of the death-practis'd duke: for him 'tis well 
That of thy death and business I can tell. 285 
Glou. The king is mad; how stiff is my vile 

sense. 
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
Of my huge sorrows ! Better I were distract: 
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my 

griefs. Drum afar off. 

And woes 'by wrong imaginations lose 250 

The knowledge of themselves. 
Edg. Give me your hand; 

Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. 
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. 

Exeunt. 



64>3 



KING LEAR 



[act IV. SC. VII. 



Scene VII.— [/i tent in the French camp.] 

Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman. 

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and 
work, 
To match thy goodness ? My life will be too 

short. 
And every measure fail me. 
Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er- 
paid. 
All my reports go with the modest truth ; 5 
Nor more nor clipp'd, but so. 
(Jqj. Be better suited: 

These weeds are memories of those worser 

hours. 
I prithee, put them off. 
Kent. Pardon me, dear madam; 

Yet to be known shortens my made intent: 
My boon I make it, that you know me not 10 
Till time and I think meet. 
Cor. Then be't so, my good lord. [To the Gen 

tleman.'] How does the king? 
Gent. Madam, sleeps still. 
Cor. O you kind gods. 

Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 15 
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up 
Of this child-changed father ! 
Gent. So please your majesty 

That we may wake the king.? he hath slept 
long. 
Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and pro- 
ceed 
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd? 

Enter Lear in a chair carried by servants. 



Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of sleep 21 

We put fresh garments on him. 
Kent. Be by, good madam, when we do awake 
him; 
I doubt not of his temperance. 
t Cor. Very well. 

Gent. Please you, draw near. Louder the 
music there! 25 

* Cor. O my dear father ! Restoration hang 
Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss ^ 
Repair those violent harms that my two sis- 
ters 
Have in thy reverence made! 



Kent. Kind and dear princess! 

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white 

flakes 

Did challenge pity of them. Was this a face 

To be oppos'd against the warring winds? 

f To stand against the deep dread-bolted 

thunder ? 
In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
Of quick, cross lightning? to watch — poor 
perdu ! — 35 

With this thin helm? ^ Mine enemy's dog. 
Though he had bit me, should have stood that 

night 
Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor 

father. 
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues for- 
lorn. 
In short and musty straw ? Alack, alack ! 40 
'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once 
Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to 
him. 
Gent. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest. 
Cor. How does my royal lord ? How fares your 

maj esty ? 
Lear. You do me wrong to take me out 0' the 
grave. 45 

Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound 
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
Do scald like molten lead. 
(Jqj.^ Sir, do you know me? 

Lear. You are a spirit, I know; where did you 

die? 

Cor. Still, still, far wide ! so 

Gent. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile. 

Lear. Where have I been ? Where am I ? Fair 

daylight ? 

I am mightily abus'd. I should e'en die with 

pity^ 
To see another thus. I know not what to 

say. 
I will not swear these are my hands; let's 

see * ^^ 

I feel' this pin prick. Would I were assur'd 
Of my condition ! 

Cor. O, look upon me, sir. 

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me; 
No, sir, you must not kneel. 

Lear. Pray, do not mock me; 

I am a very foolish fond old man, 60 

Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor 
less; 



644 



ACT IV. SC. 



VII.] 



KING LEAR 



45 



And, to deal plainly, 

I fear I am not in my perfect mind. 

Methinks I should know you, and know this 
man; 

Yet I am doubtful, for I am mainly ignorant 

What place this is ; and all the skill I have 66 

Remembers not these garments; nor I know 
not 

Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh 
at me; 

For, as I am a man, I think this lady 

To be my child Cordelia. 
Cor. And so I am, I am. 70 

Lear. Be your tears wet? yes, 'faith. I pray, 
weep not. 

If you have poison for me, I will drink it. 

I know 3^ou do not love me; for your sisters 

Have, as I do remember, done me wrong. 

You have some cause, they have not. 7S 

Cor. No cause, no cause. 

Lear. Am I in France? 

Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 

Lear. Do not abuse me. 

Gent. Be comforted, good madam; the great 
rage. 

You see, is kill'd in him ; f and yet it is dan- 
ger 

To make him even o'er the time he has lost. 80 

* Desire him to go in; trouble him no more 

Till further settling. 
Cor. Will't please your highness walk? 
Lear. You must bear with me. 

Pray you now, forget and forgive; I am old 
and foolish. 84 

Exeunt [all huf] f Kent and Gentleman. 
Gent. Holds it true, sjr, that the Duke of Corn- 
wall was so slain? 
Kent. Most certain, sir. 
Gent. Who is conductor of his people? 
Kent. As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester. 
Gent. They say Edgar, his banish'd son, is with 

the Earl of Kent in Germany. 91 

Kent. Report is changeable. 'Tis time to look 

about; the powers of the kingdom approach 

apace. 
Gent. The arbitrement is like to be bloody. 

Fare you well, sir. \Exit.'\ 96 

Kent. My point and period will be throughly 
wrought. 

Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought. 

Exit. 



^ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — [The British camp, near Dover.^ 

Enter, with drum and colours, Edmund, Regan, 
Gentlemen, and Soldiers. 

Edm, Know of the duke if his last purpose 
hold. 

Or whether since he is advis'd by aught 

To change the course. He's full of alteration 

And self-reproving; bring his constant pleas- 
ure. [To a Gentleman, who goes owt.] 
Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 5 
Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam. 
Reg. Now, sweet lord, 

You know the goodness I intend upon you; 

Tell me — but truly — but then speak the truth, 

Do you not love my sister? 
Edm. In honour'd lovCo 

Reg. But have you never found my brother's 
way 10 

To the forfended place? 
f Edm. That thought abuses you. 

Reg. I am doubtful that you have been con- 
junct 

And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. 
^ Edm. No, by mine honour, madam. 
Reg. I never shall endure her ; dear my lord. 

Be not familiar with her. 
Edm. Fear me not; 16 

She and the duke her husband ! 

Enter, with drum and colours, Albany, Goneril, 
and Soldiers. 



t Gon. [Aside. 1 I had rather lose the battle than 
that sister 
Should loosen him and me. 
^ Alb. Our very loving sister, well be-met, 20 
Sir, this I heard; the king is come to his 

daughter. 
With others whom the rigour of our state 
Forc'd to cry out. f Where I could not be 

honest, 
I never yet was valiant. For this business. 
It toucheth us, as France invades our land, 2s 
Not holds the king, with others, whom, I fear. 
Most just and heavy causes make oppose. 
Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. 



64>5 



4G 



KING LEAR 



[act v. SC. I. 



* Reg. Why is this reason'd ? 
Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy; 

For these domestic and particular broils 30 

Are not the question here. 
Alh. Let's then determine 

With the ancient of war on our proceeding, 
f Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent. 

* Reg. Sister, you'll go with us.^ 

Gon. No. 35 

Reg. 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with 

us. 
Gon. \^Aside.'] O ho, I know the riddle. — I will 



\_As they are going out,] enter Edgar [dis- 
guised] . 

Edg. [To Albany.] If e'er your grace had 
sjDeech with man so poor. 
Hear me one word. 
Alh. I'll overtake you. Speak. 

[Exeunt ail hut Alhany and Edgar.] 
Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this let- 
ter. 40 
If you have victory, let the trumpet sound 
For him that brought it; wretched though I 

seem, 
I can produce a champion that will prove 
What is avouched there. If you miscarry. 
Your business of the world hath so an end, 45 
And machination ceases. Fortune love you ! 
Alh. Stay till I have read the letter. 
Edg. I was forbid it. 

When time shall serve, let bait the herald cry, 
And I'll appear again. Exit. 

Alh. Why, fare thee well: I will o'erlook thy 
paper. 50 

Re-enter Edmund. 

Edm. The enemy's in view; draw up your pow- 
ers. 
Here is the guess of their true strength and 

forces 
By diligent discovery; but your haste 
Is now urg'd on you. 
Alh. We will greet the time. Exit. 

Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn my 
love; 55 

Each jealous of the other, as the stung 
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I 
take? 



MQ 



Both? one? or neither? Neither can be en- 
joy 'd. 
If both remain alive; to take the widow 
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril; 60 
And hardly shall I carry out my side. 
Her husband being alive. Now then we'll 

use 
His countenance for the battle; which being 

done. 
Let her who would be rid of him devise 
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy 65 
Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, 
The battle done, and they within our power, 
Shall never see his pardon; for my state 
Stands on me to defend, not to debate. 69 

Exit. 

Scene II. — [A field between the two camps.] 

Alarum within. Enter , with drum and colours, 
Lear, Cordelia, and Soldiers, over the stage; 
and exeunt. 

Enter Edgar and Gloucester. 

Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree 
For your good host; pray that the right may 

thrive : 
If ever I return to you again, 
I'll bring you comfort. 
Glou. Grace go with you, sir ! 

Exit [Edgar]. 

Alarum and retreat within. Re-enter Edgar. 

Edg. Away, old man; give me thy hand; away! 
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter 
ta'en, ^ 6 

Give me thy hand ; come on. 
Glou. No farther, sir ; a man may rot even here. 
Edg. What, in ill thoughts again? Men must 
endure 
Their going hence, even as their coming 
hither ; 10 

Ripeness is all. Come on ! 
Glou. And that's true too. Exeunt. 

Scene III. — [The British camp near Dover.'\ 

Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, Ed- 
mund: Lear and Cordelia, as prisoners; Sol- 
diers, Captain. 

Edm. Some officers take them away ; good guard. 



ACT V. SC. Ill,] 



KING LEAR 



47 



Until their greater pleasures first be known 
That are to censure them. 
Cor, We are not the first 

Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the 

worst. 
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down; 5 
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's 

frown. 
Shall we not see these daughters and these 

sisters ? 



to 



Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away 

prison ; 
We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage. 
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel 
• down, 10 

And ask of thee forgiveness. So we'll live. 
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and 

laugh 
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them 

too. 
Who loses and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; 
And take upon's the mystery of things, 16 
As if we were God's spies; and we'll wear 

out. 
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great 

ones. 
That ebb and flow by the moon. 
Edm. Take them away. 

Lear, Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 20 

The gods themselves throw incense. Have I 

caught thee.^ 
He that parts us shall bring a brand from 

heaven. 
And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine 

eyes ; 
The good-years shall devour them, flesh and 

fell. 
Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see 'em 

starv'd first. 25 

Come. 

[Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded.^ 
Edm. Come hither, captain; hark. 

Take thou this note [giving a paper'] ; go fol- 
low them to prison. 
One step I have advanc'd thee; if thou dost 
As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way 
To noble fortunes. Know thou this, that 

men 30 

Are as the time is; to be tender-minded 
Does not become a sword. Thy great em- 
ployment 

647 



Will not bear question; either say thou'lt do 't^ 

Or thrive by other means. 
Capt. I'll do 't, my lord. 

Edm. About it; and write happy when thou 
hast done» 35 

Mark, I say, instantly; and carry it so 

As I have set it down. 
I Capt. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried 
oats; 

If it be man's work, I'll do 't. Exit. 



* Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, [an- 
other Captain,^ and Soldiers. 

Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant 
strain, 40 

And fortune led you well; you have the cap- 
tives 
That were the opposites of this day's strife: 
We do require them of you, so to use them 
As we shall find their merits and our safety 
May equally determine. 
Edm. Sir, I thought it fit 45 

To send the old and miserable king 
To some retention f and appointed guard ; 
^ Whose age has charms in it, whose title 

more. 
To pluck the common bosom on his side. 
And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 50 
Which do command them. With him I sent 

the queen; 
My reason all the same; and they are ready 
To-morrow, or at further space, to appear 
Where you shall hold your session, f At this 

time 
We sweat and bleed; the friend hath lost his 
friend ; s5 

And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd 
By those that feel their sharpness. 
The question of Cordelia and her father 
Requires a fitter place. 

* Alb. Sir, by your patience, 
I hold you but a subject of this war, 6c 
Not as a brother. 

Reg. That's as we list to grace him. 

Methinks our pleasure might have been de- 
manded. 

Ere you had spoke so far. He led our pow- 
ers; 

Bore the commission of my place and per- 
son; 

The which immediacy may well stand up, 6r. 



48 



KING LEAR 



[act v. sc. 



And call itself your brother. 

Gon. Not so hot: 

In his own grace he doth exalt himself, 
More than in your addition. 

Reg. In my rights. 

By me invested, he compeers the best. 

Gon. That were the most, if he should husband 
you. 70 

iReg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. 

Gon. Holla, holla! 

That eye that told you so look'd but a-squint. 

Reg. Lady, I am not well; else I should an- 
swer 
From a full-flowing stomach. General, 
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony; 
Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine; 76 
Witness the world, that I create thee here 
My lord and master. 

Gon. Mean you to enjoy him.^ 

Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good will. 

Edm. Nor in thine, lord. 

Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes. 80 

Reg. [To Edmund.] Let the drum strike, and 
prove my title thine. 

Alb. Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I arrest 
thee 
On capital treason; and, in thy arrest. 
This gilded serpent [pointing to Gon.] For 

your claim, fair sister, 
I bar it in the interest of my wife. 85 

'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord, 
And I, her husband, contradict your bans. 
If you will marry, make your loves to me. 
My lady is bespoke. 

Gon. An interlude ! 

Alb. Thou art armed, Gloucester; let the trum- 
pet sound: 90 
If none appear to prove upon thy head 
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons. 
There is my pledge [throwing down a glove] ; 

I'll prove it on thy heart, 
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 

Reg. Sick, O, sick ! 95 

Gon. [Aside.] If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine. 

Edm. There's my exchange [throwing down a 
glove] ; what in the world he is 
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies. 
Call by thy trumpet; he that dares approach. 
On him, on you, who not? I will maintain 100 
My truth and honour firmly. 

Alb, A herald, ho! 



f Edm. A herald, ho, a herald ! 

^ Alb. Trust to thy single virtue; for thy sol- 
diers. 
All levied in my name, have in my name 
Took their discharge. 
Reg, My sickness grows upon me. 105 

Alb, She is not well; convey her to my tent. 

[Exit Regan, led.] 

Enter a Herald. 

Come hither, herald, — Let the trumpet 

sound, — 
And read out this. 

Capt. Sound, trumpet! [A trumpet sounds. 

Her. [Reads.] 'If any man of quality or de- 
gree within the lists of the army will maintain 
upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester, 
that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear 
by the third sound of the trumpet: he is bold 
in his defence.' 

Edm. Sound ! First trumpet. 115 

Her. Again! Second trumpet. 

Her. Again! Third trumpet. 

Trumpet answers within. 

Enter Edgar, at the third sound, armed, with a 
trumpet before him. 

Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears 

Upon this call o' the trumpet. 
Her, What are you.^ 

Your name, your quality? and why you an- 
swer 120 
This present summons? 
Edg. Know, my name is lost; 
By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker- 
bit: 
Yet am I noble as the adversary 
I come to cope. 
Alb. Which is that adversary? 
Edg, What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl 
of Gloucester ? 125 
Edm. Himself; what say'st thou to him? 
Edg. Draw thy sword. 
That, if my speech offend a noble heart. 
Thy arm may do thee justice; here is mine. 
Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours. 
My oath, and my profession. I protest, 130 
Maugre thy strength, place, youth and em- 
inence. 
Despite thy victor sword and fire-new for- 
tune. 



648 



ACT V. SC. III.] 



KING LEAR 



Thy valour and thy hearty thou art a traitor; 
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy fa- 
ther; 
Conspirant 'gainst this high-illustrious prince.; 
And, from the extremest upward of thy head 
To the descent and dust below thy foot, 137 
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou 'No,' 
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are 

bent 
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, 140 
Thou liest. 
Edm. In wisdom I should ask thy name ; 

But, since thy outside looks so fair and war- 
like. 
And that thy tongue some say of breeding 

breathes. 
What safe and nicely I might well delay 
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn. 145 
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head; 
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart; 
Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely 

bruise, 
This sword of mine shall give them instant 

way, 
Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, 
speak ! 150 

Alarums. They fight. [Edmund falls.] 
Alb. Save him, save him! 

Gon. This is mere practice, Gloucester: 

By the law of arms thou wast not bound to 

answer 
An unknown opposite; thou art not van- 

quish'd, 

But cozen'd and beguil'd. 

Alb. Shut your mouth, dame. 

Or with this paper shall I stop it. Hold, 

sir ; 155 

Thou worse than any name, read thine own 

evil : 
No tearing, lady; I perceive you know it. 

[Gives the letter to Edmund.] 

Gon. Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine: 

Who can arraign me for't? Exit. 

Alb. Most monstrous! oh! 

Know'st thou this paper? 

Edm. Ask me not what I know. 160 

Alb. Go after her: she's desperate; govern her. 

Edm. What you have charg'd me with, that have 

I done; 

And more, much more; the time will bring it 

out. 
'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou 



That hast this fortune on me? If thou'rt 
noble, 165 

I do forgive thee. 
Edg. Let's exchange charity. 

I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; 

If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me. 

My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 

Make instruments to plague us; 171 

The dark and vicious place where thee he 
got 

Cost him his eyes. 
Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true; 

The wheel is come full circle; I am here. 
Alb. Methought thy very gait did prophesy 17s 

A royal nobleness. I must embrace thee; 

Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I 

Did hate thee or thy father ! 
Edg. Worthy prince, I know't. 

Alb. Where have you hid yourself? 

How have you known the miseries of your 
father ? 180 

Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a brief 
tale; 

And when 'tis told, O, that my heart would 
burst ! 

The bloody proclamation to escape, 

That follow'd me so near, — O, our lives' 
sweetness ! 

That we the pain of death would hourly die 185 

Rather than die at once! — taught me to shift 

Into a madman's rags; to assume a semblance 

That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit 

Met I my father with his bleeding rings. 

Their precious stones new lost; became his 
guide, 190 

Led him, begg'd for him, saved him from de- 
spair; 

Never, — O fault! — reveal'd myself unto him. 

Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd. 

Not sure, though hoping, of this good suc- 
cess, 

I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 195 

Told him our pilgrimage ; but his flaw'd heart. 

Alack, too weak the conflict to support ! 

'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief. 

Burst smilingly. 
Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me, 

And shall perchance do good: but speak you 
on ; 20c 

You look as you had something more to say. 
Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in; 



649 



50 



KING LEAR 



[act v. SC. III. 



For I am almost ready to dissolve. 
Hearing of this. 
J Edg. This would have seem'd a period 

To such as love not sorrow ; but another, 205 
To amiDlify too much, would make much more, 
And top extremity. 
Whilst I was big in clamour came there in a 

man, 
Who, having seen me in my worst estate, 
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, find- 
ing 210 
Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong 

arms 
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out 
As he'd burst heaven; threw me on my father; 
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him 
That ever ear receiv'd: which in recounting 215 
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of 

life 
Began to crack ; twice then the trumpets 

sounded, 
And there I left him tranc'd. 
Alh. But who was this? 

Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in dis- 
guise 
Follow 'd his enemy king, and did him service 
Improper for a slave. . 221 

■^ Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife. 

Gent. Help, help, O, help ! 

Edg. What kind of help? 

Alb. Speak, man. 

Edg. What means that bloody knife? 

Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes ; 

It came even from the heart of — O, she's dead ! 
Alb. Who dead? speak, man. 225 

Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady ; and her sister 

By her is poison'd; she confesses it. 
Edm: I was contracted to them both: all three 

Now marry in an instant. 
Edg. Here comes Kent. 

Enter Kent. 

Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead, 
This judgment of the heavens, that makes us 
tremble, 231 

Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman.] 
[To Kent] O, is this he? 

The time will not allow the compliment 
Which very manners urges. 



Kent, I am come 

To bid my king and master aye good night ; 235 

Is he not here ? 
Alb. Great thing of us forgot! 

Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and 
where's Cordelia? 

See'st thou this object, Kent? 

The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in. 

Kent. Alack, why thus? 

Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd: 

The one the other poison'd for my sake, 240 
And after slew herself. 

Alb. Even so. Cover their faces. 

Edm. I pant for life: some good I mean to do, 
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send. 
Be brief in it, to the castle; for my writ 
Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia. 245 

Nay, send in time. 

Alb. Run, run, O, run! 

Edg. To who, my lord? Who has the office? 
send 
Thy token of reprieve. 

Edm. Well thought on: take my sword, 250 

Give it the captain. 

Edg. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Gent.] 

Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and 
me 
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
To lay the blame upon her own despair. 
That she fordid herself. 255 

Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence 
awhile. [Edmund is borne off.] 



Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in 
[Gentleman following]. 



arms; 



Lear. Howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of 
stones ! 

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so 

That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone 
for ever ! 

I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; 

She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking- 
glass ; 261 

If that her breath will mist or stain the stone. 

Why, then she lives. 
Kent. Is this the promis'd end? 

Edg. Or image of that horror ? 
Alb. Fall, and cease! 

Lear. This feather stirs ; she lives ! if it be so, 265 

It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows 



650 



ACT V. SC. III.] 



KING LEAR 



51 



That ever I have felt. 
Kent. [Kneeling] O my good master! 
Lear. Prithee, away. 

Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. 

Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors 

all! 

I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for 

ever ! 270 

Cordelia, Cordelia ! stay a little. Ha ! 

What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever 

soft, 
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. 
I kiird the slave that was a-hanging thee. 
Capt. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. 
Lear. Did I not, fellow? 275 

I have seen the day, with my good biting 

falchion 
I would have made them skip; I am old now. 
And these same crosses spoil me. Who are 

you? 
Mine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you 
straight. 
Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and 
hated, 280 

One of them we behold. 
Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent? 
Kent. The same. 

Your servant Kent. Where is your servant 
Caius ? 
Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that ; 
He'll strike, and quickly too. He's dead and 
rotten. 285 

Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man, — 
Lear. I'll see that straight. 

Kent. That, from your first of difference and 
decay. 
Have follow'd your sad steps. 
Lear. You are welcome hither. 

Kent. Nor no man else; all's cheerless, dark, 
and deadly. 290 

Your eldest daughters have fordone them- 
selves. 
And desperately are dead. 
Lear. Ay, so I think. 

Alh. He knows not what he says: and vain it is 
That we present us to him. 

Enter a Messenger, 



Edg. Very bootless. 

Capt. Edmund is dead, my lord. 
Alb. That's but a trifle here. 295 

You lords and noble friends, know our intent. 
What comfort to this great decay may come 
Shall be applied. For us, we will resign. 
During the life of this old maj esty. 
To him our absolute power; [To Edgar and 
Kent] you, to your rights; 300 

With boot, and such addition as your honours 
Have more than merited. All friends shall 

taste 
The wages of their virtue, and all foes 
The cup of their deservings. O, see, see! 
Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, no 
life ! 30s 

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, 
And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no 

more. 
Never, never, never, never, never ! 
Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir. 
Do you see this ? Look on her, look, her lips ! 
Look there, look there. He dies. 

Edg. He faints ! My lord, my lord ! 311 

Kent. Break, heart; I prithee, break! 
Edg. Look up, my lord. 

Kent. Vex not his ghost; O, let him pass! he 
hates him 
That would upon the rack of this tough world 
Stretch him out longer. 
Edg. He is gone, indeed. 315 

Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: 

He but usurp'd his life. 
Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present busi- 
ness 
Is general woe. [To Kent and Edgar"] 

Friends of my soul, you twain 
Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sus- 
tain. 320 
Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; 

My master calls me, I must not say no. 
Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey. 
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to 

say. 
The oldest hath borne most; we that are 
young V 325- 

Shall never see so much, nor live so long. 

Exeunt, with a dead march. 



FINIS. 



651 



52 



KING LEAR 



NOTES 



The division into acts and scenes is that of the 
Folio (F); the quartos (Q) have no such division. 
The Names of the Characters and directions of place 
were arranged by Rowe, in his edition (1709). The 
latter have been slightly altered by later editors. 

ACT I 

i. 1 affected, loved. Albany, a traditional name for 
N. Scotland. 

5 qualities, positions of rank. Q reads: equalities. 
7 moiety, share. No amount of pains can deter- 
mine the better choice. 

11 brazed, hardened. 

12 conceive, understand. 
18 proper, good-looking. 

20 some year, about a year. 

26 S. D. Edm.] Bast. Q F (and so throughout). 

33 out, abroad. 

34 S. D. sennet, trumpet-notes for a march, f sig- 
nifies that the words following are found only in Q; 
* marks the resumption of the folio text. 

36 lord] F; liege Q. 

37 darker, less known; referring to the terms of the 
test. 

44 constant will, fixed resolution. 
54 nature doth with merit challenge, nature's claim 
is added to true merit. 
56 wield, express. 

62 so much, fig. any degree assignable. 
65 champains, valleys. 

69 speak] om. F. 

70 self, same. 

76 square of sense, ' estimate of sense. The car- 
penter's square is used here figuratively, as a rule 
or standard. 

possesses] Q; professes F. 

77 felicitate, happy. 
83 validity, value. 

87 interess'd, admitted as shareholders, from in- 
teresse. 

95 bond, duty. 
103 plight, pledge. 

112 Hecate, queen of witches; here, goddess of the 
moon. 

mysteries] F^; miseries Fj. 
113" operation, planetary influence. 
119 generation, children. 

125 set my rest, stake my all; lit. rest content with 
the cards in hand. 

126 nursery, nursing. 

128 who stirs? is every one struck motionless? 

130 digest, make a meal of. 

133 large effects, outward shows. 

138 addition, title. 

141 this coronet, either Lear's crown, or a smaller 

coronet intended for Cordelia. Fut] Q; om. F, 
146 fork, barbed head (of an arrow). 
151 reserve thy state, retain thy kingship. Q reads: 

Reverse thy doom. 

156 reverb, reverberate. 

157 a pawn] Q; pawn F; a stake. 



158 wage, wager. 

161 blank, the white, or heart, of the target. 

171 that, seeing that. 

175 our potency made good, if our authority is to 

stand. This is Lear's first act of presumption, 

since he has surrendered his power. 
183 sith, since. 
187 approve, prove true. 

201 little-seeming, the meaning is doubtful. It may 
be (a) small in appearance; or (b) giving little 
evidence of its reality. 

202 piec'd, patched out. 
205 owes, possesses, owns. 

209 makes not up, comes to no decision. 
218 argument, subject. 

223 that monsters it, that it is made monstrous. 

224 taint, poisoned corruption. 

233 for which, for the want of which. 

234 still, constantly. 

251 respect and fortunes] F; respects of fortune Q. 

The meaning is the same. 
261 wat'rish, well-watered; hence, given to wanting 

riches. 
277 prefer, recommend. 

282 well deserve to lose the affection you yourself 
failed to show. 

283 plighted, plaited, folded, concealed. 
292 not] Q; om. F. 

298 time, life. 

307 let's hit] Q; let us sit F. 

308 hit together, agree. 

ii. 3 plague of custom, oppression of convention. 

4 curiosity, scrupulousness (as to primogeniture 
and legitimacy). 

5 moonshines, months (Cf. i. 20). 

6 lag of, late after. 

7 compact, compacted, put together. 
14 fops, dupes. 

21 top the] Edwards; to' th' F. 

24 subscrib'd] Q; prescrib'd F. subscrib'd, yielded. 

25 exhibition, allowed terms, allowances. 

26 upon the gad, while the iron is hot. Gad, iron 
bar. 

32 terrible, terrified. 

48 policy and reverence, policy of reverencing. 
62 you to this] F; this to you Q. 
66 character, handwriting. 
82 detested, destestable. 
95 pretence, pretext, or perhaps, purpose. 
105 wind me into him, get acquainted with his de- 
signs for my sake. 

107 unstate, give up rank. 

108 resolution, clear understanding. 

109 presently, at once. 

112 late eclipses. In 1605, in October, occurred 
eclipses of sun and moon. See the Introduction, 
section on Date, for the reference. 

113 wisdom of nature, natural philosophy. 

120 bias, course; lit. in bowls, the tendency given by 

the oversize of one side of the Itrall. 
128 foppery, duping. 



652 



KING LEAR 



53 



134 treacliers, traitors. 

134 spherical predominance, planetary influence. 

137 divine, celestial, planetary. 

146 pat, just in time; an exclamation here. 

157 succeed, result. 

161 diffidences, breaches of trust. 

162 cohorts, armies. 
164 sectary, student. 

iii. S. D. Oswald] Collier; Gentleman Q; Steward F 
(and so throughout the play). 
20 abus'd, deceived. 
26 very] Q; om. F. 

iv. 2 defuse, disguise. 

7 S. D. Knig-hts] Q; om. F. 
18 eat no fish, not to be a Catholic. 
35 curious, intricate. 
51 clotpoll, thick-head. 

51 S. D. Gentleman, most editors here insert 
'Knight.' The speeches below given to this man 
are marked 'servant' in Q, 'knight' in F. Dr. Wil- 
fred Perrett, in Palcestra, xxxv, 1904, gives good 
reasons for considering this character, and the 
'Gentleman' of I. v.; II. iv.; III. i.; IV. iv.; IV. vi.; 
IV. vii., to be the same person. On IV. iv. and vi., 
see the notes below. 
75 jealous curiosity, jealousy over trifles. 

103 earnest, handsel, money given to seal a bargain. 

105 coxcomb, fool's cap, in which cock's feathers 
were stuck. 

110 Kent. Why fool?] Q; Lear. Why, my boy? F. 

117 nuncle, familiar abbreviation of 'mine uncle.' 

125 brach, bitch of some hunting dog. 

136 set, stake. 

167 monopoly out, patent out of court to be sole 
fool. 

182 foppish, easily duped. 

208 frontlet, band over the forehead, worn to smooth 
out frowns. 

219 sheal'd, shelled. 

227 put it on, promote it. 

228 allowance, approval. 
230 tender, care. 

236 it, old genitive, its. 

237 darkling- (adv.), in the dark. 
239 Come, sir] Q; om. F. 
258 admiration, astonishment. 

271 depend, be retained. 

272 besort, be proper for. 
290 eng-ine, the rack. 

302 derog-ate, dishonored. 

303 teem, bear children. 
322 untented, unprobed to the bottom. 
347 at point, under full arms. 
366 at task, taxed. 

V. 2 letters, a letter, Lat. literae. 
9 kibes, chilblains. 
18 crab, the crab-apple. 

55-56 These lines are perhaps spurious interpola- 
tions of the fool's impersonator (Steevens, White). 

ACT II 

i. 51 loathly opposite, opposed with loathing. 
54 latch'd, caught. Q; lancht, lanced. 



57 gasted, frightened. 
61 arch, chief. 

67 pight, fixed, curst, angry. 

68 discover, inform against. 

69 unpossessing, incapable of inheriting. 
73 ay] Q; om. F. 
78 pregnant, ready, spurs] Q; spirits F. 

80 S. D. tucket, preliminary note on the trumpet. 
I never got him] Q; said he F. 

87 capable, able to inherit. 
89 strange news] Q; strangeness F. 
99 consort, company, of minstrels or other low per- 
sons. 
100 ill-affected, disaff'ected. 

114 how . . . please, to the furthest of my author- 
ity. 
122 poise, weight. F reads: prize. 

ii. 9 Lipsbury pinfold, the pound at Lipsbury; 
Capell thought this a name for the boxing ring. 
Lipsbury is not identified; perhaps Kent means, if 
I had thee in some place where lips are sealed and 
arms at liberty, etc. 

16 three-suited, allowed three suits a year. 

17 worsted-stocking-, gentlemen wore silk stockings. 

18 action-taking, enduring all actions. 

19 superserviceable, conceited, above one's work. 

20 one-trunk-inheriting, possessing one trunk only. 

35 sop o' the moonshine, as we say, wipe up the 
floor with you. draw] Q; om. F. 

36 cullionly barber-mong-er, gullible frequenter of 
barber-shops. 

41 carbonado, cut cross-wise for broiling. 
45 neat, pure, unqualified. 
49 flesh, give the first taste of battle. 
69 zed, Z, still so called in England. 

71 unbolted, unsifted; lime was either sifted or 
trodden into powder. 

72 Jakes, privy. 

81 intrinse, intricate. 
84 renege, revoke (still used in cards). 

halcyon, the king-fisher, supposed to take ad- 
vantage of every wind, like a vane. 

87 epileptic, distorted. 

89-90 goose . . . Camelot, knights of the Round 
Table sent those whom they conquered to swear al- 
legiance to King Arthur at Camelot. Salisbury 
(Sarum) Plain, in which Camelot is traditionally 
set, was famous also for its geese. 
104 his, its; the man wears frankness to be the op- 
posite of frank. 

109 observants, obsequious menials. 

110 nicely, with exactness. 
125 conjunct] Q; compact F. 

129 For attacking (Oswald) whose fall subdued him. 

130 fleshment, first exploit. 
132 Ajax, one of the Greeks before Troy, famous for 

bragging. 
158 g-ood] Q; om. F. 
161 rubb'd, in bowls, be hindered by obstacles, in 

the way of the ball. 
168-169 out . . . sun, goes from good to ill. 
176 enormous, abnormal, irregular. 

iii. S. D. Edgar's entrance during Kent's sleep, like 
the modern lowering and raising of a curtain, 
653 



54> 



KING LEAR 



serves to convey the impression of lapse of time 
from morning to evening between Scenes ii and iv. 
10 elf, mat, tangle, supposedly the work of elves. 

14 Bedlam beggars, beggars who claim to have been 
in Bedlam (Betlilehem hospital, the madhouse). 

15 mortified, hardened by exposure, bare] Q; 
oni. F. 

18 pelting", paltry. 

19 bans, mad curses, to terrify country people. 

20 Turlygod, name for a beggar. 

21 nothing, not at all, no longer. 

iv. 7 cruel, with a punning allusion to crewel, 
worsted. 

24 upon respect, deliberately. 

25 resolve, make clear, modest, becoming. 
31 panting] Q; painting F. 

33 intermission, the proper interval of time. 

35 meiny, household. 

54 dolours, griefs; with a quibble on dollars. 

56 mother, old name for a disease like vertigo; hys- 
teria. 

63 chance, for 'chances it.' 

86 perdy, par Dieu. 

90 fetches, pretexts. 

91 images, indications, flying off, deserting. 
107 still, always. 

115 remotion, retirement. 

123 cockney, cook, used contemptuously. 

136 naught, wicked. 

142 Than . . . duty, than she (is likely) to fail in 
dutiful regard. The ellipsis is femininely nat- 
ural, but not clear, evidently, to Lear (or to many 
editors). 

150 her] Q; his F. 

154 sir] Q; om. F. 

155 house, royalty. 

166 taking, malignant, catching (of disease). 

170 blast her pride] Q; blister F. 

174 tender-hefted, tender-hearted. The meaning of 

'hefted' is obscure. 
178 sizes, allowances. 
194 allow, approves of. 
217 knee, kneel before. 
219 sumpter, drudge; the sumpter-horse was the 

packhorse. 
227 an] Q; or F. 
227 embossed, knotty, lumpy. 
248 slack, neglect. 
259 well-favour'd, comely. 
268 superfluous, unnecessarily provided. 
288 flaws, pieces; lit. cracks. 
304 rufle, show violence; rustle Q. 

ACT III 

i. 6 main, coast. 
10 little world, microcosm; man's nature was be- 
lieved to reproduce in miniature the macrocosm, or 
universe. 
12 couch, lie low, cub-drawn, drawn dry by cubs, and 
therefore hungry. 

24 speculations, spies; the abstract is here used for 
the concrete. 

25 intelligent, giving intelligence. 

65 



26 snuffs and packings, quarrels and plots. 
29 furnishings, external evidences. 

39 plain, complain. 

43 A reply evincing distrust. 
45 outwall, appearance. 

53 pain, trouble (of searching for Lear). Note the 
extraordinary compression of thought here, and in 
many other speeches of this play. 

ii. 2 hurricanoes, water-spouts. 

3 cocks, weather-vanes. 

4 thought-executing, executing (Nature's) inten- 
tion. 

5 vaunt-couriers, advance-scouts. 
8 germens, seeds, spill, destroy. 

18 subscription, obedience. 

23 battles, troops in battle array. 

27 cod-piece, part of the breeches. 

44 gallow, terrify. 

50 pudder, turmoil; variant of pother. 

54 simular, impostor, impersonator. 
58 continents, bonds. 

70 art, practical application; properties when ap- 
plied. 

74 and, with mere expletive force, to fill up the line. 
This song concludes Twelfth Night. 

80-96 F; om. Q. The lines may be spurious farc- 
ing by the clown who played the Fool. (Cf. II. v. 
55-56 and note thereon.) Satirical prophecies of 
this kind were ascribed to Merlin, Arthur's ma- 
gician, and afterwards to Chaucer. 

iii. 14 footed, set foot (on earth). 
22 forbid, forbidden, 
iv. 31 loop'd, full of holes. 
35 superflux, superfluous amount. 
37 fathom and half, a cry used in soundings at sea. 
61 star-blasting and taking, unpropitious stars and 

catching disease. 
65 what] Q; om. F. 
69 pendulous, overhanging. 

77 pelican, in the natural history of the time, the 
pelican is the type of ungrateful progeny, because 
fostered on the parents' blood. 
94 light of ear, easily credulous. 
100 plackets, skirts. 

104 Sessa, an exclamation, evidently intended to spur 
on a horse. 

111 sophisticated, adulterated. 

112 unaccommodated, unfurnished with necessities of 
life. 

116 naughty, bad (in strong sense). 

120 Flibbertigibbet] F; fliberdegibek Q. This is one 
of the fiends mentioned by Harsnet (See Introduc- 
tion, on Date)." 

121 walks, departs. Q reads: walks till the first 
cock. 

122 web and pin, cataract, a disease of the eyes. 
125 St. Withold] Theobald; Swithold F. 'old, wold, 

downs. 
129 aroint, avoid. 
135 wall-newt, lizard. 

140 tithing, parish-district, stock-] Q; stocked F. 
144 deer, animals. 
146, 149 Smulkin, Modo, Mahu, names of fiends in 



KING LEAR 



55 



Harsnet. Cf. also III, vi. 7, 32; IV. i. 57-61. 
164 prevent, anticipate. 
187 Child Rowland, Sir Rowland, the name of some 

old ballad. 

V. 5 fears, frightens. 
11 letter] Q; letter which F. 

vi. 13 g'entleman to his son, Shakespeare, in 1599, 
obtained for his yeoman father the right to a coat 
of arms; this passage, and that in The Winter's 
Tale, V. ii. 150, suggest an indulgent reminder of 
this ludicrous episode. 
23 justicer] Theobald; justice Q. 

26 want'st, desirest, or perhaps lackest. 

27 hoiirn] Capell; broom Q. bourn, brook. 
40 bench, sit as magistrate. 

45 minikin, handsome. Onions' Shakespeare Glos- 
sary gives 'shrill.' 

54 A proverbial expression, joint-stool, folding- 
stool. 

72 lym, hunting-dog. 

73 tike, sheep-dog. trundle-tail, cur. 
76 hatch, lower half of 'Dutch door.' 

79 horn, carried about for drinking. This expres- 
sion is perhaps an aside. 

80 anatomize, analyze. 
83 entertain, employ. 

85 Persian, a synonym for gorgeous raiment, from 

Horace down. 
92 and . . . noon, this speech is taken as the Fool's 
farewell word. 
105 sinews, nerves. 
117 He . . . father'd, he suffering from children as 

I from a father. 
118-120 Note the noise of war, and disclose thyself 
when false opinion is disclosed and thou restored. 

vii. 10 festinate, hurried. 
11 bound, ready. 
17 questrists, inquirers. 
26 do a courtesy, yield. 
29 corky, dry, withered. 

39 quicken, come to life. 

40 hospitable favours, features of a host's face. 
54 course, attack, in bear-baiting. 

61 stelled, starry. 

62 holp, old past tense of help. 

65 All cruels else subscribe, other cruelties give 
over. 

78 villain, serf. 
89 overture, discovery. 
101 old, natural. 

ACT IV 

i. 4 esperance, hope. 

6 Things can change from worst only to better. 
9 S. D. led by] Q; and an F. 
19 Alack, sir] Q; om. F. 

22 our means secure us, our safeguards make us 
reckless. 

23 commodities, advantages. 

43 Then . . . gone] Q; Get thee away F. 
54 daub, disguise. 

6 



64 mopping and mowing, ducking and grimacing. 
71 slaves, treats as a slave. 

ii. 28 S. D. Exit] Q; om. F. 
29 In times past I was more highly regarded. 'It's 
I a poor dog that isn't worth the whistle.' 
] 33 bordered, contained, 
39 savour, relish. 
42 head-lugg'd, led by the nose. 
64 He is a fool who has mercy on a criminal before 
his commission of crime. 
'67 to threat] Jennens; thereat Qi; threats Qi (other 
copies) Qg. 

60 proper, becoming to nature. 
62 self-cover'd, covered with another self. 
73 remorse, pity. 

79 nether, here below, mundane. 

85-86 May . . . life, she may pull down all my 

dreams upon me fatally. 
87 S.D. Exit] Q; om. F. 

iii. This scene is omitted entire from the Folio. It 
is evidently a merely transitional narrative, scarcely 
necessary to the action, 

10 marshal, trisyllabic. 

12 ay sir] Johnson; I say Q. 

14 trill'd, trickled. 

21 like, a better way, like, but more beautiful. 

22 seem'd] Pope; seem Q. 

33 clamour moisten'd her] Q, Johnson; clamour- 
moisten'd White. 

36 make] Q; mate Pope. The meaning is the same. 

iv. S.D. Gentleman] F; Doctor Q, and elsewhere irt 
scene. See note, I, iv. 51. 

3 fumiter, fumitory, a bitter-tasting weed. 

4 hardocks, some kind of dockweed. 
14 simples operative, herbs effective. 
17 aidant, helpful. 

26 importun'd] F; importunate Capell. The mean- 
ing is the same, produced in importuning. 

V. 25 oeillades, glances. 
29 this note, note of this. 
39 him] Q; om. F. 

vi. 15 samphire, used as a sauce. 
19 cock, cockboat. 

34 S.D. He kneels] Q; om. F. 

39 snuff, the useless part of the burnt wick. 

41 S.D. He falls forward] He falls Q; om. F. 

42 conceit, imagination. 
53 at each, on end. 

58 shrill-gorg'd, shrill-throated. 

71 enridged] Q; enraged F. whelk'd, twisted, 

80 free, happy. 

81 safer sense, that is, the sight. 
accommodate, provide for. 

83 coining] Q; crying F. 

87 press-money, money paid as earnest of enlist" 
ment. 

88 crow-keeper, one who scares off crows. 

89 clothier's yard, a full yard. 

92 brown bills, halberds. 

93 clout, center of the butts. 
119 luxury, lechery. 



56 KING 


LEAR 


121 presag-es snow, is a mark of chastity. 


35 lightning, probably trisyllabic, perdu, forlorn 


124 fitchew, pole-cat. soiled horse, horse turned out 


.!J°P^' ■ n ^ 


at grass. 


59 No, sir] Q; om. F. 


137 piece, masterpiece. 


65 mainly, entirely. 


140 squiny, squint. 


80 even o'er, make plain. 


147 case, socket. 


97 period, goal. 


157 handy-dandy, game of guessing something con- 


ACT V 


cealed in one hand. 




167 cozener, impostor. 


i. 6 doubted, feared. 


168 tatter'd clothes] F; totter'd rags Q. Great] F; 


26 holds, as it emboldens ; i. e., the king's cause does 


small Q. 


not touch us. 


great, i. e., vices appear great. 


32 ancient, veteran part of army. 


172 able, qualify, uphold. 


53 discovery, reconnoitering. 


178 impertinency, irrelevancy. 




187 this, this is. block, shape of hat. Edwin 


ii. 11 Ripeness is all, being ready is the main thing. 


Booth's prompt-book gives S. D. 'Lear takes 




Curan's hat.' 


iii. 3 censure, pass judgment on. 


209 one] Q; a F. 


18 packs and sects, cabals, cliques. 


214 vulgar, commonly known. 


23 fire, drive out by smoke from tire. 


217 main descry, main body, hourly expected. 


24 fell, skin, good-years, a disease. 


229 boot, addition. 


42 opposites, opponents. 


234 Gloucester here addresses Oswald. 


47 retention, confinement. 


239 Edgar here speaks the Somersetshire dialect. 


65 immediacy, immediate relation, closeness. 


chill Ich ill, I will, vor, warn. 


74 stomach, wrath. 


247 ballow, beam, costard, head. 


76 walls, of my person and state. 


251 foins, thrusts. 


84 sister] Q; sisters F. 


256 S. D. He dies] Q; om. F. 


85 bar] Rowe; bate Q F. 


263 death'sman, executioner. 


89 interlude, farce. 


276 servant, in love. 


109, 115 Q; F om. all except S. D. 


278 will] F; wit Q. 


117 S. D. Q; Enter Edgar armed F. 


281 rake up, cover. 


131 maugre, in spite of. 


284 death-practis'd, whose death is plotted. 


132 fire-new, brand-new. 


287 ingenious, conscious, acute. 


136 upward, top. 




143 say, assay, proof. 


vii, scene iii is lacking in F; iv, v, and vi are 


151 mere] Q; om. F. 


marked iii, iv, v; but this scene vii returns to the 


155 paper, Goneril's letter. 


right number. 


160 S. D. Edm.] F; Gon. Q (Exit after this speech). 




194 success, result. 


vii. S. D. Gentleman] F; Doctor Q; and elsewhere 


196 flaw'd, cracked. 


in scene (but cf. 23). See note, I. iv. 51. Capell 


213 me, ethical dative. Theobald emends to 'him.' 


gives here S. D. 'Lear on a bed asleep, soft music 


230 After this line F has the stage-direction: 


playing; Gentleman and others attending.' 


'Goneril and Regan's bodies brought out.' The 


6 clipp'd, less, suited, dressed. 


stage-direction after line 2'38 is from Q. 


9 made intent, formed plan. 


255 fordid, destroyed. 


23 S. D. Kent] Q^; Doct. Q^; om. F. 


262 stone, glass. 


24 not] Q; om. F. temperance, self-control. 


263 promis'd end, day of judgment (Capell). 


32 warring] Q; jarring F. 


305 my poor fool, my poor darling. 



656 



MACBETH 



THE HISTORICAL MACBETH— Macbeth is a 
remarkable example of the triumph of tradition and 
imagination over historical fact. He gained the 
throne, it is true, by the slaughter of his predecessor, 
Duncan, but his reign (1040-57) was, according to 
the best authorities, one of unusual order and pros- 
perity, and he distinguished himself by making many 
good and useful laws. He apparently represented 
the Highland and northern interests of the country 
against the southern and Anglicising influences, 
which placed Malcolm on the throne by the aid of 
English troops after campaigns extending over three 
years. 

HOLINSHED— The Macbeth legend was already 
fully developed when Shakespeare found it in the 
second edition of Holinshed's Chronicles (1586-7) 
which he had used in the English history plays put 
on the stage some years before. Holinshed recounts 
at length the victorious campaigns against the west- 
ern rebels and the Danes, led by Macbeth and Ban- 
quo; their meeting with the three weird sisters; 
Duncan's nomination of his son Malcolm as Prince 
of Cumberland and heir to the throne; the ambition 
of Lady Macbeth, "burning in unquenchable desire 
to bear the name of a Queen"; the slaughter of Dun- 
can at Inverness, the flight of his sons Malcolm and 
Donalbain, and Macbeth's succession to the Crown; 
the murder of Banquo and the escape of Fleance; 
the warning of the three weird sisters to "take heed 
of Macduff"' and the assurance given to Macbeth by 
a certain witch "that he should never be slain with 
man borne of any woman, nor vanquished till the 
wood of 'Birnam came to the castle of Dunsinane"; 
the flight of Macduff and the slaughter of his wife 
and children; Malcolm's testing of Macduff" and their 
joint expedition with Siward into Scotland; the tak- 
ing of boughs from Birnam wood, and Macbeth's 
death at the hands of Macduff, who cut off his head 
and set it upon a pole; Malcolm's crowning at Scone 
arid the elevation of many thanes as earls, the first 
heard of in Scotland. Some details of Duncan's mur- 
der and the portents accompanying it were suggested 



by Holinshed's account of the assassination of an 
earlier Scottish king, Duff, and the death of Young 
Siward is described in Holinshed's history of Eng- 
land. The "touching" for the king's evil is also re- 
lated by Holinshed in his history of the reign of 
Edward the Confessor, and Shakespeare probably 
introduced it out of compliment to King James, who 
revived the practice immediately after his accession. 
It was also in compliment to the king that Banquo's 
complicity in the assassination of Duncan, recorded 
by Holinshed, was suppressed by the dramatist, and 
the "show" of eight kings of the house of Stewart in- 
troduced, the last being James himself. The king's 
belief in witchcraft, testified in his Demonology, pub- 
lished in 1599, was more subtly flattered by the witch 
machinery, though the direct suggestion came from 
the following passage in Holinshed: — 

"It fortuned (happened) as Macbeth and Banquo 
journeyed toward Forres, where the king as then lay, 
they went sporting by the way together without other 
company, save only themselves, passing through the 
woods and fields, when suddenly in the midst of a 
laund (grassy plain) there met them three women in 
strange and wild apparel, resembling creatures of 
elder world, whom when they attentively beheld, 
wondering much at the sight, the first of them spake 
and said: 'All hail, Macbeth, Thane of Glamis !', for 
he had lately entered into that dignity and office by 
the death of his father Sinel. The second of them 
said: 'Hail, Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor!' But the 
third said: 'All hail, Macbeth, that hereafter shalt 
be King of Scotland !' 

"Then Banquo: 'What manner of women,' saith 
he, 'are you, that seem so little favorable unto me, 
whereas to my fellow here, besides high offices, ye 
assign also the kingdom, appointing forth nothing for 
me at all?' 'Yes,' saith the first of tliem, 'we promise 
greater benefits unto thee than unto him; for he 
shall reign indeed, but with an unlucky end; neither 
shall he leave any issue behind him to succeed in 
his place, where contrarily thou indeed shalt not reign 
at all, but of thee those shall be born which shall 



657 



MACBETH 



govern the Scottish kingdom by long order of con- 
tinual descent.' Herewith the foresaid women van- 
ished immediately out of their sight. This was re- 
puted at the first but some vain fantastical illusion 
by ^Macbeth and Banquo, insomuch that Banquo would 
call Macbeth in jest, King of Scotland; and Mac- 
beth again would call him, in sport likewise, the father 
of many kings. But afterwards the common opinion 
was, that these women were either the weird sisters, 
that is, as ye would say, the goddesses of destiny, or 
else some nymphs or fairies, endued with knowledge 
of prophecy by their necromantical science, because 
everything came to pass as they had spoken. 

"For shortly after, the Thane of Cawdor being con- 
demned at Forres of treason against the king com- 
mitted, his lands, livings, and ofl&ces were given of 
the king's liberality to Macbeth. The same night 
after, at supper, Banquo jested with him and said: 
'Now Macbeth thou hast obtained those things which 
the two former (first) sisters prophesied, there re- 
maineth only for thee to purchase (get) that which 
the third said should come to pass.' Whereupon 
Macbeth, revolving the thing in his mind, began even 
then to devise how he might attain to the kingdom; 
but yet he thought with himself that he must tarry 
a time, which should advance him thereto, by the 
divine providence, as it had come to pass in his for- 
mer preferment." 

Shakespeare elaborated the element of supernatural 
suggestion and made Banquo's loyalty an effective 
contrast to Macbeth's murderous treachery; but his 
original contribution to the drama was immensely 
more than this. He created the characters, the at- 
mosphere of supernatural horror, the poetry and the 
psychology which have made Macbeth one of the 
world's greatest tragedies. 

STAGE HISTORY— Dr, Simon Forman, the cele- 
brated physician and astrologer, saw Macbeth at the 
Globe on April 20th, 1610, and left a full outline of 
the plot in his Diary. Pepys saw it repeatedly — once 
in 1664, again in 1666, and twice in 1667 — and com- 
mended it as "a most excellent play for variety" — "a 
most excellent play in all respects, but especially in 
divertisement." It was doubtless the songs and 
dances of the witches that so diverted Pepys, and 
there is reason to believe that the interpolation of 
songs by Middleton, introduced into the play before 
the publication of the First Folio in 1623 (see notes 
on III. V and IV. i. 43 stage direction) had been en- 
larged soon after the Restoration by Sir William 
D'Avenant, though his version was not published till 
1673. Garrick in 1744 announced ''Macbeth as writ- 

65 



ten by Shakespeare," but he retained some of the tra- 
ditional "embellishments," and introduced a long "dy- 
ing speech" of his own composition. In the murder 
scene Garrick's face "grew whiter and whiter," and 
"every sentiment rose in his mind and showed itself 
in his countenance before he uttered a word." Mrs. 
Pritchard, described by Dr. Johnson as "a vulgar 
idiot," was the Lady Macbeth ; it is said that she never 
read Act V, because she did not appear in it, but 
her performance was highly prized. It was, however, 
overshadowed in the annals of the stage by that of 
Mrs. Siddons, who assumed the part at the age of 
twenty and made it one of her greatest achievements. 
Up to 1772 the part of Macbeth was acted in the Lon- 
don theatres in the conventional military uniform 
and wig of the day, Macklin being the first to intro- 
duce the Highland costume which had already been 
seen on the Scottish stage. John Philip Kemble in 
1794 was the first to omit the visible representation of 
the ghost of Banquo, and his gaze at the empty chair 
is reported to have been thrilling in its effect of ter- 
ror. Edmund Kean took part in the witch scenes as 
a small boy acting the first in a row of goblins (which 
he contrived to upset) and when he put on the play 
himself twenty years later he said, "I'll have the 
witches played properly. The rubbish shall be cleared 
away; I'll have none of it." Hazlitt said that Kean's 
acting in the murder scene "beggared description." 
The next great Macbeth was Macready, possibly the 
best of all — for he combined high intelligence with 
great histrionic powers; his Lady Macbeth was Helen 
Faucit (afterwards Lady Theodore Martin) whose 
sleep-walking scene was greatly admired; but she 
dreaded and disliked the part, avoiding it whenever 
she could. Samuel Phelps at Sadler's Wells in 1847 
cleared the text for the first time of traditional ac- 
cretions, but Charles Kean in a spectacular produc- 
tion in 1852 returned to the older practice. Henry 
Irving as recently as 1875 was able to make a point 
of the fact that there was not a line in his version 
that was not taken from the First Folio. His inter- 
pretation of the character was regarded as very revo- 
lutionary and was much discussed. On its* revival 
with Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth in 1888, the dis- 
cussion was renewed, and Irving defended his view in 
many speeches and articles. The theatrical tradition 
that Macbeth was a man of honor led astray by his 
wife was due, in Irving's opinion, to the influence of 
Mrs. Pritchard and Mrs. Siddons, who represented 
her as a masterful, dominant personality. Irving's 
view was that Macbeth was a cold-blooded, selfish, 
remorseless villain with a poetic imagination, and the 
8 



INTRODUCTION 



note of Ellen Terry's Lady Macbeth accordingly be- 
came one of "sweet, winning womanliness," which 
increased the horror of her part by contrast. The 
setting was, in accordance with the Lyceum practice, 
of great magnificence, and special music was written 
by the leading English composer of the day. Sir 
Arthur Sullivan. Ellen Terry's portrait as Lady 
Macbeth was painted by Sargent, and attracted a 
great deal of attention. More recent revivals by 
Arthur Bourchier, Beerbohm Tree, Mrs. Patrick 
Campbell, and Violet Vanbrugh did not efface the 
earlier impression in the minds of London theatre- 
goers of the last generation. 

The first recorded performance of Macbeth in 
America was at the John Street Theatre, New York, 
about 1765. Macready, by his two visits to the 
United States, greatly influenced the American stage 
tradition; Davenport and Wallack both imitated him, 
and Edwin Booth, though he had not seen Macready, 
took the same view of the character. Charlotte Cush- 
man's view (regarded at the time as heresy) was 
that "Macbeth is the greatgrandfather of all the 
Bowery ruffians," but in acting with Booth she ad- 
hered to "the big, heavy style" and won great ap- 
plause. Her private conception of Lady Macbeth 
as a "coaxing, purring, velvetfooted, supple hypo- 
crite" was afterwards presented to the public by 
Clara Morris, who was physically better suited for 
it. Irving and Terry brought Macbeth across the 
Atlantic in 1896, and their presentation was long fa- 
miliar to the American stage. Another well-known 
Macbeth — that of E. H. Sothern and Julia Marlowe 
— was first given at New Haven, after two years of 
preparation, in 1910. 

No Shakespeare play is so often acted as Macbeth, 
either in English or in other tongues. There were 
four versions of the play on the Parisian stage dur- 
ing the season of 1910-11, one of them by Maeter- 
linck, who had previously "realized" the tragedy be- 
fore fifty spectators in the natural setting of his 
Abbey of St. Wandrille, with his wife, Georgette 
Leblanc, as Lady Macbeth. The part is also con- 
nected with the names of Bernhardt, Janauschek, 
Modjeska, Ristori, Krelinger, and many other for- 
eign actresses of distinction. Salvini and Novelli 
acted Macbeth, but the verdict of English and Amer- 
ican critics was in each case unfavorable. 

CRITICAL COMMENT— Br. Johnson must have 
been nodding when he wrote that this play "has no 
nice discriminations of character." With the possi- 



ble exceptions of Hamlet and Shylock, no two Shake- 
spearean characters have been so keenly analyzed by 
later critics as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, and the 
difi^erent views taken have been reflected in the dif- 
ferent stage presentations already outlined. No play 
has been so much discussed by actors; Mrs. Siddons, 
Kemble, Macready, Lady Martin, and Irving have all 
left on record illuminating records of their con- 
ceptions of the principal characters. As to the su- 
preme excellence of the tragedy there has been little 
difference of opinion. Drake, and after him Hallam, 
adjudged it the greatest of Shakespearean and in- 
deed of all dramas. Among German critics Schlegel 
and Kreyssig expressed, with more reserve, a similar 
opinion. The former says: "Since The Furies of 
^schylus nothing so grand and terrible has ever 
been composed"; the latter: "It excels all that Shake- 
speare, or any other poet, has created, in the simple 
force of the harmonious, majestic current of its ac- 
tion, in the transparency of its plan, in the nervous 
power and bold sweep of its language, and in its 
prodigal wealth of poetical coloring." More recent 
criticism has been devoted to a careful analysis of the 
nature of the Witches as Shakespeare conceived them 
and the relative importance of "supernatural sug- 
gestion" in inciting Macbeth to the murder of Dun- 
can; the degree of Lady Macbeth's influence over her 
husband and the motives of her encouragement; and 
the genuineness of certain passages in the play of 
which the Shakespearean authorship has been ques- 
tioned. De Quincey's justification of the Porter 
scene (II. iii) is a classic of Shakespearean criti- 
cism, and has been upheld by the weight of subse- 
quent authority. 

DATE — The compliments to King James make it 
clear that the tragedy was composed after his acces- 
sion (1603) and an upward limit is given by the en- 
try in Forman's diary, April 20, 1610. The Porter's 
reference to "equivocation" points to a date soon 
after the trial of Garnet, Superior of the Order of 
Jesuits, in March, 1606, and this agrees with results 
of the verse tests, which put Macbeth at the end of 
the great series of tragedies — after Hamlet, Othello, 
and Lear. 

TEXT— The sole authority is that of the First 
Folio; the attempts of later editors to remove its cor- 
ruptions have been indicated in the notes where their 
importance or interest seemed to demand it. 



659 



THE TRAGE DY OF MACBETH 

[Scene: Scotland, except in IV. iii, where it is the English Court. 



DuxcAx, King of Scotland. 

Malcolm, -^ 

^ I his sons. 

doxalbaix, j 

Macbeth^ 

Banquo, 

Macduff, 

Lexxox, 

Ross, 

Mexteitii, 

AXGUS, 

Caithness, 
Fleance, son to Banquo. 

SiwARD, earl of Northumberland, general of the Eng- 
lish forces. 
Young SiwARD, his son. 
Seytox, an ofl&cer attending on Macbeth. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 

Boy, son to Macduff. 



generals of the king's army. 



noblemen of Scotland. 



An English Doctor. 
A Scottish Doctor. 
A Captain. 
A Porter. 
An Old Man. 

LvADY Macbeth. 

Lady Macduff. 

A Gentlewoman, attending on Lady Macbeth. 

Hecate. 

Three Witches. 

Apparitions. 

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, 
Servants, Attendants, and Messengers.] 



ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [A wild, open place.'] 

Thunder and lightning. Enter the Three 
Witches. 

First Witch. When shall we three meet again? 

In thunder, lightning, or in rain.^ 
Second Witch. When the hurlyburly's done. 

When the battle's lost and won. 
Third Witch. That will be ere the set of sun. s 
First Witch. Where the place? 
Sec. Witch. Upon the heath. 

Third Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 
First Witch. I come, Graymalkin. 
[Sec. Witch.] Paddock calls. 

[Third Witch.] Anon! 

All. Fair is foul, and foul is fair; 

Hover through the fog and filthy air. lo 

Ea;eunt. 

Scene II. — [A Camp near Forres.] 

Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, 
Donalbain, Lennox, with Attendants, meeting 
a bleeding Captain. 



Dun. What bloody man is that? He can re- 
port. 
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
The newest state. 

Mai. This is the sergeant 

Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 
'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend ! 5 
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil 
As thou didst leave it. 

Cap. Doubtful it stood. 

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together 
And choke their art. The merciless Macdon- 

wald — 
Worthy to be a rebel, for to that 10 

The multiplying villanies of nature 
Do swarm upon him! — from the Western Isles 
Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; 
And fortune, on his damned quarry smiling, 
Showed like a rebel's whore: but all's too 
weak; 15 

For brave Macbeth — well he deserves that 

name ! — 
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, 
Which smok'd with bloody execution. 



660 



ACT I. SC. II.] 



MACBETH 



Like valour's minion carv'd out his passage 
Till he f ac'd the slave ; 20 

Which ne'er shook hands^ nor bade farewell 

to him, 
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the 

chops. 
And fix'd his head upon our battlements. 
Dun. O valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman ! 
Cap. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection 25 
Shipwracking storms and direful thunders 

[break], 
So from that spring whence comfort seem'd 

to come 
Discomfort swells. Mark, King of. Scotland, 

mark ; — 
No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, 
Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their 

heels, 30 

But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage. 
With furbish'd arms and new supplies of 

men. 
Began a fresh assault. 
Dun. Dismay'd not this 

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? 
Cap. Yes, 

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. 35 
If I say sooth, I must report they were 
As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks; 

so they 
Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe. 
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, 
Or memorise another Golgotha, • 40 

I cannot tell — 

But I am faint; my gashes cry for help. 
Dun. So well thy words become thee as thy 

wounds; 
They smack of honour both. Go get him 

surgeons. 

[Exit Captain, attended.'] 

Enter Ross and Angus. 

Mai. The worthy thane of Ross 45 

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes ! So 
should he look 

That seems to speak things strange. 
Ross. God save the king ! 

Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane ? 
Ross. From Fife, great king, 

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky 

And fan our people cold. Norway himself, 50 

W^ith terrible numbers. 



Assisted by that most disloyal traitor 

The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal con- 
flict. 

Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in 
proof. 

Confronted him with self-comparisons, 55 

Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst 
arm. 

Curbing his lavish spirit; and, to conclude, 

The victory fell on us. 
Dun. Great happiness! 

Ross. That now 

Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composi- 
tion; 

Nor would we deign him burial of his men 60 

Till he disbursed at Saint Coime's Inch 

Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 
Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall de- 
ceive 

Our bosom interest. Go pronounce his pres- 
ent death. 

And with his former title greet Macbeth. 65 
Ross. I'll see it done. 

Dun. What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath 
won. Exeunt. 

Scene III. — [A heath near Forres.] 

Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 

First Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 
Sec. Witch. Killing swine. 
Third Witch. Sister, where thou? 
First Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in 
her lap. 

And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd: — 
'Give me,' quoth I: s 

'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon 
cries. 

Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the 
Tiger: 

But in a sieve I'll thither sail. 

And, like a rat without a tail, 

I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 10 

Sec. Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 
First Witch. Thou 'rt kind. 
Third Witch. And I another. 
First Witch. I myself have all the other, 

And the very ports they blow, 15 

All the quarters that they know 

I' the shipman's card. 

I will drain him dry as hay: 

Sleep shall neither night nor day 



661 



6 



MACBETH 



[act I. SC. III. 



Hang upon his pent-house lid; 20 

He shall live a man forbid: 

Weary se'nnights nine times nine 

Shall he dwindle, peak and pine: 

Though his bark cannot be lost. 

Yet it shall be tempest-tost. 25 

Look what I have. 
Sec. Witch. Show me, show me. 
First Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, 

Wreck'd as homeward he did come. 

Drum within. 
Third Witch. A drum, a drum! 30 

Macbeth doth come. 
All. The weird sisters, hand in hand. 

Posters of the sea and land. 

Thus do go about, about: 

Thrice to thine and thrice to mine 35 

And thrice again, to make up nine. 

[Dance.'] 

Peace ! the charm's wound up. 

Enter Macbeth and Banquo. 

Mach. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 

Ban. How far is't call'd to Forres.^ What are 

these 

So wither'd and so wild in their attire, 40 

That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, 

And yet are on't? Live you? or are you 

aught 
That man may question? You seem to un- 
derstand me. 
By each at once her choppy finger laying 
Upon her skinny lips. You should be women, 
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 46 
That you are so. 
Mach. Speak, if you can: what are you? 

First Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, 

thane of Glamis ! 
Sec. Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, 

thane of Cawdor ! 

Third Witch. All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be 

king hereafter ! so 

Ban. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to 

fear 

Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of 

truth. 
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
Which outwardly ye show? My noble part- 
ner 
You greet with present grace and great pre- 
diction 55 



Of noble having and of royal hope. 

That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak 

not. 
If you can look into the seeds of time, 
And say which grain will grow and which 

will not. 
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear 60 
Your favours nor your hate. 
First Witch. Hail! 
Sec. Witch. Hail! 
Third Witch. Hail! 

First Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
Sec. Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 66 
Third Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou 
be none: 
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! 
First Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! 
Mach. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me 
more. 70 

By Sinel's de^th I know I am thane of Glamis ; 
But how of Cawdor? The thane of Cawdor 

lives, 
A prosperous gentleman; and to be king 
Stands not within the prospect of belief, 
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from 
whence 75 

You owe this strange intelligence? or why 
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I 
charge you. Witches vanish. 

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, 
And these are of them. Whither are they 
vanish'd ? 80 

Mach. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal 
melted 
As breath into the wind. Would they had 
stay'd ! 
Ban. Were such things here as we do speak 
about ? 
Or have we eaten on the insane root 
That takes the reason prisoner? 85 

Mach. Your children shall be kings. 
Ban. You shall be king. 

Mach. And thane of Cawdor too: went it not 

so? 
Ban. To the selfsame tune and words. Who's 
here? 

Enter Ross and Angus. 

Ross. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, 
The news of thy success ; and when he reads 99 



662 



ACT I. SC. 



III.l 



MACBETH 



Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
His wonders and his praises do contend 
Which should be thine or his. Silenc'd with 

that. 
In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, 
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, 95 
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, 
Strange images of death. As thick as tale 
Came post with post; and every one did bear 
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence. 
And pour'd them down before him. 
Ang. We are sent 100 

To give thee from our royal master thanks. 
Only to herald thee into his sight. 
Not pay thee. 
Ross. And, for an earnest of a greater honour. 
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of 

Cawdor : 105 

In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! 

For it is thine. 

Ban, What, can the devil speak true? 

Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you 

dress me 
In borrow'd robes? 
Ang. Who was the thane lives yet; 

But under heavy judgement bears that life no 
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was 

combin'd 
With those of Norway, or did line the rebel 
With hidden help and vantage, or that with 

both 
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know 

not; 
But treasons capital, confess'd and prov'd, 115 
Have overthrown him. 
Macb. [Aside.] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! 
The greatest is behind. [To Ross and An- 
gus.] Thanks for your pains. 
[To Ban.] Do you not hope your children shall 

be kings. 
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor 

to me 
Promis'd no less to them? 
Ban. That trusted home 120 

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown. 
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis 

strange ; 
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm. 
The instruments of darkness tell us truths. 
Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's 125 



In deepest consequence. 
Cousins, a word, I pray you. 
Macb. [Aside.] Two truths are told. 

As happy prologues to the swelling act 
Of the imperial theme. [To Ross and Angus.] 

I thank you, gentlemen. 
[Aside.] This supernatural soliciting 130 

Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill. 
Why hath it given me earnest of success. 
Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Caw- 
dor. 
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, 135 
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs. 
Against the use of nature? Present fears 
Are less than horrible imaginings: 
My thought, whose murder yet is but fan- 
tastical. 
Shakes so my single state of man that func- 
tion 140- 
Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is 
But what is not. 
Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. 
Macb. [Aside.] If chance will have me king, 
why, chance may crown me. 
Without my stir. 
Ban. New honours come upon him. 
Like our strange garments, cleave not to their 
mould 145 
But with the aid of use. 
Macb. [Aside.] Come what come may. 
Time and the hour runs through the roughest 
day. 
Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your 

leisure. 
Macb. Give me your favour: my dull brain was 
wrought 
With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your 
pains 150 

Are register'd where every day I turn 
The leaf to read them. Let us toward the 

king. 
Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more 

time. 
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
Our free hearts each to other. 
Ban. Very gladly. 155 

Macb. Till then, enough. Come, friends. 

Exeunt. 



663 



MACBETH 



[act I. SC. IV. 



Scene IV. — \^Forres. The palace.] 

Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, 
Lennox, and Attendants. 

Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not 
Those in commission yet return'd? 

Mai. My liege, 

They are not yet come back. But I have 

spoke 
With one that saw him die: who did report 
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, 5 
Implor'd your highness' pardon and set forth 
A deep repentance. Nothing in his life 
Became him like the leaving it; he died 
As one that had been studied in his death 
To throw away the dearest thing he owed, ic 
As 'twere a careless trifle. 

Dun, There's no art 

To find the mind's construction in the face 
He was a gentleman on whom I built 
An absolute trust. 

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross, and Angus. 

O worthiest cousin ! 
The sin of my ingratitude even now 15 

Was heavy on me. Thou art so far before 
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less de- 

serv'd, 
That the proportion both of thanks and pay- 
ment 
Might have been mine ! Only I have left to 
say, 20 

More is thy due than more than all can pay. 
Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe. 
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part 
Is to receive our duties ; and our duties 
Are to 3^our throne and state children and 
servants, 25 

Which do but what they should, by doing 

every thing 
Safe toward your love and honour. 
Dun. Welcome hither. 

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
To make thee full of growing. Noble Ban- 
quo, 
Tliat hast no less dcserv'd, nor must be known 
No less to liave done so, let me infold thee 3' 
And hold thee to my heart. 
Ban. There if I grow, 

The harvest is your own. 



Dun. My plenteous joys. 

Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 35 
And you whose places are the nearest, know 
We will establish our estate upon 
Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name here- 
after 
The Prince of Cumberland; which honour 

must 
Not unaccompanied invest him only, 40 

But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine 
On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, 
And bind us further to you. 
Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for 
you. 
I'll be myself the harbinger and make joy- 
ful 45 
The hearing of my wife with your approach. 
So humbly take my leave. 
Dun. My worthy Cawdor! 
Macb. [Aside.'] The Prince of Cumberland! 
That is a step 
On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap. 
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ; 
Let not light see my black and deep desires : 51 
The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be. 
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. 

Exit. 
Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so 
valiant, 
And in his commendations I am fed; 55 

It is a banquet to me. Let's after him. 
Whose care is gone before to bid us wel- 
come: 
It is a peerless kinsman. 

Flourish. Exeunt. 



Scene V. — [Inverness. Macbeth's castle.] 

Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. 

Lady M. 'They met me in the day of success: 
and I have learned by the perfectest report, 
they have more in them than mortal knowl- 
edge. When I burned in desire to question 
them further, they made themselves air, into 
which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in 
tlie wonder of it, came missives from the king, 
who all-hailed me "Thane of Cawdor;" by 
which title, before, these weird sisters saluted 
me, and referred me to the coming on of time, 
with "Hail, king that shalt be!" This have 



664! 



ACT I. SC. v.] 



MACBETH 



I thought good to deliver thee^ my dearest 
partner of greatness^ that thou mightst not 
lose the dues of rejoicings by being ignorant 
of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it 
to thy heart, and farewell.' 15 

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be 
What thou art promis'd: yet do I fear thy 

nature ; 
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness 
To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be 

great; 
Art not without ambition, but without 20 

The illness should attend it. What thou 

wouldst highly, 
That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play 

false, 
And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou'ldst 

have, great Glamis, 
That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou 

have it,' 
And that which rather thou dost fear to do 25 
Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee 

hither, 
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear. 
And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
All that impedes thee from the golden round. 
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 30 
To have thee crown'd withal. 

Enter a Messenger. 

What is your tidings.^ 
Mess. The king comes here to-night. 
Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it ! 

•Is not thy master with him? who, were't so. 
Would have inform'd for preparation. 
Mess. So please you, it is true. Our thane is 
coming; 35 

One of my fellows had the speed of him. 
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely 

more 
Than would make up his message. 
Lady M. Give him tending; 

He brings great news. Exit Messenger. 

The raven himself is hoarse 
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 40 
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits 
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here. 
And fill me from the crown to the toe top- 
full 



Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; 
Stop up the access and passage to remorse, 45 
That no compunctious visitings of nature 
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace be- 
tween 
The effect and it! Come to my woman's 

breasts. 
And take my milk for gall, you murdering 

ministers. 
Wherever in your sightless substances 50 

You wait on nature's mischief ! Come, thick 

night. 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell. 
That my keen knife see not the wound it 

makes. 
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the 

dark. 
To cry 'Hold, hold !' 

Enter Macbeth. 

Great Glamis ! worthy Cawdor ! 55 
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter ! 
Thy letters have transported me beyond 
This ignorant present, and I feel now 
The future in the instant. 
Mach. My dearest love, 

Duncan comes here to-night. 
Lady M. And when goes hence? 60 

Mach. To-morrow, as he purposes. 
Lady M. O, never 

Shall sun that morrow see! 
Your face, my thane, is as a book where men 
May read strange matters. To beguile the 

time. 
Look like the time. Bear welcome in your 
eye, _ 65 

Your hand, your tongue; look like the inno- 
cent flower. 
But be the serpent under 't. He that's com- 
ing 
Must be provided for; and you shall put 
This night's great business into my dispatch. 
Which shall to all our nights and days to 
come 70 

Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 
Mach. We will speak further. 
Lady M. Only look up clear; 

To alter favour ever is to fear: 
Leave all the rest to me. Exeunt. 



665 



10 



MACBETH 



[act I. SC. VI. 



Scene VI. — [Before Macheth's castle.'\ 

Hautboys and torches. Enter Duncan, Mal- 
colm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lennox, Macduff, 
Ross, Angus, and Attendants. 

Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air 
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
Unto our gentle senses. 
Ban. This guest of summer, 

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's 
breath 5 

Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, 
Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird 
Hath made his pendent bed and procreant 

cradle. 
Where they most breed and haunt, I have ob- 

serv'd, 
The air is delicate. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Dun. See, see, our honour'd hostess ! lo 

The love that follows us sometime is our 
trouble. 

Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach 
you 

How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, 

And thank us for your trouble. 
Lady M. All our service 

In every point twice done and then done dou- 
ble 15 

Were poor and single business to contend 

Against those honours deep and broad where- 
with 

Your majesty loads our house: for those of 
old. 

And the late dignities heap'd up to them. 

We rest your hermits. 
Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor? 20 

We cours'd him at the heels, and had a pur- 
pose 

To be his purveyor. But he rides well. 

And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath 
holp him 

To his home before us. Fair and noble host- 
ess. 

We are your guest to-night. 
Lady M. Your servants ever 25 

Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in 
compt, 



To make their audit at your highness' pleas- 
ure. 

Still to return your own. 
Dun. Give me your hand; 

Conduct me to mine host. We love him 
highly. 

And shall continue our graces towards him. 30 

By your leave, hostess. Exeunt. 

Scene VII. — [Macbeth's castle.] 

Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and 
divers Servants with dishes and service, [and 
pass] over the stage. Then enter Macbeth. 

Macb. If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere 
well 
It were done quickly. If the assassination 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch 
With his surcease success; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 5 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 
We'ld jump the life to come. But in these 

cases 
We still have judgement here; that we but 

teach 
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, re- 
turn 
To plague the inventor: this even-handed jus- 
tice 10 
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd 

chalice 
To our own lips. He's here in double trust; 
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
Strong both against the deed; then, as h'is 

host, 
Who should against his murderer shut the 
door, 15 

Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this 

Duncan 
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongu'd, 

against 
The deep damnation of his taking-ofp; 20 

And pity, like a naked new-born babe. 
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, 

hors'd 
Upon the sightless couriers of the air. 
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 
That tears shall drown the wind. I have no 
spur 25 



666 



ACT I. SC. VII.] 



MACBETH 



11 



To prick the sides of my intent^ but only 
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself , 
And falls on the other. — 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

How now ! what news } 
Lady M. He has almost supp'd: why have you 

left the chamber.^ 
Mach. Hath he ask'd for me? 
Lady M. Know you not he has? 30 

Mach. We will proceed no further in this busi- 
ness. 
He hath honour'd me of late; and I have 

bought 
Golden opinions from all sorts of people. 
Which would be worn now in their newest 

gloss. 
Not cast aside so soon. 
Lady M. Was the hope drunk 35 

Wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept 

since ? 
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
At what it did so freely? From this time 
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
To be the same in thine own act and valour 40 
As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have 

that 
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life. 
And live a coward in thine own esteem. 
Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' 
Like the poor cat i' the adage? 
Mach. Prithee, peace: 45 

I dare do all that may become a man; 
Who dares do more is none. 
Lady M. What beast was't, then. 

That made you break this enterprise to me? 
When you durst do it, then you were a/ 

man; 
And, to be more than what you were, you 
would so 

Be so much more the man. Nor time nor 

place 
Did then adhere, and yet you would make 

both. 
They have made themselves, and that their 

fitness now 
Does unmake you. I have given suck, and 

know 
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks 
me; 55 

I would, while it was smiling in my face, 



Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless 

gums. 
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn 

as you 
Have done to this. 

Mach. If we should fail? 

Lady M. We fail! 

But screw your courage to the sticking-place. 
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep^ — ■ 
Whereto the rather shall his day's hard jour- 
ney 
Soundly invite him — his two chamberlains 
Will I with wine and wassail so convince 
That memory, the warder of the brain, 65 
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
A limbeck only. When in swinish sleep 
Their drenched natures lie as in a death. 
What cannot you and I perform upon 
The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon 70 
His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt 
Of our great quell? 

Mach. Bring forth men-children only; 

For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd. 
When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy 
two 75 

Of his own chamber and us'd their very dag- 
gers. 
That they have done't? 

Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 

As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar 
Upon his death? 

Mach. I am settled, and bend up 

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 80 

Away, and mock the time with fairest show: 

False face must hide what the false heart 

doth know. Exeunt. 



ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — [Court of Macheth^s caHle.1 

Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch hefore 
him. 

Ban. How goes the night, boy ? 

Fie. The moon is down; I have not heard the 

clock. 
Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 
Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir. 

Ban. Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry 

in heaven; 



667 



12 



MACBETH 



[act II. SC. I, 



Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. 
A heavy summons lies like lead ujDon me^ 6 
And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers^ 
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature 
Gives way to in repose ! 

Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. 

Give me my sword. 
Who's there? lo 

Macb. A friend. 

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest.^ The king's 
a-bed. 
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
Sent forth great largess to your offices. 
This diamond he greets your wife withal, 15 
By the name of most kind hostess; and shut 

up 
In measureless content. 
Macb. Being unprepared. 

Our will became the servant to defect; 
Which else should free have wrought. 
Ban. All's well. 

I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters : 
To you they have show'd some truth. 
Macb. I think not of them: 

Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 22 
We would spend it in some words upon that 

business. 
If you would grant the time. 
Ban. At your kind'st leisure. 

Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, when 
'tis, 25 

It shall make honour for you. 
Ban. So I lose none 

In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
My bosom franchis'd and allegiance clear, 
I shall be counsell'd. 
Macb. Good repose the while ! 

Ban. Thanks, sir : the like to you ! 30 

Exeunt Banquo and Fleance. 
Macb. Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is 
ready, 
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. 

Exit Servant. 
Is this a dagger Which I see before me. 
The handle toward my hand.^* Come, let me 

clutch thee. 
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 3s 

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but 
A dagger of the mind, a false creation, 



Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 

I see thee yet, in form as palpable 40 

As this which now I draw. 

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; 

And such an instrument I was to use. 

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other 

senses. 
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still, 45 
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood. 
Which was not so before. There's no such 

thing : 
It is the bloody business which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half- 
world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates 51 
Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, 
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf. 
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy 

pace. 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his 

design 55 

Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set 

earth. 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for 

fear 
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout. 
And take the present horror from the time. 
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, 

he lives; 60 

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath 

gives. A bell rings. 

I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. 
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell 
That summons thee to heaven or to hell. Exit. 

Scene II. — ^The same.] 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. That which hath made them drunk 
hath made me bold; 
What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. 

Hark ! Peace ! 
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman. 
Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is 
about it: 4 

The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms 
Do mock their charge with snores: I have 

drugg'd their possets, 
That death and nature do contend about them. 
Whether they live or die, 
Macb. [Within.] Who's there? what ho! 



668 



ACT II. SC. II.] 



MACBETH 



Lady M. Alack, I am afraid they have awak'd, lo 

And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the 
deed 

Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers 
ready ; 

He could not miss 'em. Had he not resem- 
bled 

My father as he slept, I had done't. 

Enter Macbeth. 

My husband ! 
Macb. I have done the deed. Didst thou not 
hear a noise ? 15 

Lady Mo I heard the owl scream and the crickets 
cry. 
Did not you speak? 
Macb. When ? 

Lady. M. Now. 

Macb. As I descended? 

Lady M. Ay. 
Macb. Hark! 

Who lies i' the second chamber? 
Lady M. Donalbain. 20 

Macb. This is a sorry sight. 

[^Loohing on his hands.] 

Lady Mo A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 

Macb. There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one 

cried 'Murder!' 

That they did wake each other. I stood and 

heard them; 
But they did say their prayers, and address'd 
them 25 

Again to sleep. 
Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 

Macb, One cried 'God bless us !' and 'Amen' 
the other. 
As they had seen me with these hangman's 

hands. 
Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' 
When they did say 'God bless us !' 
Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 30 

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce 
'Amen' ? 
I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' 
Stuck in my throat. 
Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 

After these ways; so, it will make us mad. 
Macb. Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no 
more ! 35 

Macbeth does murder sleep,' — the innocent 
sleep, 



Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of a 
The death of each day's life, sore laboul 

bath. 
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second 

course. 
Chief nourisher in life's feast, — 
Lady M. What do you mean? 40 

Macb. Still it cried 'Sleep no more !' to all the 

house : 
'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore 

Cawdor 
Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no 

more.' 
Lady Mo Who was it that thus cried? Why, 

worthy thane. 
You do unbend your noble strength, to think 45 
So brainsickly of things. Go get some water. 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. 
Why did you bring these daggers from the 

place ? 
They must lie there ; go carry them, and smear 
The sleepy grooms with blood. 
Macb. I'll go no more. 50 

I am afraid to think what I have done; 
Look on't again I dare not. 
Lady M. Infirm of purpose ! 

Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the 

dead 
Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of childhood 
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 55 
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal. 
For it must seem their guilt. 

Exit. Knocking within. 

Macb. Whence is that knocking ? 

How is't with me, when every noise appals me? 

What hands are here ? Ha ! they pluck out 

mine eyes. 
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will 

rather 61 

The multitudinous seas incarnadine. 
Making the green one red. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. My hands are of your colour; but I 

shame 
To wear a heart so white. (Knocking within.) 

I hear a knocking. 65 

At the south entry: retire we to our chamber. 
A little water clears us of this deed: 
How easy is it, then ! Your constancy 



669 



14 



MACBETH 



[act II. SC. II. 



Hath left you unattended. {^Knocking within.) 

Hark! more knocking. 
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, 
And show us to be watchers. Be not lost 71 
So poorly in your thoughts. 
Mach. To know my deed, 'twere best not know 

myself. (^Knocking within.) 

Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would 

thou couldst! Exeunt. 

Scene III. — [The same.'] 

Enter a Porter. Knocking within. 

Porter. Here's a knocking indeed! If a man 
were porter of hell-gate, he should have old 
turning the key. {Knocking within.) Knock, 
knock, knock ! Who's there, i' the name of 
Beelzebub? Here's a farmer, that hanged 
himself on the expectation of plenty. Come 
in time; have napkins enow about you; here 
you'll sweat for't. (^Knocking within.) Knock, 
knock! Who's there, in the other devil's 
name.f^ Faith, here's an equivocator, that 
could swear in both the scales against either 
scale; who committed treason enough for God's 
sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven. O, 
come in, equivocator. {Knocking within.) 
Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, 
here's an English tailor come hither, for steal- 
ing out of a French hose. Come in, tailor; 
here you may roast your goose. {^Knocking 
within.) Knock, knock. Never at quiet ! 
What are you? But this place is too cold for 
hell. I'll devil-porter it no further. I had 
thought to have let in some of all professions 
that go the primrose way to the everlasting 
bonfire. {Knocking within.) Anon, anon! I 
pray you, remember the porter. 2z 

[Opens the gate.] 

Enter Macduff and Lennox. 

Macdo Was it so late, friend, ere you went to 
bed. 
That you do lie so late? 

Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the sec- 
ond cock ; and drink, sir, is a great provoker 
of three things. 

Macd. What three things does drink especially 
provoke ? 30 

Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and 



urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unpro- 
vokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes 
away the performance. Therefore, much 
drink may be said to be an equivocator with 
lechery : it makes him, and it mars him ; it sets 
him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, 
and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and 
not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in 
a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. 40 

Macd. I believe drink gave thee the lie last 
night. 

Port. That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me: 
but I requited him for his lie; and, I think, 
being too strong for him, though he took up my 
legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. 

Macd. Is thy master stirring? 



47 



Enter Macbeth. 



Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes. 
Len. Good morrow, noble sir. 
Mach. Good morrow, both. 

Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane? 
Mach. Not yet. 50 

Macd. He did command me to call timely on 
him: 

I have almost slipp'd the hour. 
Mach. I'll bring you to him. 

Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you; 

But yet 'tis one. 
Mach. The labour we delight in physics pain. 

This is the door. 
Macd. I'll make so bold to call, 55 

For 'tis my limited service. Exit, 

Len. Goes the king hence to-day? 
Mach. He does: he did appoint so. 

Len. The night has been unruly. Where we 
lay. 

Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they 
say, 60 

Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams 
of death. 

And prophesying with accents terrible 

Of dire combustion and confus'd events 

New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure 
bird 

Clamour'd the livelong night; some say, the 
earth 65 

Was feverous and did shake. 
Mach. 'Twas a rough night. 

Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel 

A fellow to it. 



670 



ACT II. SC. III.] 



MACBETH 



15 



Re-enter Macduff. 

Macd. O horror^ horror^ horror! Tongue nor 
heart 
Cannot conceive nor name thee! 

r ' > What's the matter? 70 

Len. ) 

Macd. Confusion now hath made his master- 



piece 



Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
The life 0' the building ! 
Mach. What is't you say? the life? 

Len. Mean jow his majesty? 75 

Macd. Approach the chamber^, and destroy your 
sight 
With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak ; 
See, and then speak yourselves. 

Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox. 
Awake, awake ! 
Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason ! 
Banquo and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake ! 80 
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counter- 
feit. 
And look on death itself! Up, up, and see 
The great doom's image ! Malcolm ! Banquo ! 
As from your graves rise up, and walk like 

sprites. 
To countenance this horror ! Ring the bell. 85 

Bell rings. 



Enter Lady Macbeth, 

Lady M. What's the business. 

That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley 
The sleepers of the house? speak, speak! 

Macd. O gentle lady, 

'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: 
The repetition, in a woman's ear, 90 

Would murder as it fell. 

Enter Banquo. 

O Banquo, Banquo, 

Our royal master's murder'd! 
i Lady M. Woe, alas ! 

WTiat, in our house? 
Ban. Too cruel any where. 

Dear DufF, I prithee, contradict thyself, 

And say it is not so. gs 

Enter Macbeth, Lennox, and Ross. 



Macb. Had I but died an hour before this 

chance, 
I have liv'd a blessed time; for, from this 

instant. 
There's nothing serious in mortality: 
All is but toys : renown and grace is dead ; 
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
Is left this vault to brag of. loi 

Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. 

Don. What is amiss? 

Macb. You are, and do not know't: 

The spring, the head, the fountain of your 
blood 

Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. 
Macd. Your royal father's murder'd. 



Mai. O, by whom? 105 

Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had 
done't: 
Their hands and faces were all badg'd with 

blood. 
So were their daggers, which unwip'd we 

found 
Upon their pillows. 

They star'd, and were distracted; no man's 
life no 

Was to be trusted with them, 
Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury. 

That I did kill them. 
Macd, Wherefore did you so? 

Macb, Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate and 
furious. 
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: 115 
The expedition of my violent love 
Outrun the pauser, reason. ^ Here lay Dun- 
can, 
His silver skin laced with his golden blood; 
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in 

nature 
For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the mur- 
derers, 120 
Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their 

daggers 
Unmannerly breech'd with gore. Who could 

refrain. 
That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
Courage to make 's love known? 
Lady M. Help me hence, ho ! 

Macd. Look to the lady. 

Mai. [Aside to Don.] Why do we hold our 
tongues, X25 

671 



16 



MACBETH 



[act II. sc 



1 

. III.I 



That most may claim this argument for ours ? 

Doji, [Aside to MaZ.] What should be spoken 
here, where our fate. 
Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us ? 
Let's away; 
Our tears are not yet brew'd. 

Mai. [Aside to Don.] Nor our strong sorrow 130 
Upon the foot of motion. 

Ban. Look to the lady. 

[Lady Macbeth is carried out.] 
And when we have our naked frailties hid. 
That suffer in exposure, let us meet. 
And question this most bloody piece of work. 
To know it further. Fears and scruples shake 
us: 135 

In the great hand of God I stand, and thence 
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight 
Of treasonous malice. 

Macd. And so do I. 

All. So all. 

Mach. Let's briefly put on manly readiness, 
And meet i' the hall together. 

All. Well contented. 140 

Exeunt all hut Malcolm and Donalbain. 

Mai. What will you do? Let's not consort with 
them : 
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office 
Which the false man does easy. I'll to Eng- 
land. 

Don. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune 
Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, 145 
There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in 

blood. 
The nearer bloody. 

Mai. This murderous shaft that's shot 

Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way 
Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; 
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 150 
But shift away: there's warrant in that theft 
Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. 

Exeunt. 



Scene IV. — [Outside Macheth's castle.] 

Enter Ross and an old Man. 

Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember well. 
Within the volume of which time I have «een 
Hours dreadful and things strange; but this 

sore night 
Hath trifled former knowings. 



Ah, good father, 
as troubled with 



By the clock, 'tis 



Ross. 

Thou seest, the heavens, 

man's act. 
Threaten his bloody stage. 

day. 
And yet dark night strangles the travelling 

lamp; 
Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame. 
That darkness does the face of earth entomb. 
When living light should kiss it? 
Old M. 'Tis unnatural, 10 

Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesda,y 

last, 
A falcon, towering in her pride of place. 
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. 
Ross. And Duncan's horses — a thing most 
strange and certain — 
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung 



out. 



16 



Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would 

make 
War with mankind. 
Old M. 'Tis said they eat each other. 

Ross. They did so, to the amazement of mine 
eyes 
That look'd upon't. Here comes the good 
MacdufF. 20 

Enter Macduff. 

How goes the world, sir, now? 
Macd. Why, see you not? 

Ross. Is't known who did this more than bloody 

deed? 
Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain. 
Ross. Alas, the day! 

What good could they pretend? 
Macd. They were suborn'd: 

Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons. 

Are stol'n away and fled, which puts upon 
them 26 

Suspicion of the deed. 
Ross. 'Gainst nature still! 

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up 

Thine own life's means ! Then 'tis most like 

The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 30 
Macd. He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone 

To be invested. 
Ross. Where is Duncan's body? 

Macd. Carried to Colmekill, 

The sacred storehouse of his predecessors;, 

And guardian of their bones. 



672 



ACT II. SC. 



IV.] 



MACBETH 



17 



Ross. Will you to Scone ? 35 

Macd. No, cousin, 111 to Fife. 
Ross. Well, I will thither. 

Macd. Well, may you see things well done there : 
adieu ! 
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new ! 
Ross. Farewell, father. 

Old M. God's benison go with you; and with 

those 40 

That would make good of bad, and friends of 

foes ! Exeunt. 



ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — [Forres. The palace.^ 
Enter Banquo. 

Ban. Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, 

all. 
As the weird women promis'd, and, I fear. 
Thou play'dst most foully for't. Yet it was 

said 
It should not stand in thy posterity. 
But that myself should be the root and father 5 
Of many kings. If there come truth from 

them — 
As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine — 
Why, by the verities on thee made good, 
May they not be my oracles as well. 
And set me up in hope ? But hush ! no more. 

Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as king. Lady 
[Macbeth, as queen,~\ Lennox, Ross, Lords, 
[Ladies,'] and Attendants. 

Macb. Here's our chief guest. 

Lady M. If he had been forgotten, n 

It had been as a gap in our great feast. 

And all-thing unbecoming. 
Macb. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir. 

And I'll request your presence. 
Ban. Let your highness 15 

Command upon me ; to the which my duties 

Are with a most indissoluble tie 

For ever knit. 
Macb. Ride you this afternoon? 
Ban. Ay, my good lord. 20 

acb. We should have else desir'd your good 
advice, 

t Tiich still hath been both grave and pros- 
perous. 



In this day's council; but we'll take to-mor- 
row. 
Is't far you ride.^ 
Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 25 
'Twixt this and supper; go not my horse the 

better, 
I must become a borrower of the night 
For a dark hour or twain. 
Macb. Fail not our feast. 

Ban. My lord, I will not. 

Macb. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd 
In England and in Ireland, not confessing 31 
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers 
With strange invention: but of that to-mor- 
row. 
When therewithal we shall have cause of state 
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu. 
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with 
you .f* 36 

Ban. Ay, my good lord: our time does call 

upon 's. 
Macb. I wish your horses swift and sure of 

foot; 
And so I do commend you to their backs. 
Farewell. Exit Banquo. 40 

Let every man be master of his time 
Till seven at night, to make society 
The sweeter welcome. We will keep ourself 
Till supper-time alone; while then, God be 

with you! 

Exeunt all but Macbeth, and a servant. 
Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men 45 
Our pleasure? 
Serv. They are, my lord, without the palace 

gate. 
Macb. Bring them before us. Exit Servant. 

To be thus is nothing; 
But to be safely thus. — Our fears in Banquo 
Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature 50 

Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much 

he dares; 
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind. 
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
To act in safety. There is none but he 
Whose being I do fear: and, under him, 55 
My Genius is rebuk'd, as, it is said, 
Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the 

sisters 
When first they put the name of king upon 

me, 
And bade them speak to him. Then prophet- 
like 



673 



18 



MACBETH 



[act III. SCo I. 



They hail'd him father to a line of kings. 60 
Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown^, 
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, 
No son of mine succeeding. If't be so. 
For Banquo's issue have I fil'd my mind; 65 
For them the gracious Duncan have I mur- 

der'd; 
Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 
Only for them; and mine eternal jewel 
Given to the common enemy of man, 
To make them kings, the seed of Banquo 

kings ! 70 

Rather than so, come fate into the list. 
And champion me to the utterance! Who's 

there ? 

Enter Servant and two Murderers. 

Now go to the door, and stay there till we 

call. Ea;it Servant. 

Was it not yesterday we spoke together.^ 

First Mur. It was, so please your highness. 

Mach. Well then, now 75 

Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know 

That it was he in the times past which held 

you 
So under fortune, which you thought had been 
Our innocent self. This I made good to you 
In our last conference, pass'd in probation 
with you, 80 

How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, 

the instruments. 
Who wrought with them, and all things else 

that might 
To half a soul and to a notion craz'd 
Say 'Thus did Banquo.' 
First Mur. You made it known to us. 

Mach. I did so, and went further, which is now 
Our point of second meeting. Do you find 86 
Your patience so predominant in your nature 
That you can let this go? Are you so gos- 

pell'd 
To pray for this good man and for his issue, 



Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the 

grave 90 

And beggar'd yours for ever? 

First Mur. We are men, my liege. 

Mach. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ; 

As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, 

curs, 
Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves are 
clept 

674. 



All by the name of dogs : the valued file 95 

Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle. 
The housekeeper, the hunter, every one 
According to the gift which bounteous nature 
Hath in him clos'd, whereby he does receive 
Particular addition, from the bill 100 

That writes them all alike: and so of men. 
Now, if you have a station in the file. 
Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say't; 
And I will put that business in your bosoms. 
Whose execution takes your enemy off, 105 
Grapples you to the heart and love of us. 
Who wear our health but sickly in his life. 
Which in his death were perfect. 

Sec. Mur. I am one, my liege. 

Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
Have so incens'd that I am reckless what no 
I do to spite the world. 

First Mur. And I another 

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune. 
That I would set my life on any chance. 
To mend it, or be rid on't. 

Mach. Both of you 

Know Banquo was your enemy. 

Both Mur. True, my lord. 115 

Mach. So is he mine; and in such bloody dis- 
tance. 
That every minute of his being thrusts 
Against my near'st of life ; and though I could 
With barefac'd power sweep him from my 

sight 
And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, 120 
For certain friends that are both his and mine. 
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall 
Who I myself struck down; and thence it is. 
That I to your assistance do make love, 
Masking the business from the common eye 125 
For sundry weighty reasons. 

Sec. Mur. We shall, my lord. 

Perform what you command us. 

First Mur. Though our lives — 

Mach. Your spirits shine through you. Within 
this hour at most 
I will advise you where to plant yourselves; 
Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time. 
The moment on't; for't must be done to-night. 
And something from the palace; always 

thought 
That I require a clearness : and with him — 
To leave no rubs nor botches in the work — 
Fleance his son, that keeps him company, 1^ 
Whose absence is no less material to me 



ACT III. SC. I.] 



MACBETH 



19 



Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart: 
I'll come to you anon. 
Both Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord. 

Macb. I'll call upon you straight: abide within. 

[Ej:eunt Murderei'S.^ 
It is concluded. Banquo^, thy soul's flight, 141 
If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. 

Exit. 

Scene II. — [The palace.] 

Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant. 

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court? 

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his 
leisure 
For a few words. 

Serv. Madam, I will. Exit. 

Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent. 

Where our desire is got without content: s 
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy 
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. 

Enter Macbeth. 

How now, my lord ! why do you keep alone. 
Of sorriest fancies your companions making, 
Using those thoughts which should indeed have 

died 10 

With them they think on ? Things without all 

remedy 
Should be without regard : what's done is done. 
Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it: 
She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor 

malice 
Remains in danger of her former tooth. 15 

But let the frame of things disjoint, both the 

worlds suffer. 
Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep 
In the affliction of these terrible dreams 
That shake us nightly. Better be with the 

dead. 
Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to 

peace, 20 

Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; 
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; 
Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor 

poison. 



Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 25 

Can touch him further. 
Lady M. Come on; 

Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; 
Be bright and j ovial among your guests to- 
night. 
Macb. So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: 
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; 30 
Present him eminence, both with eye and 

tongue : 
Unsafe the while, that we 
Must lave our honours in these flattering 

streams. 
And make our faces vizards to our hearts. 
Disguising what they are. 
Lady M. You must leave this. 35 

Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear 

wife ! 
Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, 

lives. 

Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. 

Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assailable. 

Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown 40 

His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's 

summons 
The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums 
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall 

be done 
A deed of dreadful note. 
Lady M. What's to be done? 

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest 

chuck, 45 

Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling 

night. 
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day. 
And with thy bloody and invisible hand 
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond 
Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and 

the crow 50 

Makes wing to the rooky wood ; 
Good things of day begin to droop and 

drowse. 
Whiles night's black agents to their preys do 

rouse. 
Thou marvell'st at my words; but hold thee 

still. 
Things bad begun make strong themselves by 

ill. 
So, prithee, go with me. 

Exeunt. 



675 



20 



MACBETH 



[act III. SC. III. 



Scene III. — [A park near the palace.'\ 

Enter three Murderers. 

First Mur. But who did bid thee join with us? 
Third Mur. Macbeth. 

Sec. Mur. He needs not our mistrust, since he 
delivers 

Our offices and what we have to do 

To the direction just. 
First Mur. Then stand with us. 

The west yet glimmers with some streaks of 
day: 5 

NoAv spurs the lated traveller apace 

To gain the timely inn; and near approaches 

The subject of our watch. 
Third Mur. Hark! I hear horses 

Ban. {Within.) Give us a light there, ho! 
Sec. Mur. Then 'tis he: the rest 

That are within the note of expectation ic 

Already are i' the court. 
First Mur. His horses go about. 

Third Mur. Almost a mile: but he does usually, 

So all men do, from hence to the palace gate 

Make it their walk. 
Sec. Mur. A light, a light! 

Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch. 

Third Mur. 'Tis he. 

First Mur. Stand to't. 
Ban. It will be rain to-night. 
First Mur. Let it come down, ir 

[They set upon Banquo.j 
Ban. O, treachery ! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, 
fly! 
Thou mayst revenge. O slave ! 

[Dies. Fleance escapes.] 
Third Mur. Who did strike out the light ? 
First Mur. Was't not the way? 

Third Mur. There's but one down; the son is 

fled. 
Sec. Mur. We have lost 20 

Best half of our afl"air. 
First Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much 
is done. Exeunt 

Scene IV. — [The same. Hall in the palace.] 

A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady 
Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords, and Attend- 
ants. 

Macb. You know your own degrees; sit down: 
at first 



And last the hearty welcome. 

Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 1 

Macb. Ourself will mingle with society, \ 

And play the humble host. i 
Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time 5 

We will require her welcome. j 

Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our | 

friends ; ! 
For my heart speaks they are welcome. 

First Murderer appears at the door. \ 

Macb. See, they encounter thee with their I 

heart's thanks. ' 

Both sides are even; here I'll sit i' the midst. \ 

Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a meas- I 

ure II 

The table round. [Approaching the door.] \ 

There's blood upon thy face. | 

Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. I 

Macb. 'Tis better thee without than he within. \ 

Is he dispatch'd? 15 \ 

Mur. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for 

him. : 

Macb. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats ; yet \ 

he's good 

That did the like for Fleance ; if thou didst it, j 

Thou art the nonpareil. j 

Mur. Most royal sir, 

Fleance is 'scaped. 20 | 

Macb. Then comes my fit again; I had else been i 
perfect. 
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock. 

As broad and general as the casing air; j 

But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound ■ 

in 
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's 

safe? 25 i 

Mur. Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, ■ 

With twenty trenched gashes on his head; i 

The least a death to nature. 1 

Macb. Thanks for that, j 

There the grown serpent lies ; the worm that's 

fled I 

Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 30 ' 

No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: ' 

to-morrow i 

We'll hear, ourselves, again. Exit Murderer, j 
Lady M. My royal lord, 
You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold 
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making, 
'Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at 
home ; 35 



676 



ACT III. SC. 



IV.] 



MACBETH 



21 



From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; 
Meeting were bare without it. 

Enter the Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Mac- 
heth's place. 

Mach. Sweet remembrancer ! 

Now, good digestion wait on appetite, 

And health on both ! 
Len. May't please your highness sit. 

Mach. Here had we now our country's honour 
roof'd, 40 

Were the grac'd person of our Banquo pres- 
ent; 

Who may I rather challenge for unkindness 

Than pity for mischance ! 
Ross. His absence, sir. 

Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your 
highness 

To grace us with your royal company. 45 

Mach. The table's full. 

Len. Here is a place reserv'd, sir. 

Mach. Where ? 
Len. Here, my good lord. What is't that moves 

your highness ? 
Mach. Which of you have done this ? 
Lords. What, my good lord.^ 

Mach. Thou canst not say I did it: never shake 

Thy gory locks at me. 51 

Ross. Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well. 
Lady M. Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often 
thus, 

And hath been from his youth. Pray you, 
keep seat; 

The fit is momentary; upon a thought 55 

He will again be well. If much you note him, 

You shall offend him and extend his passion: 

Feed, and regard him not. [Aside to Mac- 
heth.] Are you a man? 
Mach. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 

Which might appal the devil. 
Lady M. [Aside to Macheth.'] O proper stuff! 

This is the very painting of your fear: 61 

This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said. 

Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and 
starts, 

Impostors to true fear, would well become 

A woman's story at a winter's fire, 65 

Authoris'd by her grandam. Shame itself ! 

Why do you make such faces? When all's 
done, 

You look but on a stool. 



Mach. Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how 



say you 



Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak 

too. 70 

If charnel-houses and our graves must send 
Those that we bury back, our monuments 
Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost vanishes.'] 
Lady M. [Aside to Macheth.] What, quite un- 

mann'd in folly? 
Mach. If I stand here, I saw him. 
Lady M. [Aside to Macheth.] Fie, for shame! 
Mach. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden 

time, 75 

Ere humane statute purg'd the gentle weal; 
Ay, and since too, murders have been per- 

form'd 
Too terrible for the ear. The time has been. 
That, when the brains were out, the man would 

die. 
And there an end ; but now they rise again, 80 
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns. 
And push us from our stools. This is more 

strange 
Than such a murder is. 
Lady M. My worthy lord, 

Your noble friends do lack you. 
Mach. 1 do forget. 

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ; 85 
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
To those that know me. Come, love and 

health to all ; 
Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill 

full. 
I drink to the general joy o' the whole table, 
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we 

miss ; 90 

Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thirst. 
And all to all. 
Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 

Enter Ghost. 

Mach. Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth 
hide thee! 

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; 

Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 95 

Which thou dost glare with ! 
Lady M. Think of this, good peers. 

But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other; 

Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 
Mach. What man dare, I dare: 

Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear. 



677 



22 



MACBETH 



[act III. SC. IV. 



The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; loi 
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
Shall never tremble. Or be alive again, 
And dare me to the desert with thy sword; 
If trembling I inhabit then, protest me 105 
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! 
Unreal mockery, hence! [Ghost vanishes.] 
Why, so : being gone, 
I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. 
Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke 
the good meeting. 
With most admir'd disorder. 
Mach. Can such things be, no 

And overcome us" like a summer's cloud. 
Without our special wonder.^ You make me 

strange 
Even to the disposition that I owe. 
When now I think you can behold such 

sights. 
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 115 
When mine is blanch'd with fear. 
Ross. What sights, my lord? 

Lady M. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse 
and worse; 
Question enrages him. At once, good night. 
Stand not upon the order of your going. 
But go at once. 
Len. Good night; and better health 120 

Attend his majesty! 

Lady M. A kind good night to all ! 

Exeunt all hut Macbeth and Lady M. 

Mach. It will have blood; they say, blood will 

have blood: 

Stones have been known to move and trees to 

speak; 
Augures and understood relations have 
By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought 
forth 125 

The secret'st man of blood. What is the 
night ? 
Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which 

is which. 
Mach. How say'st thou, that MacduiF denies his 
person 
At our great bidding? 
Lady M. Did you send to him, sir? 

Mach. I hear it by the way ; but I will send : 130 
There's not a one of them but in his house 
I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
And betimes I will, to the weird sisters. 
More shall they speak; for now I am bent to 
know. 



By the worst means, the worst. For mine 

own good, 135 

All causes shall give way. I am in blood 
Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more. 
Returning were as tedious as go o'er: 
Strange things I have in head, that will to 

hand ; 
Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. 
Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, 

sleep. 141 

Mach. Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and 

self-abuse 
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: 
We are yet but young in deed. Exeunt. 

Scene V.— [^ Heath.] 

Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting 
Hecate. 

First Witch. Why, how now, Hecate! you look 
angerly. 

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are. 
Saucy and overbold? How did you dare • 
To trade and traffic with Macbeth 
In riddles and affairs of death; 5 

And I, the mistress of your charms, 
The close contriver of all harms. 
Was never call'd to bear my part, 
Or show the glory of our art? 
And, which is worse, all you have done 10 
Hath been but for a wayward son. 
Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do. 
Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
But make amends now: get you gone. 
And at the pit of Acheron 15 

Meet me i' tlie morning: thither he 
Will come to know his destiny. 
Your vessels and your spells provide. 
Your charms and every thing beside. 
I am for the air; this night I'll spend 20 

Unto a dismal and a fatal end. 
Great business must be wrought ere noon. 
Upon the corner of the moon 
There hangs a vaporous drop profound; 
I'll catch it ere it come to ground; 25 

And that distill'd by magic sleights 
Shall raise such artificial sprites 
As by the strength of their illusion 
Shall draw him on to his confusion: 
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 30 
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: 



678 



ACT III. SC. 



v.] 



MACBETH 



23 



And you all know, security 
Is mortals' chiefest enemy. 

Music and a song. 
Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, 
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. 35 
Sing within: 'Come away, come away,' &c. 

[Exit.'] 

First Witch. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon 

be back again. Exeunt. 

Scene VI. — [Forres. The palace.'] 
Enter Lennox and another Lord. 

Len. My former speeches have but hit your 

thoughts. 
Which can interpret further. Only, I say. 
Things have been strangely borne. The gra- 
cious Duncan 
Was pitied of Macbeth : marry, he was dead. 
And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late. 
Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance 

kill'd, 6 

For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. 
Who cannot want the thought how monstrous 
It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain 
To kill their gracious father ? damned fact ! 10 
How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not 

straight 
In pious rage the two delinquents tear, 
That were the slaves of drink and thralls of 

sleep ? 
Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely 

too; 
For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive 15 
To hear the men deny't. So that, I say. 
He has borne all things well: and I do think 
That had he Duncan's sons under his key^ — - 
As, and't please heaven, he shall not — they 

should find 
What 'twere to kill a father; so should 

Fleance. 20 

But, peace ! for from broad words and 'cause 

he fail'd 
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear 
MacdufF lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell 
Where he bestows himself? 
Lord. The son of Duncan, 

From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth. 
Lives in the English court, and is receiv'd 26 
Of the most pious Edward with such grace 
That the malevolence of fortune nothing 



Takes from his high respect. Thither Mac- 
dufF 
Is gone to pray the holy king, upon bis aid 30 
To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward, 
That, by the help of these — with Him above 
To ratify the work — we may again 
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights. 
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody 
knives, 35 

Do faithful homage and receive free honours. 
All which we pine for now. And this report 
Hath so exasperate their king that he 
Prepares for some attempt of war. 

Len. Sent he to MacdufF? 

Lord. He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,' 
The cloudy messenger turns me his back, 41 
And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the 

time 
That clogs me with this answer.' 

Len. And that well might 

Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 45 
Fly to the court of England and unfold 
His message ere he come, that a swift blessing 
May soon return to this our suffering country 
Under a hand accurs'd ! 

Lord. I'll send my prayers with him. 

Exeunt. 



ACT FOURTH 

Scene I. — [A cavern. In the middle, a boiling 
cauldron.] 

Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 

First Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath njew'd. 
Sec. Witch. Thrice and once the hedge-pig 

whin'd. 
Third Witch. Harpier cries. 'Tis time, 'tis 

time. 
First Witch. Round about the cauldron go; 

In the poison'd entrails throw. 5 

Toad, that under cold stone 

Days and nights has thirty one 

Swelter'd venom sleeping got. 

Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. 
All. Double, double toil and trouble; 10 

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 
Sec. Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 

In the cauldron boil and bake ; 

Eye of newt and toe of frog. 



679 



24! 



MACBETH 



[act IV. SC. I. 



Wool of bat and tongue of dog, 15 

Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, 

Lizard's leg and howlet's wing. 

For a charm of powerful trouble. 

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
All. Double, double toil and trouble; 20 

Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 
Third Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf. 

Witches' mummy, maw and gulf 

Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark. 

Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, 25 

Liver of blaspheming Jew, 

Gall of goat, and slips of yew 

Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse. 

Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips. 

Finger of birth-strangled babe 30 

Ditch-deliver'd by a drab. 

Make the gruel thick and slab: 

Add thereto a tiger's chaudron. 

For the ingredients of our cauldron. 
All. Double, double toil and trouble; 35 

Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 
Sec. Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood. 

Then the charm is firm and good. 

Enter Hecate [^0] the other three Witches. 

Hec. O, well done! I commend your pains; 
And every one shall share i' the gains: 40 

And now about the cauldron sing. 
Like elves and fairies in a ring. 
Enchanting all that you put in. 
[Dance] Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' &c. 

[Ea;it Hecate.] 
Sec. Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs. 
Something wicked this way comes. 45 

Open, locks. 
Whoever knocks ! 

Enter Macbeth. 

Mach. How now, you secret, black, and mid- 
night hags ! 
What is't you do? 
All. A deed without a name. 

Mach. I conjure you, by that which you profess, 
Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: 51 
Though you untie the winds and let them 

fight 
Against the churches; though the jesty waves 
Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
Though bladed corn be lodg'd and trees blown 
down ; 55 



Though castles topple on their warders' heads ; 

Though palaces and pyramids do slope 

Their heads to their foundations; though the 
treasure 

Of nature's germens tumble all together. 

Even till destruction sicken; answer me 60 

To what I ask you. 
First Witch. Speak. 

Sec. Witch. Demand. 

Third Witch. We'll answer. 

First Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from 
our mouths, 

Or from our masters? 
Mach. Call 'em; let me see 'em. 

First Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath 
eaten 

Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten 65 

From the murderer's gibbet throw 

Into the flame. 
All. Come, high or low; 

Thyself and office deftly show ! 

Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head. 

Mach. Tell me, thou unknown power, — 
First Witch. He knows thy thought: 

Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 70 

First App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! be- 
ware MacdufF; 
Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. 
Enough. He descends. 

Mach. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, 
thanks. 
Thou hast harp'd my fear aright. But one 
word more, — 
First Witch. He will not be commanded. Here's 
another, 75 

More potent than the first. 

Thunder. Second Apparition: a bloody Child. 

Sec. App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth I 

Mach. Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee. 

Sec. App. Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh 
to scorn 
The power of man, for none of woman born 80 
Shall harm Macbeth. Descends. 

Mach. Then live, MacdufF: what need I fear of 
thee? 
But yet I'll make assurance double sure. 
And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; 
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, 85 
And sleep in spite of thunder. 



680 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



MACBETH 



25 



Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, 
with a tree in his hand. 

What is this 
That rises like the issue of a king^ 
And wears upon his baby-brow the round 
And top of sovereignty? 

All. Listen^ but speak not to't. 

Third App. Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no 

care 90 

Who chafes, w^ho frets, or where conspirers 

are. 
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until 
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
Shall come against him. Descends. 

Macb. That will never be : 

Who can impress the forest, bid the tree 95 
Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bode- 

ments ! good ! 
Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood 
Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth 
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart 100 
Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art 
Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever 
Reign in this kingdom? 

All. Seek to know no more. 

Macb. I will be satisfied: deny me this, 

And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me 

know, 105 

Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is 

this ? Hautboys. 

First Witch. Show! 

Sec. Witch. Show ! 

Third Witch. Show! 

All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; no 
Come like shadows, so depart! 

A show of Eight Kings, [the last with a glass in 
his hand; Banquo's Ghost following]. 

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; 

down ! 
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And 

thy hair. 
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. 
A third is like the former. Filthy hags ! 115 
Why do you show me this ? A fourth ! Start, 

eyes ! 
What, will the line stretch out to the crack of 

doom? 
Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more: 



And yet the eighth appears, who bears a 

glass 
Which shows me many more; and some I see 
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry: 
Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true; 122 

For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon 

me. 
And points at them for his. [Apparitions van- 
ish.] What, is this so? 
First Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so : but why 125 
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? 
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites. 
And show the best of our delights: 
I'll charm the air to give a sound. 
While you perform your antic round, 130 

That this great king may kindly say. 
Our duties did his welcome pay. 

Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. 
Macb. Where are they? Gone? Let this per- 
nicious hour 
Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! 
Come in, without there! 

Enter Lennox. 

Len. What's your grace's will? 135 

Macb. Saw you the weird sisters? 
Len. No, my lord. 

Macb. Came they not by you? 
Len. No, indeed, my lord. 

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride; 
And damn'd all those that trust them! I did 

hear 
The galloping of horse: who was't came by? 
Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you 
word 141 

MacdufF is fled to England. 
Macb. Fled to England! 

Len. Ay, my good lord. 

Macb. Time, thou anticipatest my dread ex- 
ploits : 
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook 145 

Unless the deed go with it. From this mo- 
ment 
The very firstlings of my heart shall be 
The firstlings of my hand. And even now. 
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought 

and done: 
The castle of MacdufF I will surprise; 150 

Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the 

sword 
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 



681 



26 



MACBETH 



[act IVo SC. Iu 



That trace him in his line. No boasting like 
a fool; 

This deed I'll do before this purpose cool. 

But no more sights ! — Where are these gen- 
tlemen ? 155 

Come, bring me where they are. Exeunt. 

Scene II. — [Fife. Macduff's castle.] 

Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Ross. 

L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the 

land? 
Ross. You must have patience, madam. 
L. Macd. He had none: 

His flight was madness: when our actions do 

not. 
Our fears do make us traitors. 
Ross. You know not 

Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. 5 

L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave 
his babes. 
His mansion and his titles in a place 
From whence himself does fly.^ He loves us 

not; 
He wants the natural touch : for the poor wren. 
The most diminutive of birds, will fight, 10 

Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
All is the fear and nothing is the love; 
As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
So runs against all reason. 
Ross. My dearest coz/ 

I pray you, school yourself. But for your 
husband, 15 

He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much 

further, 
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors 
And do not know ourselves, when we hold 

rumour 
From what we fear, yet know not what we 
fear, 20 

But float upon a wild and violent sea 
Each way and move. I take my leave of you: 
Shall not be long but I'll be here again: 
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb 

upward 
To what they were before. [To the Son.] My 
pretty cousin, 25 

Blessing upon you ! 
L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's father- 
less. 



Ross. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, 

It would be my disgrace and your discomfort: 

I take my leave at once. Exit. 

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead: 30 

And what will you do now? How will you 
live ? 
Son. As birds do, mother. 

L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ? 

Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. 
L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the 
net nor lime. 

The pitfall nor the gin. 35 

Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they 
are not set for. 

My father is not dead, for all your saying. 
L. Macd. Yes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for 

a father? 
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband? 
L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any mar- 
ket. 40 
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell agaiuo 
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and 
yet, i' faith, 

With wit enough for thee. 
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? 
L. Macd. Ay, that he was. 4s 

Son. What is a traitor? 
L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. 
Son. And be all traitors that do so? 
L. Macd. Every one that does so is a traitor, 

and must be hanged. 50 

Son. And must they all be hanged that swear 

and lie? 
L. Macd. Every one. 
Son. Who must hang them? 

L. Macd. Why, the honest men. * 55 

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools, for 

there are liars and swearers enow to beat the 

honest men and hang up them. 
L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey! 

But how wilt thou do for a father? 60 

Son. If he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if 

you would not, it were a good sign that I 

should quickly have a new father. 
L. Macd. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st ! 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Bless you, fair dame ! I am not to you 

known, 65 

Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 

I doubt some danger does approach you nearly : 



682 



ACT IV. SC. II.] 



MACBETH 



27 



If you will take a homely man's advice, 

Be not found here; hence, with your little 

ones. 
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too sav- 
age ; 70 
To do worse to you were fell cruelty, 
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven pre- 
serve you! 
I dare abide no longer. Ea:it. 
L. Macd. Whither should I fly? 
I have done no harm. But I remember now 
I am in this earthly world; where to do harm 
Is often laudable, to do good sometime 76 
Accounted dangerous folly. Why then, alas, 
Do I put up that womanly defence. 
To say I have done no harm? 

Enter Murderers. 

What are these faces ? 
First Mur. Where is your husband? 80 

L, Macd. I hojDC, in no place so unsanctified 

Where such as thou mayst find him. 
First Mur. He's a traitor. 

Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain! 
First Mur. What, you egg ! 

[^Stabbing him.'] 
Young fry of treachery ! 
Son. He has kill'd me, mother: 

Run away, I pray you! [JDies.'] 

Exit Lady Macduff, crying 'Murder!' 
\ Exeunt Murderers, following her.] 



Scene III. — [^England. Before the King's 
palace.] 

Enter Malcolm and Macduff. 

Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and 
there 
Weep our sad bosoms empty. 
Macd. Let us rather 

Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good 

men 
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom. Each 

new morn 
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sor- 
rows 5 
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out 
Like syllable of dolour. 
Mai. What I believe I'll wail, 



What know believe, and what I can redress. 
As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 10 
What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. 
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our 

tongues. 
Was once thought honest; you have lov'd him 

well. 
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; 

but something 
You may discern of him through me, and wis- 
dom 15 
To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb 
To appease an angry god. 
Macd. I am not treacherous. 
Mai. But Macbeth is. 
A good and virtuous nature may recoil 
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave 

your pardon; 20 

That which you are my thoughts cannot trans- 
pose; 
Angels are bright still, though the brightest 

fell; 
Though all things foul would wear the brows 

of grace. 
Yet grace must still look so. 
Macd. I have lost my hopes. 

Mai. Perchance even there where I did find my 

doubts. 25 

Why in that rawness left you wife and child. 
Those precious motives, those strong knots of 

love. 
Without leave-taking? I pray you. 
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours. 
But mine own safeties. You may be rightly 

just, 30 

Whatever I shall think. 
Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country ! 

Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure. 
For goodness dare not check thee: wear thou 

thy wrongs; 
The title is affeer'd ! Fare thee well, lord: 
I would not be the villain that thou think'st 35 
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's 

grasp. 
And the rich East to boot. 
Mai. Be not offended: 

I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; 
It weeps, it bleeds ; and each new day a gash 40 
Is added to her wounds: I think withal 
There would be hands uplifted in my right; 
And here from gracious England have I offer 



683 



28 



MACBETH 



[act IV. SC. III. 



Of goodly thousands. But, for all this, 
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor coun- 
try 
Shall have more vices than it had before. 
More suiFer and more sundry ways than ever, 
By him that shall succeed. 

Macd. What should he be? 

Mai. It is myself I mean: in whom I know 50 
All the particulars of vice so grafted 
That, when they shall be open'd, black Mac- 
beth 
Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state 
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd 
With my confmeless harms. 

Macd. Not in the legions 55 

Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd 
In evils to top Macbeth. 

MaL I grant him bloody, 

Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful. 
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin 
That has a name. But there's no bottom, 
none, 60 

In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daugh- 
ters. 
Your matrons and your maids, could not fill 

up 
The cistern of my lust, and my desire 
All continent impediments would o'erbear 
That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth 65 
Than such an one to reign. 

Macd. Boundless intemperance 

In nature is a tyranny; it hath been 
The untimely emptying of the happy throne 
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
To take upon you what is yours ; you may 70 
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, 
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood- 
wink. 
We have willing dames enough; there cannot 

be 
That vulture in you, to devour so many 
As will to greatness dedicate themselves, 75 
Finding it so inclin'd. 

MaL With this there grows 

In my most ill-corapos'd affection such 
A stanchless avarice that, were I king, 
I should cut off the nobles for their lands. 
Desire his jewels and this other's house; 80 
And my more-having would be as a sauce 
To make me hunger more, that I should 
forge 

684 



Quarrels unjust against the good and 

loyal. 
Destroying them for wealth. 
Macd. This avarice 

Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious 
root 85 

Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been 
The sword of our slain kings. Yet do not 

fear; 
Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will. 
Of your mere own. All these are portable, 
With other graces weigh'd. 90 

MaL But I have none. The king-becoming 
graces. 
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, 
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness. 
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude; 
I have no relish of them, but abound 95 

In the division of each several crime. 
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I 

should 
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell. 
Uproar the universal peace, confound 
All unity on earth. 
Macd. O Scotland, Scotland! 100 

MaL If such a one be fit to govern, speak: 

I am as I have spoken. 
Macd. Fit to govern! 

No, not to live. O nation miserable. 
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd. 
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days 
again, 105 

Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd. 
And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal 

father 
Was a most sainted king; the queen that bore 

thee, 
Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, no 
Died every day she liv'd. Fare thee well! 
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself 
Have banish'd me from Scotland, O my 

breast. 
Thy hope ends here! 
MaL Macduff, this noble passion. 

Child of integrity, hath from my soul ns 

Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my 

thoughts 
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish 

Macbeth 
By many of these trains hath sought to win 
me 



ACT IV. SC. 



III.] 



MACBETH 



29 



Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks 

me 
From over-credulous haste; but God above 120 
Deal between thee and me ! For even now 
I put myself to thy direction, and 
Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure 
The taints and blames I laid upon myself, 
For strangers to my nature. I am yet 125 
Unknown to woman, never was forsworn. 
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own. 
At no time broke my faith, would not betray 
The devil to his fellow and delight 
No less in truth than life. My first false 
speaking 130 

Was this upon myself. What I am truly. 
Is thine and my poor country's to command; 
Whither indeed, before thy here-approach. 
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, 
Already at a point, was setting forth. 135 

Now we'll together; and the chance of good- 
ness 
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are 
you silent? 
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at 
once 
'Tis hard to reconcile. 

Enter a Doctor. 

Mai. Well; more anon. — Comes the king forth, 
I pray you? 140 

Doct. Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched 
souls 
That stay his cure: their malady convinces 
The great assay of art; but at his touch — 
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand — 
They presently amend. 
Mai. I thank you, doctor. Exit Doctor. 

Macd. What's the disease he means? 
Mai. 'Tis call'd the evil : 

A most miraculous work in this good king; 
Which often, since my here-remain in Eng- 
land, 
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, 
Himself best knows; but strangely-visited 
people, 150 

All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye. 
The mere despair of surgery, he cures. 
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, 
Put on with holy prayers ; and 'tis spoken, 
To the succeeding royalty he leaves 155 

The healing benediction. With this strange 
virtue. 



He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy. 

And sundry blessings hang about his throne. 

That speak him full of grace. 

Enter Ross. 

Macd. See, who comes here? 

Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him not. 160 
Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 
Mai. I know him now. Good God, betimes re- 
move 
The means that makes us strangers ! 
Ross. Sir, amen. 

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? 
Ross. Alas, poor country ! 

Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot 165 
Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where 

nothing. 
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; 
Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend 

the air 
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow 

seems 
A modern ecstasy. The dead man's knell 170 
Is there scarce ask'd for who ; and good men's 

lives 
Expire before the flowers in their caps. 
Dying or ere they sicken. 
Macd. O, relation 

Too nice, and yet too true ! 
Mai. 

Ross. That of an hour's age doth hiss the 
speaker : 175 

Each minute teems a new one. 
Macd. How does my wife? 

Ross. Why, well. 

Macd. And all my children? 

Ross. Well too. 

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their 

peace? 
Ross. No, they were well at peace when I did 

leave 'em. 
Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech; how 
goes't? 180 

Ross. When I came hither to transport the tid- 
ings. 
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a 

rumour 
Of many worthy fellows that were out; 
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot: 185 
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scot- 
land 



What's the newest grief? 



685 



MACBETH 



[act IV. SC. III. 



Would create soldiers, make our women fight, 
To doiF their dire distresses. 
Mai. Be't their comfort 

We are coming thither : gracious England 

hath 
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; 
An older and a better soldier none 191 

That Christendom gives out. 
Ross. Would I could answer 

This comfort with the like! But I have 

words 
That would be howl'd out in the desert air, 
Where hearing should not latch them. 
Macd. What concern they? 195 

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief 
Due to some single breast? 
Ross. No mind that's honest 

But in it shares some woe; though the main 

part 
Pertains to you alone. 
Macd. If it be mine, 

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 200 
Ross. Let not your ears despise my tongue for 
ever. 
Which shall possess them with the heaviest 

sound 
That ever yet they heard. 
Macd. Hum! I guess at it. 

Ross. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife and 
babes 
Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner, 205 
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer. 
To add the death of you. 
Mai. Merciful heaven! 

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your 

brows ; 
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not 

speak 
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it 
break. 210 

Macd. My children too? 
Ross. Wife, children, servants, all 

Tliat could be found. 
Macd. And I must be from thence ! 

My wife kill'd too? 
Ross. I have said. 

Mai. Be comforted; 

Let's make us medicines of our great re- 
venge. 
To cure this deadly grief. 215 

Macd. He has no children. All my pretty 
ones? 



Did you say all? O hell-kite ! All? 
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam 
At one fell swoop? 
Mai. Dispute it like a man. 

Macd. I shall do so; 220 

But I must also feel it as a man: 
I cannot but remember such things were. 
That were most precious to me. Did heaven 

look on. 
And would not take their part? Sinful Mac- 
duff, 
They were all struck for thee! Naught that 

I am, 225 

Not for their own demerits, but for mine. 
Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest 

them now ! 
Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let 

grief 
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage 

it. 
Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine 

eyes 230 

And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle 

heavens. 
Cut short all intermission; front to front 
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; 
Within my sword's length set him; if he 

'scape. 
Heaven forgive him too! 
Mai. This tune goes manly. 235 

Come, go we to the king; our power is ready; 
Our lack is nothing but our leave, Macbeth 
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer 

you may: 
The night is long that never finds the day. 240 

Ejceunt. 



ACT FIFTH 

[Scene I. — Dunsinane. Ante-room in the 
castle.'] 

Scene I. — [Dunsinane. Ante-room in the 
Gentlewoman. 

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but 
can perceive no truth in your report. When 
was it she last walked? 

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I 
have seen her rise from her bed, throw her 
nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take 



686 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



MACBETH 



31 



forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, 
afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; 
yet all this while in a most fast sleep. 9 

Doct. A great perturbation in nature, to receive 
at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects 
of watching! In this slumbery agitation, be- 
sides her walking and other actual perform- 
ances, what, at any time, have you heard her 
say ? 15 

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after 
her. 

Doct. You may to me: and 'tis most meet you 
should. 

Gent. Neither to you nor any one; having no 
witness to confirm my speech. 21 

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper. 

Lo you, here she comes ! This is her very 
guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Ob- 
serve her; stand close. 

Doct. How came she by that light? 25 

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by 
her continually ; 'tis her command. 

Doct. You see, her eyes are open. 

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. 

Doct. What is it she does now.^ Look, how 
she rubs her hands. 31 

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to 
seem thus washing her hands : I have known 
her continue in this a quarter of an hour. 

Lady M. Yet here's a spot. 35 

Doct. Hark ! she speaks : I will set down what 
comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance 
the more strongly. 

Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! — One : 
two: why, then 'tis time to do't. — Hell is 
murky ! — Fie, my lord, fie ! a soldier, and 
af card ? What need we fear who knows it, 
when none can call our power to account ? — 
Yet who would have thought the old man to 
have had so much blood in him. 4S 

Doct. Do you mark that? 

Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife: where 
is she now? — What, will these hands ne'er be 
clean? — No more o' that, my lord, no more o' 
that: you mar all with this starting. 50 

Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you 
should not, 

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I 
am sure of that: heaven knows what she has 
known. ss 



Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all 
the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this 
little hand. Oh, oh, oh ! 

Doct. What a sigh is there 1 The heart is sorely 
charged. 60 

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my 
bosom for the dignity of the whole body. 

Doct. Well, well, well, — 

Gent. Pray God it be, sir. 

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice; yet 
I have known those which have walked in 
their sleep who have died holily in their beds. 

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night- 
gown; look not so pale. — I tell you yet again, 
Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's 
grave. 

Doct. Even so? 72 

Lady M. To bed, to bed ! there's knocking at 
the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me 
your hand. What's done cannot be undone. — 
To bed, to bed, to bed ! Exit. 

Doct. Will she go now to bed? 

Gent. Directly. 

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural 
deeds 
Do breed unnatural troubles : infected minds 80 
To their deaf pillows will discharge their 

secrets: 
More needs she the divine than the physician. 
God, God forgive us all ! Look after her ; 
Remove from her the means of all annoyance, 
And still keep eyes upon her. So, good 
night ; 85 

My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight. 
I think, but dare not speak 

Gent. 

•Exeunt. 



Good night, good doctor. 



Scene IL — [^The country near Dunsinane.] 

Drum and colours. Enter Menteith, Caithness, 
Angus, Lennox, and Soldiers. 

Ment. The English power is near, led on by 
Malcolm, 
His uncle Siward and the good Macduif. 
Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes 
Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm 
Excite the mortified man. 
Aug. Near Birnam wood s 

Shall we well meet them; that way are they 
coming. 



687 



32 



MACBETH 



[act v. SC. II. 



Caith. Who knows if Donalbain be with his 

brother ? 
Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file 

Of all the gentry; there is Siward's son, 

And man}' unrough youths that even now lo 

Protest their first of manhood. 
Merit. What does the tyrant? 

Caith. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies. 

Some say he's mad; others that lesser hate 
him 

Do call it valiant fury; but, for certain. 

He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause 15 

Within the belt of rule. 
Ang. Now does he feel 

His secret murders sticking on his hands; 

Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith- 
breach ; 

Those he commands move only in command, 

Nothing in love : now does he feel his title 20 

Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 

Upon a dwarfish thief. 
Merit. Who then shall blame 

His pester'd senses to recoil and start, 

When all that is within him does condemn 

Itself for being there? 
Caith. Well, march we on, 25 

To give obedience where 'tis truly owed: 

Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal, 

And with him pour we in our country's purge 

Each drop of us. 
Len. Or so much as it needs, 

To dew the sovereign flower and drown the 
weeds. 30 

Make we our march towards Birnam. 

Exeunt, marching. 

Scene III. — [Dunsinane. A room in the 
castle.'] 

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 

Mach. Brtng me no more reports; let them fly 

all; 
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy 

Malcolm ? 
Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that 

know 
All mortal consequences have pronounced me 

thus : 5 

*Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of 

woman 



Shall e'er have power ujDon thee.' Then fly, 

false thanes. 
And mingle with the English epicures: 
The mind I sway by and the heart I bear 
Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with 

fear« 10 

Enter a Servant. 

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd 

loon ! 
Where got'st thou that goose look? 
Serv. There is ten thousand — 
Mach. Geese, villain? 

Serv. Soldiers, sir. 

Mach. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear. 
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch? 
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of 
thine 16 

Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey- 
face? 
Serv. The English force, so please you. 
Mach. Take thy face hence. [Exit Servant.] 
Seyton! — I am sick at heart. 
When I behold — Seyton, I say ! — This push 20 
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. 
I have liv'd long enough: my way of life 
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf; 
And that which should accompany old age. 
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, 26 
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, 

breath. 
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and 

dare not. 
Seyton ! 

Enter Seyton. 

Sey. What is your gracious pleasure? 
Mach. What news more? 30 

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was re- 
ported. 
Mach. I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be 
hack'd. 
Give me my armour. 
Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. 

Mach. I'll put it on. 

Send out moe horses; skirr the country round; 
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine 
armour. 36 

How does your patient, doctor? 



688 



ACT V. SC. III.] 



MACBETH 



33 



Doct. Not so sick, my lord, 

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
That keep her from her rest. 
Macb, Cure her of that. 

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd, 40 
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
Raze out the written troubles of the brain 
And with some sweet oblivious antidote 
Cleanse the stufF'd bosom of that perilous 

stuff 
Which weighs upon the heart? 
Doct. Therein the patient 45 

Must minister to himself. 
Macb. Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of 
it. 
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff. 
Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly 

from me. 
Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, 
cast 50 

The water of my land, find her disease, 
And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
I would applaud thee to the very echo. 
That should applaud again. — Pull't off, I 

say. — 
What rhubarb, [senna], or what purgative 
drug, 55 

Would scour these English hence .^ Hear'st 
thou of them.^ 
Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal prepara- 
tion 
Makes us hear something. 
Macb. Bring it after me. 

I will not be afraid of death and bane, 
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. 60 
Doct. [Aside.] Were I from Dunsinane away 
and clear. 
Profit again should hardly draw me here. 

Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — [Country near Birnam wood.] 

Drum ana colours. Enter Malcolm, Siward, 
Macduff, Siward' s Son, Menteith, Caithness, 
Angus, [Lennox, Ross,] and Soldiers, march- 
ing. 

Mai. Cousins, I hope the days are near at 
hand 
That chambers will be safe. 
Ment. We doubt it nothing. 

Siw. What wood is this before us? 



Ment. The wood of Birnam. 

Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough 

And bear't before him; thereby shall we 
shadow 5 

The numbers of our host, and make discovery 

Err in report of us. 
Soldiers, It shall be done. 

Siw. We learn no other but the confident tyrant 

Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 

Our setting down before 't. 
Mai. 'Tis his main hope: 10 

For where there is advantage to be given. 

Both more and less have given him the revolt. 

And none serve with him but constrained 
things 

Whose hearts are absent too. 
Macd. Let our just censures 

Attend the true event, and put we on 15 

Industrious soldiership. 
Siw. The time approaches 

That will with due decision make us know 

What we shall say we have and what we owe. 

Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes re- 
late. 

But certain issue strokes must arbitrate: 20 

Towards which advance the war. 

Exeunt, marching. 

Scene V. — [Dunsinane. Within the castle.] 

Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, with drum 
and colours. 

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward 
walls ; 
The cry is still 'They come.' Our castle's 

strength 
Will laugh a siege to scorn ; here let them lie 
Till famine and the ague eat them up. 
Were they not forc'd with those that should 
be ours, 5 

We might have met them dareful, beard to 

beard. 
And beat them backward home. 

A cry within of women. 
What is that noise? 
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. 

[Exit.] 

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears. 

The time has been, my senses would have 

cool'd 10 

To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair 



689 



S4> 



MACBETH 



[act v. SC. VI. 



Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir 
As life were in 't. I have supp'd full with 

horrors; 
Direness^ familiar to my slaughterous 

thoughts, 
Cannot once start me. 

IRe-enter Seyton.] 

Wherefore was that cry? 15 

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. 

Mach. She should have died hereafter; 

There would have been a time for such a 

word. 
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow. 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day 20 
To the last syllable of recorded time. 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief can- 
dle! 
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
And then is heard no more: it is a tale 26 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. 
Signifying nothing. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story 
quickly. 

Mess. Gracious my lord, 30 

I should rejjort that which I say I saw. 
But know not how to do it. 

Mach. Well, say, sir. 

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, 
The wood began to move. 

Mach. Liar and slave ! 35 

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not 
so: 
Within this three mile may you see it coming; 
I say, a moving grove. 

Mach. If thou speak'st false, 

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive. 
Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth, 
I care not if thou dost for me as much. 41 

I pull in resolution, and begin 
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend 
That lies like truth. 'Fear not, till Birnam 

wood 
Do come to Dunsinane;' and now a wood 45 
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and 
out! 



If this which he avouches does appear. 

There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. 

I gin to be aweary of the sun. 

And wish the estate o' the world were now un- 
done. 50 

Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! Come, 
wrack ! 

At least we'll die with harness on our back. 

Exeunt. 

Scene VI. — [Dunsinane. Before the castle.'] 

Drum and colours. Enter Malcolm, Siward, 
Macduff, and their Army, with houghs. 

Mai. Now near enough: your leavy screens 
throw down. 
And show like those you are. You, worthy 

uncle. 
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son. 
Lead our first battle. Worthy Macduff and 

we 
Shall take upon 's what else remains to do, 5 
According to our order. 
Siw. Fare you well. 

Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night. 
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. 
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them 
all breath. 
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and 
death. 10 

Exeunt. Alarums continued. 



Scene VII. — [Another part of the field.'] 

Enter Macheth. 

Mach. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot 

fly, 

But, bear-like, I must fight the course. 

What's he 
That was not born of woman .^ Such a one 
Am I to fear, or none. 

Enter young Sixvard. 

Yo. Situ. What is thy name? 
Mach. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. 5 

Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hot- 
ter name 
Than any is in hell. 
Mach. My name's Macbeth. 



690 



ACT V. SC. VII. 



MACBETH 



35 



Yo. Siiv. The devil himself could not pronounce 
a title 
More hateful to mine ear. 
Macb. No, nor more fearful. 

Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my 
sword 10 

I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. 

They fight and young Siward is slain. 

Macb. Thou wast born of woman. 

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to 

scorn, 
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. 

Ea:it. 

Alarums. Enter Macduff. 

Macd. That way the noise is. Tyrant, show 

thy face ! 
If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of 

mine, 15 

My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me 

still. 
I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms 
Are hir'd to bear their staves: either thou, 

Macbeth, 
Or else my sword with an unbatter'd edge 
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou 

shouldst be; 20 

By this great clatter, one of greatest note 
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune ! 
And more I beg not. Exit. Alarums. 

Enter Malcolm and old Siward. 

Siw. This way, my lord; the castle's gently 
render'd : 

The tyrant's people on both sides do fight; 25 

The noble thanes do bravely in the war; 

The day almost itself professes yours. 

And little is to do. 
Mai. We have met with foes 

That strike beside us. 
Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. 

Exeunt. Alarums. 



Scene VIII. — [Another part of the field.] 

Enter Macbeth. 

Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and 
die 
On mine own sword? Whiles I see lives, the 

gashes 
Do better upon them. 



Enter Macduff. 

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn! 

Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee: 
But get thee back; my soul is too much 

charg'd 5 

With blood of thine already. 
Macd. I have no words: 

My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier vil- 
lain 
Than terms can give thee out! 

They fight. Alarum. 
Macb. Thou losest labour: 

As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air 
With thy keen sword impress as make me 

bleed. 10 

Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; 
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
To one of woman born. 
Macd. Despair thy charm; 

And let the angel whom thou still hast serv'd 
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's 

womb 15 

Untimely ripp'd. 
Macb. Accursed be that tongue that, tells me 

so. 
For it hath cow'd my better part of man ! 
And be these juggling fiends no more be- 

liev'd. 
That palter with us in a double sense; 20 

That keep the word of promise to our ear. 
And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with 

thee. 
Macd. Then yield thee, coward. 

And live to be the show and gaze o' the time. 
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, 25 
Painted upon a pole, and underwrit: 
'Here may you see the tyrant.' 
Macb. 1 will not yield. 

To kiss the ground before young Malcom's 

feet. 
And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born, 31 
Yet I will try the last. Before my body 
I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, MacdufF, 
And damn'd be him that first cries 'Hold, 

enough!' Exeunt, fighting. Alarums. 

Enter, fighting, and Macbeth slain. 

Retreat. Flourish. Enter, xvith drum and col- 
ours, Malcolm, Siward, Ross, [the other"] 
thanes, and Soldiers. 



691 



36 



MACBETH 



ACT V. SC. VIII. 



Mai. I would the friends we miss were safe ar- 

riv'd. 35 

Siic". Some must go off; and j^et, by these I see, 

So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 
Mai. Macduff' is missing, and 3'^our noble son. 
Ross. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's 
debt. 

He only lived but till he was a man; 40 

The which no sooner had his prowess con- 
firm'd 

In the unshrinking station where he fought. 

But like a man he died. 
She. Then he is dead ? 

Ross. Ajy and brought off the field: your cause 
of sorrow 

Must not be measured by his worth, for then 

It hath no end. 
Siw. Had he his hurts before.^ 46 

Ross. Ay, on the front. 
Siw. Why then, God's soldier be he! 

Had I as many sons as I have hairs, 

I would not wish them to a fairer death: 

And so, his knell is knoll'd. 
Mai. He's worth more sorrow, 50 

And that I'll spend for him. 
Siw. He's worth no more: 

They say he parted well, and paid his score: 

And so, God be with him ! Here comes newer 
comfort. 

Enter Macduff, with Macheth's head. 



Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art. Behold, 
where stands 
The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: 55 
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl. 
That speak my salutation in their minds; 
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine: 
Hail, King of Scotland! 
All. Hail, King of Scotland! Flourish. 

Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of 
time 60 

Before we. reckon with your several loves. 
And make us even with you. My thanes and 

kinsmen. 
Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scot- 
land 
In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do. 
Which would be planted newly with the 
time, 6s 

As calling home our exil'd friends abroad 
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; 
Producing forth the cruel ministers 
Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen. 
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent 
hands 70 

Took off her life; this, and what needful else 
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace^, 
We will perform in measure, time and pl^ce. 
So, thanks to all at once and to each one, . 
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. 75 

Flourish. E^^eunt. 



FINIS 



NOTES 



The text of the play in F (the First Folio) is di- 
vided into acts and scenes, but gives no place direc- 
tions or list of characters. 

ACT I 

i. 8 Sec. Witch. Paddock calls. Third Witch. Anon] 
Hunter; All. Paddock calls anon F. 

ii. The turgid rhetoric of this scene has led mod- 
ern critics to question its Shakespearean author- 
ship. 

10 to that, to that end. 

13 kerns and gallowglasses, Irish foot-soldiers. 



light and heavy-armed. This detail is taken from, 
Holinshed. 
14 his, Fortune's, damned, devoted to destruction, 
quarry, prey. Some editors change the last word 
to quarrel, in the hope of reducing to order a 
passage which seems hopelessly corrupt or con- 
fused. 

21 Which. It seems best to take Fortune as the 
antecedent, but some editors prefer Macbeth, and 
others slave, varying the interpretation of him ac- 
cordingly. 

22 nave, navel. 

24 cousin. The mothers of Duncan and Macbeth 



692 



MACBETH 



37 



were sisters, according to Holinshed, being both 
daughters of Duncan's predecessor, INIalcolm. 

25 whence . . . reflection, the east. 

26 break] Rowe; om. F. 

37 cracks, reports, and hence the charges that pro- 
duce them. 

40 memorize, make memorable. 

Golgotha, 'the place of a skull.' See Matthew 
XX VI I. 33; Mark XV. 23. 
47 seems to, appears about to. 

54 Bellona's bridegroom, Mars, according to some 
editors, though this would not be mythologically cor- 
rect. It seems more probable that Macbeth is in- 
dicated, and that Ross is continuing the account 
of the same battle. It was from Macbeth, ac- 
cording to Holinshed, that the Danes obtained the 
privilege of burial at St. Colme's Inch; but the 
dramatist rolls into one three separate battles 
recorded in the Chronicles, and the exposition lacks 
Shakespeare's usual clearness. If Macbeth de- 
feated Cawdor in this engagement, how is it that 
he speaks of him in the next scene (iii. 73) as 'a 
prosperous gentleman'? 

lapp'd in proof, in full armor. 

55 with self-comparisons, on equal terms. 
57 lavish, reckless, insolent. 

59 composition, terms of peace. 

61 Saint Colme's Inch, Inchcolm or Inchcomb, a 
small island in the Frith of Edinburgh, where there 
are the remains of an abbey dedicated to St. 
Columb. Inch comes from the Gaelic innis, an 
island. 

62 dollars, first coined in 1518 in St. Joachimsthal, 
" Bohemia; hence thaler. 

64 bosom interest, intimate affection, 
present, immediate. Cf. 'presently.' 

iii. 6 Aroint thee, the traditional phrase to exorcise 
a witch. Cf. Lear III. iv. 129. 
rump-fed, pampered, or perhajjs offal-fed. 
ronybn, a scurvy, mangy creature. 
7 Tig'er, a common name for a ship. Cf. Tivelfth 
Xi(/ht V. i. 65. 
10 do, i. e., mischief. 
15 blow, from (understood). 
17 card, chart. 

20 pent-house lid, eyelid. 

21 forbid, under a curse. 

22 se'nnights, weeks. Cf. 'fortnight.' 

23 peak, waste away. Cf. Hamlet II. ii. 594. The 
whole passage suggests the theme of Coleridge's 
Ancient Mariner. 

32 weird] weyward F. But see the passage from 
Holinshed quoted in the Introduction. 

33 Posters, swift messengers. 

38 a day, perhaps, of battle; or there may be a 
mystic reference to the last two lines of the first 
scene. 

39 Forres] Soris F. Forres is about halfway be- 
tween Elgin and Nairn, near the Moray Firth. 

53 fantastical, imaginary. 

rapt, carried out of himself, lost in meditation. 

Cf. line 143. 
71 Sine!, Macbeth's father, according to Holinshed; 

his true name was Finleg. 



73 A prosperous gentleman. See note on ii. 51. 
76 owe, own, have. 

80 of, among, belonging to, part of. 

81 corporal, corporeal. 

84 on, of. insane root, henbane, supposed to 'breed 
madness.' 
97 thick as tale, close as could be counted. 

106 addition, title, distinction. Cf. III. i. 100. 

109 borrowed, not my own. 

112 line, strengthen, support. It is difficult to recon- 
cile this speech with the presence of Angus in 
scene ii, expressly mentioned in the stage direction 
before line 45. 

114 wreck, harm, ruin. 

120 home, to its full extent. 

134 suggestion, temptation, as in Tempest II. i. 288. 
The Witches, it should be noted, gave no hint that 
Duncan would be removed by a violent death. 

137 use, custom, fears, dangers, things feared. 

139 fantastical, imaginary, as in line 53. The 'mur- 
der' is of Macbeth's own imagining. See note on 
line 134. 

140 single, simple, as in vi. 16. 
function, the power of action. 

142 what is not, the creation of the imagination. 

144 stir, action. 

149 favour, indulgence. Macbeth's last speech sug- 
gests the craftiness and treachery of his disposi- 
tion, as those immediately preceding have indicated 
his poetic imagination and impressibility. 

154 The interim, in the interim; or, perhaps, 'the 
interim having given opportunity for reflection.' 

iv. 2 Those in commission, apparently Ross and An- 
gus ; see ii. 63-66. But it seems impossible to re- 
duce the opening scenes to consistency and clear- 
ness. Some critics suggest that the play, as 
Shakespeare wrote it, began at iii. 30; but some 
account of Macbeth's previous achievements seems 
called for. 
9 studied, trained, prepared. 

11 careless, unworthy of attention. This descrip- 
tion of the death of Cawdor has been compared 
with Stowe's account of the execution of the re- 
bellious Earl of Essex, which took place in 1601. 
Shakespeare refers to Essex in Henry V V. Ch. 
29-34. 

14 An absolute trust, such as he is about to put 
in Macbeth. 

19 proportion, due proportion. Duncan's courtly 
compliment to Macbeth is noticeably less cordial 
in tone than his speech to Banquo; and the re- 
plies contrast Macbeth's labored insincerity with 
Banquo's straightforward simplicity of nature. 

27 Safe toward, to secure, make safe. 

34 Wanton, unrestrained, going beyond due limits. 

35-39 Duncan's idea of guarding against the pre- 
dominating influence of Macbeth by nominating 
Malcolm as his successor falls in well with the 
weakness of the king's character, as Shakespeare 
has conceived it; but the proclamation and Mac- 
beth's dissatisfaction are both narrated by Holin- 
shed. 

42 Inverness, where, according to Holinshed, Dun- 
can was slain. 



693 



38 



MACBETH 



44 Even repose, not spent in your service, is a toil 
to me. 

45 harbing-er, officer who goes before to prepare 
the royal lodging; hence, more generally, herald, as 
in V. vi. 10. 

52 wink at, refuse to see. Shakespeare commonly 
uses 'wink' in the sense of shutting the eyes. 

54-58 During Macbeth's 'aside,' Duncan and Banquo 
have been exchanging praises of him. It is one 
of many instances in this scene of 'dramatic irony' 
where the words have for the spectators a deeper 
significance than the speaker is aware of. 

T. 7 missives, messengers, as in Antony and Cle- 
OjJatra II. ii. 74. 
18 kindness, nature. The misinterpretation of this 
word in its modern sense probably gave rise to the 
misconception of Macbeth as a good man led astray 
by the Witches or by his wife's influence. 

21 illness, lack of moral scruple. 

24-25 These two lines have given rise to much dis- 
cussion, and various interpretations have been sug- 
gested. The simplest way seems to be to take 
That which and it of line 24 as referring to the 
crown, and the following that which as referring 
to the murder. Macbeth desires the crown and 
therefore the means to obtain it; he fears the mur- 
der and yet desires its accomplishment. 

29 round, circlet or crown, as in IV. i. 88. 

30 metaphysical, supernatural, 
seem. See note on I. ii. 47. 

33-34 These lines are an afterthought, to give a 
diflFerent color to the impulsive exclamation con- 
tinuing her previous train of thought, with which 
she greeted the news. 

42 mortal, deadly, murderous. 

45 remorse, pity, as in As You Like It I. iii. 72 and 
Tempest V. i. 76. 

46 compunctious visitings of nature, natural feel- 
ings of compunction. 

47 keep peace, interpose as a peacemaker. 

49 for, in exchange for. 

50 sightless, invisible. 
52 pall, cloak, enshroud. 

59 instant, present moment. 

60-61 Lady Macbeth's question and Macbeth's re- 
ply both convey murderous suggestion, the former 
directly, the latter indirectly, in accordance with 
their respective characters. 

73 favour, countenance. 

vi. 4 martlet] Rowe; Barlet F. 

6 jutty, projection. 

7 coign of vantage, corner convenient for building 
a nest. 

13 'ild, yield, reward. 

16 single, simple, as in iii. 140 above. 

contend Against, counterbalance. 
20 hermits, bound to pray for your welfare. 

thane of Cawdor, a gracious reference to Mac- 
beth's new title. 

22 purveyor, forerunner, the officer sent before to 
provide. 

23 help, helped. 



26 in compt, subject to account. 
31 By your leave. The king takes Lady Macbeth's 
hand and escorts her within. 

vii. St. Dir. Sewer, the officer who supervised the 
service at table. 

6 shoal] Theobald; Schoole F. 

7 jump, risk. Evidently Macbeth's scruples are not 
altogether, or even mainly spiritual; it is not con- 
science, but fear of immediate consequences that 
deters him. 

8 still, constantly, that, so that, as in line 25, 
17 faculties, powers, honors. 

23 sightless, invisible, as in v. 50 above. 

25-28 This mixed metaphor has been much dis- 
cussed, but the meaning seems clear enough. Han- 
mer proposed to add 'side' at the end, but it is 
obviously understood, and the speech-ending is 
more effective as interrupted by Lady Macbeth's 
entrance. 

36 dress'd yourself, made yourself ready (for the 
murder). 

45 adage, the proverb 'The cat would eat fish, but 
she will not wet her feet.' 

48 break, suggest, confide. Obviously the enterprise 
was originally Macbeth's. 

52 adhere, agree in offering opportunity. Evidently 
Lady Macbeth refers to a time before Duncan's visit 
and therefore before the appearance of the Witches 
to Macbeth. At that time Macbeth was planning 
the assassination of Duncan and seeking the occa- 
sion for it. 

60 sticking-place, a metaphor suggested by a 
stringed instrument or crossbow. 

64 wassail, revelry. The Old English formula for 
drinking healths was 'waes hael.' 
convince, vanquish, overcome. 

66 receipt, receptacle, i. e., the brain. 

67 limbeck, alembic. 

71 spongy, sodden, intoxicated. 

72 quell, slaughter. 
77 other, otherwise. 



ACT II 

i. 4 husbandry, thrift, in allusion to the lack of star- 
light. 
5 that too, some other part of his armor. 

14 offices, the part of the castle occupied by the 
servants. 

16 shut up, concluded. 

18 will is antecedent to Which. 

21-29 In this conversation, both Banquo and Mac- 
beth have in mind the possibility of the latter's 
gaining the crown by foul means. 

25 cleave to my consent, fall in with my plans. 
Macbeth is intentionally vague. 

36-37 sensible . . . sight, capable of being felt as 
well as seen. 

46 dudgeon, haft, gouts, drops. 

53 alarum'd, called to arms. 

54 watch, signal that he is on watch or has fin- 
ished; an allusion to the sentinel's cry. 

55 Tarquin, the ravisher of Lucrece. 



694 



MACBETH 



39 



ii. 1 That which, strong drink. 

6 possets, drinks usually taken before bedtime, 
composed of ale or sherry, hot milk, sugar, and 
other ingredients. 

9 Who's there? what ho. The modern actor 
makes this a horrible cry, uttered involuntarily by 
Macbeth in committing the murder or immediately 
after. Instead of 'Within' the folio stage-direction 
has simply 'enter Macbeth,' and it may be that in 
Shakespeare's theatre Macbeth came out on the 
balcony above the stage to speak these words, as in 
line IT of this scene he describes himself as having 
'descended.' In any case this short speech is an 
evidence of extreme nervous agitation. 

12 Confounds, overthrows, ruins. 
21 sorry, wretched. 

25 address'd, made ready. See I. vii. 36. 

28 as, as if. 

37 sleave, tangled skein of silk. 

39 second course, of meat, in Shakespeare's time, 
pudding coming first. 

60-63 The thought and even the wording of this 
passage have a remarkable likeness to Seneca Hip- 
'polytus 7-?3-6 and Hercules Furens 1330-6. Shake- 
speare refers to Seneca's tragedies in Hamlet II. 
ii. 419, and probably read them in school or after- 
wards. 

69 left you unattended, deserted you. 

70 nightgown, dressing gown. Such luxuries were 
imknown in the time of the historical Macbeth, but 
Shakespeare follows the custom of his own age. 
Cf. Julius Ccesar II. ii. 'Enter Caesar in his night- 
gown.' 

71 watchers, awake. 

iii. 2 old, plenty of. 

7 napkins, handkerchiefs used to wipe away sweat. 
10 equivocator. Henry Garnet, Superior of the Or- 
der of Jesuits in England, was tried in March, 1606, 
for complicity in Gunpowder Plot, and the doctrine 
of 'equivocation' was much discussed. 

13 equivocate to heaven, get to heaven by equivo- 
cating, or, possibly, equivocate to God, 'Heaven' be- 
ing the reading of the Folio; but the whole pas- 
sage is plentifully besprinkled with capital, letters 
in the original. In either case, the Porter is carry- 
ing on the idea of his keeping hell-gate. 

27 the second cock, three o'clock. See Romeo and 
Juliet IV. iv. 3-4. 

56 limited, appointed. 

64 obscure, of darkness. See ii. 4 above. 

77 Gorgon, Medusa, who turned to stone those who 
looked at her. 

83 great doom, day of judgment. 

98 mortality, human life. The 'dramatic irony' of 
this speech lies in that it is truer than Macbeth him- 
self knows. 
107 badg'd, marked. 

124, 125, 131. The commentators are divided as to 
whether Lady Macbcth's fainting is real, or pre- 
tended in order to distract attention from her hus- 
band. Macl^th's slaughter of the grooms was not 
part of the plot, and the sudden announcement of 
it may have startled her; ])ut it seems more prob- 
able that she desires to protect Macbeth, who has 



directed the eyes of all present upon himself. In 
any case the attention of Macduff and Banquo is 
called aside for a moment, and Macbeth's labored 
explanation passes without comment. 

132 naked frailties. They are not yet dressed. 

137 pretence, intention, on the supposition that the 
murder of Duncan is part of a treasonable plot. 

139 manly readiness, armor. See above, line 132. 

146 near in blood, Macbeth, who is next of kin. 

148 lighted, reached its aim. Malcolm regards him- 
self and Donalbain, the next heirs, as standing be- 
tween Macbeth and the throne. 

iv. 4 trifled former knowings, made what I have 

known before appear trifling. 

7 travelling lamp, the sun. 
15 minions, darlings, favorites. French mignon. 

See I. ii. 19. 
28 ravin up, destroy, devour. 

31 Scone (pr. Scoon), an abbey near Perth, where 
the ancient Scottish kings were crowned. The sa- 
cred stone, said to be that on which the patriarch 
Jacob dreamed, was in 1296 removed to West- 
minster. 

33 Colmekill, the western island of lona, where 

some fifty kings are said to lie buried. 
40 benison, blessing. 

ACT III 

i. 10 S. D. Sennet, a trumpet call announcing the ap- 
proach of royalty. 

13 all-thing, altogether. 

14 solemn, ceremonious, official. 

44 while, till — a common Shakespearean usage. 

57 Caesar, Octavius. The reference is to a passage 
in North's Plutarch (Life of Antony), which 
Shakespeare made use of again in Antony and 
Cleopatra II. iii. 17-23 q. v. 

68 eternal jewel, immortal soul. 

69 common enemy, Satan. 

72 champion , . . utterance, fight against me to the 
last. 

80 pass'd in probation, proved in detail, point by 
point. 

81 borne in hand, deluded by false hopes, 
cross'd, thwarted. 

83 notion, mind. 

88 gospell'd, imbued with the spirit of the Gospel. 

94 Shoughs, dogs with shaggy hair, 
water-rugs, rough water dogs, clept, called. 

95 valued file, list distinguishing different values. 
100 addition, distinction, as in I. iii. 106. 

120 avouch, avow, acknowledge. 

123 who, frequently used by Shakespeare as an ob- 
jective. 
130 the perfect spy, accurate information. 

133 a clearness, to be kept clear myself. 

134 rubs, rough places, impediments, as in Henry V 
II. ii. 188; Richard II III. iv. 4. 

ii. 14 scotch'd] Theobald; scorch'd F. Tn either case 
the word means 'cut, hacked.' 

32 Unsafe the while, that, we are insecure so long 
as. 



695 



40 



MACBETH 



42 shard-borne, with scaly wings. 

43 yawning-, drowsy. 

45 chuck, a term of endearment found also in Henry 
V III. ii. 2G and Othello III. iv. 49. 

46 seeling-, closing- up the eyes. 
51 rooky, gloomy. 

iii. An ingenious, but unsupported theory suggests 
that the third murderer was Macbeth himself. 

6 lated, belated. 

10 note of expectation, list of expected guests. 

iv. 5 state, chair of state. 

14 thee without, outside you. he within, in his 
veins, or perhaps, Banquo's presence at the feast. 

19 nonpareil, without equal. 
23 casing, encasing, enveloping. 

29 worm, serpent, as in A Midsummer Night's 
Dream III. ii. 71. 
57 extend, increase. 

63 flaws, outbursts of passion. 

64 to, compared with. 

72 monuments, tombs. 

73 maws, stomachs. 

76 purg'd the gentle weal, purified the common- 
wealth and made it gentle. 
85 muse, wonder. 
95 speculation, power to see. 
101 arm'd, with a skin like armor. 

Kyrcan, Hyrcanian. 
105 inhabit, take refuge in a habitation. 
113 owe, own, possess. 
119 Do not stay to go out in order of precedence. 

124 Augures, auguries. 

125 magct-pies, magpies. 

140 scann'd, examined closely. 

141 season, that which seasons or preserves from de- 
cay. 

142 self-abuse, self-deception. 

143 initiate, of the beginner, use, practice. 

V. This scene has been suspected to be Middleton's, 
in whose play The Witch the song 'Come aM^ay, 
come away' is given in full. Middleton was writ- 
ing for Shakespeare's Company from 1615 to 1624. 
Hecate's speech is not similar in tone or meter to 
the previous witch scenes, and the conception of the 
Witches and their relation to Macbeth is different. 
2 beldams, hags. 

7 close, secret. 

15 Acheron, a river of hell in Greek mythology. 
24 profound, magical. 

32 security, careless, presumption. 



vi. This scene also creates difficulties. From iv. IS'3 
and V. 16 the time appears to l)e the same day; 
yet I>ennox already knows about Fleance, and the 
Lord knows more about Macduff than Macbeth him- 
self (Cf. V. 130-2). 

8 cannot. The negative appears to be superfluous; 
'ran now' has been proposed. 
21 broad, outspoken. 
38 exasperate, Latin past particle. 

their king, the English king. Perhaps it is bet- 
ter to read 'the' and change the reference to Mac- 

696 



beth; but no warlike preparations on Macbeth's part 
have yet been hinted at. 

40 'Sir, not I,' Macduff's answer. 

41 cloudy, ominous, foreboding. 

me, dative of indirect interest, who, one who. 
46 unfold, in the sky. 

48 suffering is to be connected with the following 
line. 

ACT IV 

i. 1 brinded, brindled. 

2 hedge-pig, hedgehog. 

3 Harpier, an attendant familiar, whose cry gives 
the signal that all is ready for the incantation. 

8 Swelter'd, sweated, exuded. The toad is said to 
secrete venom in its skin. See As You Like It II. 
i. 13. 

12-17 The owl, snakes, hedgehogs, newts and blind- 
worms are warned away from the Fairy Queen in 
A Midsummer Night's Dream II. ii. 6-11. The 
newt, a small water lizard, and the blindworm or 
slowworm are as harmless as the hedgehog. 

23 maw, gulf, stomach. 

24 ravin'd, ravenous, or, perhaps, glutted with prey. 

32 slab, thick, slimy. 

33 chaudron, entrails. 

St. D Enter Hecate to] Cambridge; enter Hecate 
and F. 

Three Witches being already present, three 
more would make six, and the correction is no 
doubt justified; but the stage direction in V. ii. 
of The Witch, just before the song 'Black spirits 
and white,' reads 'Enter Stadlin, Hoppo, and other 
Witches,' and it is possible that the dance in this 
scene of Macbeth was from an early date taken 
part in by more witches than the three original 
Shakespearean ones. The full text of the song, as 
given in Middleton, and incorporated by D'Avenant 
in his version of Macbeth printed in 1673, reads 
thus : — 

Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray, 
Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may! 

Titty, Tiffin, 

Keep it stiff in; 

Firedrake, Puckey, 

Make it lucky; 

Liard, Robin, 

You must bob in. 
Round, around, around, about, about! 
All ill come running in, all good keep out! 

53 yesty, foaming. 

55 lodg'd, laid on the ground. 

59 germens, germs, seeds. 

88 round, crown. See I. v. 29. 

93 Dunsinane, here rightly pronounced with the ac- 
cent on the second syllable; elsewhere Shakespeare 
throws it on the third. 
S. D. the last . . , following] Hanmer; and Banquo 
last, with J glass in his hand F. The change is 
necessitated by the line below in Macbeth's speech 
(119). The eight kings are two Roberts and six 
Jameses, the last being James I of England then 
reigning. His mother, Mary Stuart, who was exe- 



MACBETH 



41 



cuted by Elizabeth, is omitted. According to the 
tradition, Fleance escaped to Wales, married a 
princess there, and had a son who returned to Scot- 
land and became the founder of the House of 
Stuart, the name being taken from his title of Lord 
High Steward. 

121 two-fold balls, a direct compliment to James VI 
of Scotland and I of England, who united the two 
kingdoms. 

treble sceptres. James proclaimed himself 'King 
of Great Britain, France, and Ireland.' 

123 blood-bolter'd. covered with clotted blood. 

130 antic, quaint. 

144 anticipatest, preventest. 

145 flig:hty, swift in flight. 

155 sig-hts, visions such as those of Banquo's pos- 
terity. 

ii. 4 make, make us out. 

7 titles, possessions to which he is entitled. 
17 fits, necessities, what is befitting. 

19 hold, believe, accept. 

20 from, because of. 

30 sirrah, a form of address used to women, chil- 
dren, and servants. 

36 they, i. e., traps. The emphasis is on 'Poor.' 

37 for, in spite of. 

83 shag-hair'd] Steevens; shagge-ear'd F. 

iii. 4 Bestride, defend. See 1 Henry IV V. i. 122. 
birthdom, birthright, or perhaps, land of our 
birth. 

8 Like, similar. 

10 to friend, favorable, as in Cymbeline I. iv. 116. 
15 discern, see something to be gained from him by 
betraying me. Perhaps we should read 'deserve.' 

19 recoil, yield, give way, 

20 imperial charg-e, a task imposed by a sovereign. 
22 the brig-htest, 'Lucifer, son of the morning.' See 

Isaiah XIV. 12. 
34 affeer'd, confirmed. 

58 Luxurious, lascivious — the usual meaning in 
Shakespeare. 

59 Sudden, violent. 

64 continent, containing, restraining. 

71 convey, enjoy by stealth. 

72 hoodwink, blind, deceive. 
74 That, such a. 

86 summer-seeming", passing away, not deeply rooted. 

88 foisons, plenteousness. 

89 portable, bearable. 

90 weigh'd. counterbalanced. 

95 relish, discerning, appreciative taste. 
99 Uproar, confound. 

107 accurs'd] accust F. Perhaps we should read 'ac- 
cused.' 

108 blaspheme, slander. 
118 trains, plots, devices. 
125 For, as. 

135 at a point, fully prepared. 

136 chance of goodness, fortunate issue. 

142 malady, scrofula, convinces, overcomes. 

143 assay of art, endeavor of medical science. 

147 good king, Edward the Confessor, whose mi- 
raculous powers of healing were recognized by the 



Pope. Elizabeth referred the cure 'to God and to 
the physician,' but James was much addicted to 
the exercise of the gift. The last English sover- 
eign to practise touching for the evil was Anne, 
to whom Dr. Johnson was brought to be cured of 
scrofula as a child in 1712. The golden coin hung 
round his neck by the queen is now in the British 
Museum. 

153 golden stamp, the coin called an angel, worth 
ten shillings — equivalent to about $25 of our money. 

154 holy prayers. A special ritual was included in 
the Book of Common Prayer from 1684 to 1719. 

159 speak, declare. 

160 countryman, as seen at a distance by his dress. 
170 modern, ordinary, commonplace, as in As You 

Like It II. vii. 156. 

ecstasy, fit of passion. 
174 nice, precise, subtle. 
176 teems, produces. 

183 out, under arms for a campaign. 

184 witnessed, made evident, proved. 
188 doff, do away with. 

191 none, there is none. 

195 latch, catch. 

196 fee-grief, personal grief. 
206 quarry, slaughtered prey. 

209-210 Perhaps an echo of Seneca Hippolytus 615, 
'Curae leues ioquuntur, ingentes stupent.' 

212 must be, was destined to be. 

216 He, probably Macbeth, though it has also been 
taken as referring to Malcolm. 

220 dispute it, contend against it, face it. 

222 were, existed. 

225 Naught, wicked. 

229 convert, change. 

232 intermission, delay, front to front, face to 
face. 

235 tune] Rowe; time F. 

236 power, forces, troops. 

237 our leave, to take leave of the English king. 
239 Put on their instruments, encourage their 

agents. 

ACT V 

i. 4 into the field, on campaign. 

5 nightgown. See note on II. ii. 70. 
12 effects of watching, actions of waking. 

23 guise, manner. 

24 close, secret, concealed. 
29 is] D'Avenant; are F. 

31 rubs her hands. Cf. II. ii. 46-47 and 64-68. 

40 One: two. This is generally referred to the sig- 
nal given by Lady Macbeth that all is ready for 
the murder' of Duncan (II. i. 32-33 and 62-64), 
but it seems rather to recall the striking of the 
hour by a clock. Duncan's murder took ])lace be- 
tween midnight and three; see II. iii. 27 and note 
thereon. 

73-74 to bed . . . gate. See II. ii. G5-6G. 

84 annoyance, harm to herself, a hint of the manner 
of Lady Macbcth's death. See V. viii. 69-71. 

86 mated, confounded; literally, struck dead, from 
the chess term 'checkmate' (Arabic shah mat, the 
king is dead). 



697 



42 



MACBETH 



ii. 1 power, forces, as in IV. iii. 230". 
2 uncle, probably a slip on Shakespeare's part. 
According to Holinshed, Malcolm's mother was 
Siward's daughter. 

5 mortified, at the point of death, as in Julius 
Ccesar II. i. 32-A. 
8 file, list. 
10 unrough, beardless, smoothfaced. 

18 minutely, every minute. 

23 pester'd, harassed, to recoil, for yielding. 

27 medicine, cure, i. e., Malcolm, 
weal, commonwealth, kingdom. 

28 purge, purification. 

iii. 3 taint, be infected, as in Twelfth Night III. iv. 
145. 

8 epicures, in comparison with the thrifty and hard- 
living Scotch. 

9 sway, rule. 

10 sag, give way, fall down. 

11 loon, rogue. 

15 lily-liver' d, cowardly, patch, fool. 
17 Are counsellors to, counsel, produce. 

19 Seyton. The Setons of Touch are still heredi- 
tary armorbearers to the kings of Scotland. See 
line 36 below. 

20 push, attack, crisis. 
23 sear, dry. 

35 moe, more, skirr, scour, ride hastily. 

40 Canst . . . diseas'd. Another Senecan reminis- 
cence. Hercules Furens 1268-9: Nemo pollute 
queat animo mederi. 

42 Raze out, erase, written, engraved on the mind. 

43 oblivious, producing forgetfulness. 

47 physic, medicine. 

48 staff, of office as general in command. 
50 cast, examine. 

54 Puirt off. Perhaps addressed to Seyton, who is 
putting on the armor. 

55 rhubarb, the purgative drug, 
senna] F4; Cyme F^; Coeny Fj F3. 

59 bane, destruction. 

iv. 5 shadow, conceal. 

10 setting down before't, laying siege to it. 

11 advantage, favorable opportunity. Perhaps we 
should read 'gained' for 'given,' the compositor's eye 
having caught the given of the next line. 

12 more and less, people of higher and lower rank. 

14 censures, opinions, judgments. 

15 attend . . . event, await the issue. 



V. 5 forc'd, reinforced. 

11 fell of hair. See I. iii. 135. The deadening of 
Macbeth's acute sensibilities is finely imagined. 

12 treatise, story. 

15 start me, make me start. 

18 word, message, tidings. 

37 this three mile, taken as equivalent to a league. 

Birnam is twelve miles from Dunsinane. 
40 sooth, true. 
47 avouches, avows, asserts. 

51 alarum bell, the call to arms. See II. iii. 85. 

52 harness, armor. 

vi. 4 battle, division of battle. 
6 order, plan. 
10 harbingers, heralds. See note on I. iv. 45. 

vii. 2 course, a bearbaiting phrase ; like the 'round' of 
a prizefighter. 
22 bruited, noised abroad. 
24 gently render'd, quietly surrendered. 
29 beside us, on our side. 

viii. 1 The Roman fool. Cato of Utica, Brutus, and 
Cassius committed suicide in defeat. 
2 lives, living enemies. 
9 intrenchant, incapable of being cut into. 

20 palter, shuffle, equivocate. 

25-27 Cf. Tempest II. ii. 31-36. 
S. D. This stage direction exhibits Macbeth as slain 
on the stage. If so, his body must be supposed 
to be carried off in the retreat. See line 65 and 
stage direction just before it. 

46 Had . . . before? Holinshed tells that Siward 
asked this question, 'and when it was told him 
that he received it in the forepart, "I rejoice," saith 
he, "even with all my heart, for I would not wish 
either to my son nor to myself any other kind of 
death." ' 

52 parted, departed, score, as at an inn. 
S. D. Macbeth's head. Some editors add from Hol- 
inshed the detail 'on a pole,' but this ghastly exhi- 
bition is omitted from modern performances. 

56 pearl, the Scottish nobility. 

63 earls. Holinshed mentions Fife, Menteith, 
Atholl, Lennox, Murray, Caithness, Ross, and An- 
gus as raised to this dignity. The present Duke 
of Fife is a descendant of Macduff. 

75 Scone. See note on II. iv, 31. 



698 



THE TRAGEDY OF 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



PLUTARCH — A single great treasury of the an- 
cient world gave Shakespeare all the materials for 
his Roman plays. The Life of Marcus Antonius, by 
Plutarch of Chaeronea (c. 50 A. D.) differs little in 
purpose from that of Brutus or Coriolanus, or, indeed, 
any other of the forty-six "parallel biograpliies" ; the 
tragic force of resistless destiny, and the fatal weak- 
nesses of human character, are their themes alike. 
Plutarch's Antony was a hero ready fitted to a 
dramatist's hand; his Cleopatra, less completely and 
certainly less sympathetically portrayed, was still an 
arresting portrait. All that was needed to make 
drama of Plutarch's masterpiece was — dramatiza- 
tion. This is all the credit to which Shakespeare may 
lay claim; he realized to the full the dramatic ele- 
ments latent in Plutarch's Life of Antony. 

Perhaps no Life of Plutarch's offered more diffi- 
culties in presentation on the stage. The vast arena 
of the conflict for the imjyerium; the great battles by 
land and sea; the years of protracted bickering; the 
mere number of great characters would have proved 
insuperable difficulties to any but the greatest of 
playwrights. In Antony and Cleopatra the means by 
which the great panorama of Plutarch is presented 
upon the Elizabethan stage furnishes possibly the 
final proof of Shakespeare's mastery of his art. And 
this is accomplished not so much by the dramatic 
condensation of scene and heightening of dialogue, 
as by ignoring the customary sustained treatment of 
history, concentrating upon poetic power, and reveal- 
ing intense depths of character. 

Half-a-score of years in Plutarch's narrative are 
given in twelve "days of the stage"; and Antony's 
years of marriage with Octavia are dismissed. His 
campaign in Parthia, since it touched neither Caesar 
nor Cleopatra, was also passed over. No further lib- 
erty with the narrative was taken. 

Many details of Plutarch's story were already dra- 
matic in essence; they, and often whole speeches of 
the characters, were appropriated without subter- 
fuge or evasion by the dramatist. Cleopatra's ap- 



proach upon Cydnus, and the death-scenes of Antony 
and Cleopatra are supreme examples of the "free- 
dom of the city" of thought, which is the privilege 
of genius. These speeches from Plutarch, represent- 
ing some of the choicest memories of antiquity, are 
fitted so harmoniously into the original Shakespearean 
fabric, that no trace of the work can be perceived. 
This is the true dramatization of history. 

It is, then, what Shakespeare contributed to his 
source that makes the play great. Plutarch empha- 
sized Antony's recklessness and libertinism; Shake- 
speare shows all this, but still sets forth his man- 
hood. Plutarch gave Cleopatra cut to be "a pes- 
tilent plague," an utterly cruel and sensual wanton; 
Shakespeare allowed her all this, and yet makes us 
feel, when she is present, something of that "grave 
charm" which took in all who knew her. The poet's 
sense of fitness was unerring. Caesar and Octavia, 
whose prominence might injure the first parts in the 
play, were subordinated; while Enobarbus was given 
an unhistorical prominence as the cj^nic Chorus of 
the piece. In inventing for this scoffer, who knows 
but does not follow wisdom, a weak betrayal and a 
tardy if pathetic atonement, Shakespeare was both 
more original and more just than most modern 
dramatists. 

No better example of the use of a passage from 
Plutarch could be given than that telling of Cleo- 
patra's death. A comparison with Shakespeare's 
scene (V. ii.) will illustrate every process of drama- 
tization. 

"Then, having ended these doleful plaints [at the 
tomb of Antonius], and crowned the tomb with gar- 
lands and sundry nosegays, and marvelous lovingly em- 
braced the same, she commanded they should prepare 
her bath, and when she had bathed and washed her- 
self she fell to her meat, and was sumptuously served. 
Now whilst she was at dinner, there came a coun- 
tryman, and brought her a basket. The soldiers that 
warded at the gates asked him straight what he 
had in his basket. He opened the basket, and took 



699 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



out the leaves that covered the figs, and shewed them 
that they were figs he brought. They all of them 
marveled to see such goodly figs. The countryman 
laughed to hear them, and bade them take some if 
they would. They believed he had told them truly, 
and so bade him carry them in. After Cleopatra 
had dined, she sent a certain table written and sealed 
unto Caesar, and commanded them all to go out of 
the tombs where she was, but the two women: then 
she shut the doors to her. Caesar, when he received 
this table, and began to read her lamentation and 
petition, requesting him that he would let her be 
buried with Antonius, found straight what she meant, 
and thought to have gone thither himself: howbeit 
he sent one before in all haste that might be to 
see what it was. Her death was very sudden. P'or 
those whom Caesar sent unto her ran thither in all 
haste possible, and found the soldiers standing at the 
gate, mistrusting nothing, nor understanding of her 
death. But when they had opened the doors, they 
found Cleopatra stark dead, laid upon a bed of gold, 
attired and arrayed in her royal robes, and one of 
her two women, which was called Iras, dead at her 
feet: and her other woman called Charmion half 
dead, and trembling, trimming the diadem which 
Cleopatra ware upon her head. One of the soldiers, 
seeing her, angrily said unto her: 'Is that well done, 
Charmion?' 'Very well,' said she again, 'and meet 
for a princess descended from the race of so many 
noble kings.' She said no more, but fell down dead 
hard by the bed. Some report that this aspic was 
jbrought unto her in the basket with figs, and that she 
had commanded them to hide it under the fig-leaves, 
that when she should think to take out the figs, the 
aspic should bite her before she should see her; how- 
beit that, when she would have taken away the leaves 
for the figs, she perceived it, and said, 'Art thou 
there then?' And so, her arm being naked, she put 
it to the aspic to be bitten. Other say again, she 
kept it in a box, and that she did prick and thrust 
it with a spindle of gold, so that the aspic being 
angered withal, leapt out with great fury, and bit 
her in the arm. Howbeit few can tell the truth. 
For they report also that she had hidden poison in 
a hollow razor which she carried in the hair of her 
head: and yet was there no mark seen of her body, 
or of any sign discerned that she was poisoned, 
neither also did they find this serpent in her tomb. 
But it was reported only, that there were seen cer- 
tain fresh steps or tracks where it had gone, on the 
tomb side toward the sea, and specially by the door's 
side. Some say also, that they found two little pretty 



bitings in her arm, scant to be discerned, the which 
it seemeth Caesar himself gave credit unto, because 
in his triumph he carried Cleopatra's image, with an 
aspic biting of her arm. And thus goeth the report 
of her death. Now Caesar, though he was marvelous 
sorry for the death of Cleopatra, yet he wondered 
at her noble mind and courage, and therefore com- 
manded she should be nobly buried, and laid by An- 
tonius; and willed also that her two women should 
have honorable burial. Cleopatra died being eight- 
and-thirty year old, after she had reigned two-and- 
twenty years, and governed above fourteen of them 
with Antonius. And for Antonius, some say that he 
lived three-and-fifty years; and others say, six-and- 
fifty." 

CRITICAL COMMENT— Critics from the time of 
Johnson have been at one over the superb poetry 
of the play, and the power of the character draAv- 
ing; but there has been doubt upon many sides as 
to the success of the play as a whole, from the very 
elements which give it grandeur. Dr. Johnson noted 
its great power of interest. "This play keeps curi- 
osity always busy and the passions always interested. 
. . . But the power of delighting is derived princi- 
pally from the frequent changes of the scene; for, 
except the feminine arts, some of which are too low, 
which distinguish Cleopatra, no character is very 
strongly discriminated." Hazlitt thought it "a very 
noble play," and commenting on the quality of poetic 
genius, called it "a richness like the overflowing of 
the Nile." On the other hand Hartley Coleridge 
spoke of "the general neglect of (the play) by all 
but students of Shakespeare," and Hudson confessed 
it was the last of Shakespeare's plays which he had 
grown to appreciate. F. S. Boas says: "The multi- 
plicity of details is bewildering, and no single event 
stands out boldly as the pivot on which the catastrophe 
turns." 

The joy of critics, especially since the romantic 
apotheosis of the courtesan, has centered in Cleopatra. 
Heine said, "Cleopatra is a woman. She loves and 
betrays at the same time." Others severely deny 
the love, but say that Antony was "the supreme sen- 
sation," Bradford wisely pointed out the mystery 
which surrounds her motives. The Seleucus episode 
and the causes of her suicide are no less puzzling 
than the reasons for her acts in life. John Masefield 
comments instead upon the beauty of her death. 
"Cleopatra is the only Shakespearean woman who 
dies heroically upon the stage. Her death scene is 
not the greatest, nor the most terrible, but it is the 
most beautiful scene in all the tragedies . . . and 



700 



INTRODUCTION 



those most marvelous words, written at one golden 
time, in a gush of the spirit, when the man must have 
been trembling — 

'O eastern star ! Peace, peace ! 

Dost thou not see my baby at my breast. 

That sucks the nurse asleep?' 

are among the most beautiful things ever written by 
man." 

With this praise from a poet we may contrast 
the words of a dramatist (Bernard Shaw) : "After 
giving a faithful picture of the soldier broken down 
by debauchery, and the typical wanton in whose arms 
such men perish, Shakespeare finally strains all his 
huge command of rhetoric and stage pathos to give 
a theatrical sublimity to the wretched end of the busi- 
ness, and to persuade foolish spectators that the world 
was well lost by the twain." 

BELATED PLAYS— French classical tragedy 
seized upon Antony as proper spoil long before 
Shakespeare's play. Jodelle's version in 1553 was 
the first French tragedy. Robert Garnier's M. An- 
toine (1578) was translated by the Countess of Pem- 
broke, sister of Sir Philip Sidney, in 1592. Samuel 
Daniel's Tragedy of Cleopatra (1594), in the French 
classical style, achieved a seventh edition. The 
False One, by Fletcher and Massinger (1620), deals 
with the story of Julius Caesar aod Cleopatra. It 
was imitated by Colley Gibber in CcBsar in Egypt 
(1725), and by Bernard Shaw in his Ccesar and 
Cleopatra. Later versions in English, to which Dr. 
Furness has added numerous others in Italian, 
French, and German, were those of Thomas May 
{The Tragedy of Cleopatra, 1654), and Sir Charles 
Sedley (1677). 

By far the most famous of Shakespearean adapta- 
tions is Dryden's All for Love, or the World Well 
Lost (1678), which supplanted its original upon the 
English stage until the nineteenth century. Dryden's 
play possesses every merit of the successful tragedy 
save that of grandeur of character and the loftiest 
verse. Lowell said, "All for Love is, in many re- 
spects, a noble play." It derives its fame chiefly from 
its concentration upon the single passion of love, 
which is often scarcely more than sentiment, and 
from the abundance of passages of great poetic 
power, though scarcely of dramatic genius. 

In structure the contrast between Shakespeare and 
Dryden is marked. The elements of time, action, 
number of characters (even Caesar is omitted), and 
the imperial background are greatly reduced, with a 
consequent loss in the main interest of the original 



play for which "correctness" is but a slight compen-. 
sation. 

STAGE HISTORY— Nothing is known of tha 
early stage history of Antony and Cleopatra. Dry- 
den's All for Love held the boards from 1678 until 
1818. A solitary set of six performances by Gari 
rick was given in the season of 1758-1759, in a ver-: 
sion arranged by the editor Edward Capell, but waa 
a disappointing failure. In 1813 a version wrongly 
attributed to Kemble, "with additions from Dry-. 
den," was acted at Covent Garden with Young a.\ 
Antony and Mrs. Faucit as Cleopatra. Macready in 
1833 revived the play with but slight success. Miss 
Phillips playing Cleopatra. Samuel Phelps, on Oc- 
tober 22, 1849, inaugurated the longest run the play 
has enjoyed, with crowded houses throughout the 
winter. Miss Glyn's Cleopatra was considered her 
best character. She repeated this impersonation in 
1867 at the Princess Theatre, London. A later ven-> 
ture, by Chatterton at Drury Lane in 1873, was one 
of those which caused that manager to say that 
"Shakespeare spelt ruin." Nevertheless Miss Rose 
Eytinge, in 1878; Kyrle Bellew, in 1889; and Mme. 
Modjeska in 1898-1899 had successful seasons in 
America. Sir Henry Irving avoided the play, but 
Sir Herbert Tree, his successor in London, held a 
triumphant season in 1906-1907 at His Majesty's 
Theatre. Miss Constance Collier's Cleopatra, and Mr. 
Basil Gill's Octavius were highly praised. In this 
version the death of Enobarbus was omitted; and an 
attempt at grand spectacular effect was made, not 
always successfully. E. H. Sothern's revival with 
Julia Marlowe as Cleopatra, was one of his few 
failures in Shakespearean revival; but that of the 
New Theatre (1910) was unrivalled in splendor and 
dramatically adequate. A remarkable cinematograph 
reproduction of the play, with a cast of ten thousand 
persons, posing on the actual scenes in Italy and 
Egypt, is the most notable tribute of the present year 
(1914). 

In Germany, Antony and Cleopatra is rarely 
played; and the record of performances in England 
and America proves that the pla)% if attended with 
extravagance of modern settings and costume, is 
likely to be a dangerous experiment. The tragedy 
has suffered also from the lack of actresses capable 
of portraying Cleopatra; Mrs. Siddons, who declined 
the part, once said "she should hate herself, if she 
should play the part as it ought to be played." 

DATE— ^' A book called Antony and Cleopatra" 
was entered in the Stationers' Registers, May 20, 1608, 
licensed to Edward Blount, one of the publishers 



701 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



of the First Folio of 1623. This is generally held 
to refer to Shakespeare's play, although Antony and 
Cleopatra was one of the sixteen plays entered just 
before the publication of the First Folio by Blount 
and Jaggard, as "not formerly entered to other men," 
and the necessity for this second entering is a mys- 
tery. 

TEXT— Despite the entry of 1608 already referred 



to, no copy is known of any edition before the Folio 
of 1623. The text of the Folio has been the basis 
of all subsequent editions, and is here followed.. 
The emendations, references to which appear in the 
Notes, are chiefly given to the correction of printers' 
errors; for it appears that the copy supplied to them 
in the case of this play is above the general level of 
the Shakespearean text. M. 



702 



THE TRAGEDY OF 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[Scene: In several parts of the Roman empire. 



INI ARK AXTOXY, 

OcTA^^us Cesar, 

M. ^Emilius Lepidus, 

Sextus Pompeius. 

DoMiTius Enobarbus, 

Yektidius, 

Eros, 

SCARUS, 

Dercetas, 

Demetrius, 

Philo, 

M^CENAS, ^ 

Agrippa, 

dolabella, 

ProculeiuS; 

Thyreus, 

Gallus, 



-triumvirs. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 

Mekas, ^ 

, Uri 



friends to Antony. 



friends to Caesar. 



attendants on Cleopatra. 



Me NE CRATES, I friends to Pompey. 

Varrius, J 

Taurus, lieutenant-general to Caesar. 

Canidius, lieutenant-general to Antony. 

SiLius, an officer in Ventidius's army. 

Euphronius, an ambassador from Antony to Caesar. 

Alexas, 

Mardian, a Eunuch, 

Seleucus, 

DiOMEDES, 

A Soothsayer. 

A Clown. 

Cleopatra, queen of Egypt. 

OcTAviA, sister to Caesar and wife to Antony. 

Charmiak, 

Iras, 

Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants."] 



-attendants on Cleopatra. 



ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [Alexandria. A room in Cleopatra's 
palace.^ 

Enter Demetrius and Philo. 

Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's 
O'erflows the measure; those his goodly eyes, 
That o'er the files and musters of the war 
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, 

now turn, 
The office and devotion of their view s 



Upon a tawny front. His captain's heart. 
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst 
The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper. 
And is become the bellows and the fan 
To cool a gipsy's lust. 

Flourish. Enter Antony, Cleopatra, her Ladies, 
the Train, with Eunuchs fanning her. 

Look, where they come: lo 
Take but good note, and you shall see in him 
The triple pillar of the world transform'd 
Into a strumpet's fool; behold and see. 



70S 



6 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act I. SC. I. 



Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. 
Ant. There's beggary in the love that can be 

reckon'd. 15 

Cleo. I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd. 
Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, 

new earth. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. News, my good lord, from Rome. 

Ant. Grates me; the sum. 

Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony: 

Fulvia perchance is angry; or, who knows 20 
If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent 
His powerful mandate to you, 'Do this, or 

this; 
Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that; 
Perform't, or else we damn thee.' 
Ant. How, my love! 

Cleo. Perchance ! nay, and most like ! 25 

You must not stay here longer, your dismis- 
sion 
Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, An- 
tony. 
Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would 

say? both? 
Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's 

queen. 
Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of 
thine 30 

Is Caesar's homager; else so thy cheek pays 

shame 
When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds. The mes- 
sengers ! 
Ant. Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide 
arch 
Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space. 
Kingdoms are clay; our dungy earth alike 35 
Feeds beast as man; the nobleness of life 
Is to do thus; when such a mutual pair 

[Embracing.'] 
And such a twain can do't, in which I bind. 
On pain of punishment, the world to weet 
We stand up peerless. 
Cleo. Excellent falsehood ! 40 

Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her? 
I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony 
Will be himself. 
Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. 

Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours. 
Let's not confound the time with conference 
harsh ; 45 



There's not a minute of our lives should 

stretch 
Without some pleasure now. What sport to- 
night ? 
Cleo. Hear the ambassadors. 
Ant. Fie, wrangling queen: 

Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to 

laugh, 
To weep; whose every passion fully strives 50 
To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd! 
No messenger, but thine; and all alone 
To-night we'll wander through the streets 

and note 
The qualities of people. Come, my queen; 
Last night you did desire it; [To the Messen^ 
ger.] speak not to us. 55 

Exeunt [Ant. and Cleo.~\ with their train, 
Dem. Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd so slight? 
Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
He comes too short of that great property 
Which still should go with Antony. 
Dem. I am full sorry 

That he approves the common liar, who 60 
Thus speaks of him at Rome; but I will hope 
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy ! 

Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — The same. Another room.] 

Enter Enoharhus, Lamprius, a Soothsayer, Ran- 
nius, Lucilius, Charmian, Iras, Mardian the 
Eunuch, and Alexas. 

Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any- 
thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, 
where's the soothsayer that you praised so to 
the queen? O, that I knew this husband, 
which, you say, must charge his horns with 
garlands ! s 

Alex. Soothsayer! 

Sooth. Your will? 

Char. Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that know 
things ? 

Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy 
A little I can read. 

Alex. Show him your hand. 10 

Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly ; wine enough 
Cleopatra's health to drink. 

Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. 

Sooth. I make not, but foresee. 

Char. Pray, then, foresee me one. 15 

Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. 



704 



ACT I. SC. II.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



Char. He means in flesh. 

Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old. 

Char. Wrinkles forbid ! 

Alex. Vex not his prescience; be attentive. 20 

Char. Hush! 

Sooth. You shall be more beloving than belov'd. 

Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. 

Alex. Nay, hear him. 24 

Char. Good now, some excellent fortune ! Let 
me be married to three kings in a forenoon, 
and widow them all; let me have a child at 
fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may do 
homage; find me to marry me with Octavius 
Caesar, and companion me with my mistress. 30 

Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you 

r— ^ serve. 

Char, O excellent! I love long life better than 
1^ figs.^ 

Sooth. You have seen and prov'd a fairer former 
fortune 
Than that which is to approach. 34 

Char. Then belike my children shall have no 
names; prithee, how many boys and wenches 
must I have? 

Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb. 
And fertile every wish, a million. 

Char. Out, fool ! I forgive thee for a witch. 40 

Alex. You think none but your sheets are privy 
to your wishes. 

Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers. 

Alex. We'll know all our fortunes. 

Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 
shall be — drunk to bed. 46 

Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if noth- 
ing else. 

Char. E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth 
famine. 50 

Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot sooth- 
say. 

Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful 
prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. 
Prithee, tell her but a worky-day fortune. 55 

Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. 

Iras. But how, but how ? give me particulars. 

Sooth. I have said. 

Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than 
she? . 60 

Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune 
better than I, where would you choose it? 

Iras. Not in my husband's nose. 63 

Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend ! 
Alexas^ — come, his fortune, his fortune! O, 



let him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet 
Isis, I beseech thee! and let her die too, and 
give him a worse ! and let worse follow worse, 
till the worst of all follow him laughing to 
his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good Isis, 
hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a 
matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech 
thee ! 72 

Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of 
the people ! for, as it is a heart-breaking to 
see a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a 
deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave un- 
cuckolded: therefore, dear Isis, keep decorum, 
and fortune him accordingly ! 

Char. Amen. 79 

Alex. Lo, now, if it lay in their hands to make 
me a cuckold, they would make themselves 
whores, but they'd do't! 

E710. Hush ! here comes Antony. 

Char. Not he; the queen. 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Cleo. Saw you my lord? 

Eno. No, lady. 

Cleo. Was he not here? 

Char. No, madam. 85 

Cleo. He was dispos'd to mirth ; but on the sud- 
den 
A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobar- 
bus ! 

Eno. Madam? 

Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. W^here's 
Alexas ? 

Alex. Here, at your service. My lord ap- 
proaches. 90 

Enter Antony with a Messenger [and Attend- 
ants']. 

Cleo. We will not look upon him. Go with us. 

Exeunt. 
Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. 
Ant. Against my brother Lucius? 
Mess. Ay; 

But soon that war had end, and the time 's 

state 95 

Made friends of them, jointing their force 

'gainst Caesar; 
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, 
Upon the first encounter, drave them. 
Ant, Well; what worst? 



705 



8 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act I. SC. II. 



Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller. 

Ant. When it concerns the fool or coward. On; 

Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis 

thus ; loi 

Who tells me true^, though in his tale lie death;, 

I hear him as he flatter'd. 

Mess. Labienus — 

This is stiff news — hath, with his Parthian 

force. 
Extended Asia from Euphrates; 105 

His conquering banner shook from Syria 
To Lydia and to Ionia; 
Whilst— 
Ant. Antony, thou wouldst say, — 
Mess'. O, my lord! 

Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general 
tongue ; 
Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome; no 
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my 

faults 
With such full license as both truth and mal- 
ice 
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth 

weeds. 
When our quick minds lie still; and our ills 

told us 

Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile. 115 

Mess. At your noble pleasure. Ea^it. 

Ant. From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there! 

First [Att.] The man from Sicyon, — is there 

such an one? 
Sec. [Att.~\ He stays upon your will. 
Ant. Let him appear. 

These strong Egyptian fetters I must break. 
Or lose myself in dotage. 

Enter another Messenger, with a letter. 

What are you ? 121 
Sec. Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. 
Ant. Where died she? 

Sec. Mess. In Sicyon; 

Her length of sickness, with what else more 

serious 
Importeth thee to know, this bears. 

l^Gives a letter.^ 
Ant. Forbear me. 125 

[Exit Sec. Messenger.^ 
There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I de- 
sire it; 
What our contempts doth often hurl from us^ 
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure. 



By revolution lowering, does become 

The opposite of itself. She's good, being 

gone ; 130 

The hand could pluck her back that shov'd 

her on. 
I must from this enchanting queen break off. 
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I 

know. 
My idleness doth hatch. ^How now! Enobar- 

bus ! 

Enter Enobarhus. 



135 



Eno. What's your pleasure, sir? 

Ant. I must with haste from hence. 

Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women. We 
see how mortal an unkindness is to them; if 
they suffer our departure, death's the word. 

Ant. I must be gone. 140 

Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women 
die; it were pity to cast them away for noth- 
ing; though, between them and a great cause, 
they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, 
catching but the least noise of this, dies in- 
stantly. I have seen her die twenty times 
upon far poorer moment. I do think there 
is mettle in death, which commits some lov- 
ing act upon her, she hath such a celerity in 
dying. 

Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. 150 

Eno. Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of 
nothing but the finest part of pure love. We 
cannot call her winds and waters sighs and 
tears; they are greater storms and tempests 
than almanacs can report. This cannot be 
cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower 
of rain as well as Jove. 157 

Ant. Would I had never seen her! 

Eno. O, sir, you had then left unseen a won- 
derful piece of work; which not to have been 
blest withal would have discredited your j 
travel. 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. Sir? 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. Fulvia ! 165 

Ant. Dead. 

Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacri- 
fice. When it pleaseth their deities to take 
the wife of a man from him, it shows to man 
the tailors of the earth; comforting therein, 
that when old robes are worn out, there are 



161 I 



706 



ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



9 



members to make new. If there were no more 
women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut^ 
and the case to be lamented. This grief is 
crowned with consolation; your old smock 
brings forth a new petticoat; and indeed the 
tears live in an onion that should water this 
sorrow. 177 

Ant. The business she hath broached in the 
state 
Cannot endure my absence. 179 

Eno. And the business you have broached here 
cannot be without you; especially that of 
Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your 
abode. 

Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers 
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break 
The cause of our expedience to the queen, 185 
And get her leave to part. For not alone 
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, 
Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too 
Of many our contriving friends in Rome 
Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius 190 
Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands 
The empire of the sea. Our slippery people, 
Whose love is never link'd to the deserver 
Till his deserts are past, begin to throw 
Pompey the Great and all his dignities 195 
Upon his son; who, high in name and power, 
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up 
For the main soldier ; whose quality, going on. 
The sides o' the world may danger. Much is 

breeding. 
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but 
life, 200 

And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleas- 
ure. 
To such whose place is under us, requires 
Our quick remove from hence. 

Eno. I shall do't. [Exeunt.] 



[Scene III. — The same. Another room.'] 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 

Cleo. Where is he? 

Char. I did not see him since. 

Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he 
does; 
I did not send you: if you find him sad, 
• Say I am dancing ; if in mirth, report 
That I am sudden sick; quick, and return. 5 

[Exit Alexas.] 



Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him 
dearly. 
You do not hold the method to enforce 
The like from him. 
Cleo. What should I do, I do not? 

Char. In each thing give him way, cross him in 

nothing. 
Cleo. Thou teachest like a fool; the way to lose 
him. 10 

Char. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, for- 
bear; 
In time we hate that which we often fear. 
But here comes Antony. 

Enter Antony. 

Cleo. I am sick and sullen. 

Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my pur- 
pose, — 
Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall 
fall. 15 

It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature 
Will not sustain it. 
Ant. Now, my dearest queen, — 

Cleo. Pray you, stand farther from me. 
Ant. What's the matter? 

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some 
good news. 
What says the married woman? You may 
go? 20 

Would she had never given you leave to 

come! 
Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here: 
I have no power upon you; hers you are. 
Ant. The gods best know, — 
Cleo. O, never was there queen 

So mightilj^ betray'd ! yet at the first 25 

I saw the treasons planted. 
Ant. Cleopatra, — 

Cleo. Why should I think you can be mine and 
true. 
Though you in swearing shake the throned 

gods. 
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous 

madness. 
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows. 
Which break themselves in swearing! 
Ant. Most sweet queen, — 31 

Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your 
going. 
But bid farewell, and go ! when you sued stay- 
ing. 



707 



10 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act I. SC. III. 



Tlien was the time for words ; no going then ! 
Eternity was in our lips and eyes, 35 

Bliss in our brows' bent; none our parts so 

poor. 
But was a race of heaven; they are so still, 
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world. 
Art turn'd the greatest liar. 
Ant. How now, lady! 

Cleo. I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst 

know 40 

There were a heart in Egypt. 
Ant. Hear me, queen; 

The strong necessity of time commands 
Our services awhile ; but my full heart 
Remains in use with you. Our Italy 
Shines o'er with civil swords; Sextus Pom- 

peius 45 

Makes his approaches to the port of Rome; 
Equality of two domestic powers 
Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown 

to strength. 
Are newly grown to love; the condemn'd 

Pompey, 
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace 50 
Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd 
Upon the present state, whose numbers 

threaten ; 
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would 

purge 
By any desperate change; ray more particu- 
lar. 
And that which most with you should safe 

my going, 55 

Is Fulvia's death. 
Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me 

freedom. 
It does from childishness; can Fulvia die? 
Ant. She's dead, my queen; 

Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read 60 
The garboils she awak'd; at the last, best; 
See when and where she died. 



Cleo. 



O most false lov( 



Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill 
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see. 
In Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd shall be. 
Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know 
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease. 
As you shall give the advice. By the fire 
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence 
Thy soldier, servant; making peace or war 70 
As thou affects. 



Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come; 

But let it be; I am quickly ill, and well, 

So Antony loves. 
Ant. My precious queen, forbear: 

And give true evidence to his love, which 
stands 

An honourable trial. 
Cleo. So Fulvia told me. 75 

I prithee, turn aside and weep for her; 

Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears 

Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one scene 

Of excellent dissembling; and let it look 

Like perfect honour. 
Ant. You'll heat my blood; no more. 80 

Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly. 
Ant. Now, by my sword, — 
Cleo. And target. Still he mends; 

But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Char- 
mian, 

How this Herculean Roman does become 

The carriage of his chafe. 85 

Ant. I'll leave you, lady. 
Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. 

Sir, you and I must part, but that's not it; 

Sir, you and I have lov'd, but there's not it; 

That you know well. Something it is I 
would, — 

O, my oblivion is a very Antony, 90 

And I am all forgotten. 
Ant. But that your royalty 

Holds idleness your subject, I should take 
you 

For idleness itself, 
Cleo. 'Tis sweating labour 

To bear such idleness so near the heart 

As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me; 95 

Since my becomings kill me, when they do 
not 

Eye well to you. Your honour calls you 
hence ; 

Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, 

And all the gods go with you ! upon your 
sword 

Sit laurel victory ! and smooth success 100 

Be strew'd before your feet! 
Ant. Let us go. Come; 

Our separation so abides, and flies. 

That thou, residing here, goes yet with me, 

And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. 

Away ! Eootunt\ 



708 



ACT I. SC. 



IV.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



11 



[Scene IV. — Rome. CoBsar's house.] 

Enter Octavius Ccesar, reading a letter, Lepidus, 
and their Train. 

Cobs. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth 
know. 
It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate 
Our great competitor. From Alexandria 
This is the news ; he fishes, drinks, and wastes 
The lamps of night in revel; is not more man- 
like 5 
Than Cleopatra; nor the queen of Ptolemy 
More womanly than he ; hardly gave audience, 

or 
Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners. You 

shall find there 
A man who is the abstract of all faults 
That all men follow, 
Lep. I must not think there are lo 

Evils enow to darken all his goodness; 
His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven, 
More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary. 
Rather than purchas'd; what he cannot 

change. 
Than what he chooses. 
Cobs. You are too indulgent. Let us grant, it is 
not 
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy; 
To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit 
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave; 
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the 
buffet 20 

With knaves that smell of sweat; say this 

becomes him, — 
As his composure must be rare indeed 
Whom these things cannot blemish, — yet must 

Antony 
No way excuse his foils, when we do bear 
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 
His vacancy with his voluptuousness, 26 

Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones. 
Call on him for't; but to confound such time, 
That drums him from his sport, and speaks 

as loud 
As his own state and ours, — 'tis to be chid 30 
As we rate boys, who, being mature in knowl- 
edge, 
Pawn their experience to their present pleas- 
ure, t 
And so rebel to judgment. 



Enter a Messenger. 

Lep. Here's more news. 

Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and every 

hour. 
Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report 35 
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea; 
And it appears he is belov'd of those 
That only have fear'd Caesar; to the ports 
The discontents repair, and men's reports 
Give him much wrong'd. 
Cces. I should have known no less. 40 

It hath been taught us from the primal state. 
That he which is was wish'd until he were; 
And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd till ne'er worth 

love, 
Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common 

body. 
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, 45 
Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
To rot itself with motion. 
Mess. Caesar, I bring thee word, 

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, 
Make the sea serve them, which they ear and 

wound 
With keels of every kind: many hot inroads 50 
They make in Italy; the borders maritime 
Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth re- 
volt; 
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon 
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes 

more 
Than could his war resisted. 
CcBS. Antony, 55 

Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou 

once 
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st 
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel 
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st 

against. 
Though daintily brought up, with patience 

more 60 

Than savages could suffer; thou didst drink 
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle 
Which beasts would cough at; thy palate then 

did deign 
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge; 
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture 

sheets, 65 

The barks of trees thou browsed; on the Alps 
It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh. 



709 



12 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act 



I. SC. IV. 



Which some did die to look on: and all this — 

It wounds thine honour that I speak it now — 

Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek 70 

So much as lank'd not. 
Lep. 'Tis pity of him. 

Cces. Let his shames quickly 

Drive him to Rome; 'tis time we twain 

Did show ourselves i' the field; and to that 
end 

Assemble we immediate council. Pompey 75 

Thrives in our idleness. 
hep. To-morrow, Caesar, 

I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly 

Both what by sea and land I can be able 

To front this present time. 
Cces, Till which encounter, 

It is my business too. Farewell. 80 

Lep. Farewell, my lord; what you shall know 
meantime 

Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, 

To let me be partaker. 
Cobs. Doubt not, sir ; 

I knew it for my bond. Exeunt. 



[Scene V. — Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace.^ 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian. 

CleOo Charmian ! 

Char. Madam? 

Cleo. Ha, ha! 

Give me to drink mandragora. 

Char. Why, madam? 

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of 
time 5 

My Antony is away. 

Char. You think of him too much. 

Cleo. O, 'tis treason! 

Char. Madam, I trust, not so. 

Cleo. Thou, eunuch Mardian! 

Mar. What's your highness' pleasure? 

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no 
pleasure 
In aught an eunuch has; 'tis well for thee, 10 
That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts 
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affec- 
tions ? 

Mar. Yes, gracious madam. 

Cleo. Indeed! 

Mar. Not in deed, madam; for I can do noth- 
ing 15 
But wliat indeed is honest to be done: 



Yet have I fierce affections, and think 
What Venus did with Mars. 
Cleo. O Charmian, 

Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, 

or sits he? 
Or does he walk? or is he on his horse? 20 
O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony ! 
Do bravely, horse ! for wot'st thou whom thou 

mov'st ? 
The demi- Atlas of this earth, the arm 
And burgonet of men. He's speaking now. 
Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old 

Nile?' 25 

For so he calls me; now I feed myself 
With most delicious poison. Think on me. 
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black. 
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted 

Caesar, 
When thou wast here above the ground, I 

was 30 

A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey 
Would stand and make his eyes grow in my 

brow; 
There would he anchor his aspect and die 
With looking on his life. 

Enter Alexas. 

Alex. Sovereign of Egypt, hail! 

Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony! 
Yet, coming from him, that great medicine 
hath 36 

With his tinct gilded thee. 
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony? 
Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen. 

He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, — 
This orient pearl. Llis speech sticks in my 
heart. 41 

Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 
Alex. 'Good friend,' quoth he, 

'Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends 
This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot. 
To mend the petty present, I will piece 45 
Her opulent throne with kingdoms; all the 

East, 
Say thou, shall call her mistress.' So he 

nodded, 
And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed, 
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have 

spoke 
Was beastly dumb by him. 
Cleo. What, was he sad or merry? 50 



710 



ACT I. SC. v.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



13 



Alea^o Like to the time o' the year between the 

extremes 
Of hot and cold^ he was nor sad nor merry. 
Cleo. O well-divided disposition! Note him^ 
Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man; but 

note him: 
He was not sad^ for he would shine on those 55 
That make their looks by his; he was not 

merry. 
Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance 

lay 
In Egypt with his joy; but between both; 

heavenly mingle ! Be'st thou sad or merry. 
The violence of either thee becomes, 60 
So does it no man else. Met'st thou my 

posts? 
Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers: 

Why do you send so thick? 
Cleo. Who's born that day 

When I forget to send to Antonj^, 

Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Char- 
mian. 65 

Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Char- 
mian. 

Ever love Caesar so? 
Char. O that brave Caesar ! 

Cleo. Be chok'd with such another emphasis ! 

Say, the brave Antony. 
Char. The valiant Caesar ! 

Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, 70 

If thou with Caesar paragon again 

My man of men. 
Char. By your most gracious pardon, 

1 sing but after you. 

Cleo. My salad days. 

When I was green in judgment: cold in blood, 
To say as I said then ! But, come, away ; 
Get me ink and paper; 

He shall have every day a several greeting. 
Or I'll unpeople Egypt. Exeunt. 



[ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — Messina. Pompey's house.'] 

Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas, in war- 
like manner. 

Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall as- 
sist 
The deeds of justest men. 



Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, 

That what they do delay, they not deny. 
Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, de- 
cays 
The thing we sue for. 
Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves, 5 

Beg often our own harms, which the wise 

powers 
Deny us for our good; so find we profit 
By losing of our prayers. 
Pom. I shall do well; 

The people love me, and the sea is mine ; 
My powers are crescent, and my auguring 
hope 10 

Says it will come to the full. Mark Antony 
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make 
No wars without-doors ; Caesar gets money 

where 
He loses hearts. Lepidus flatters both. 
Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves, 15 
Nor either cares for him. 
Men. Caesar and Lepidus 

Are in the field ; a mighty strength they carry. 
Pom. Where have you this? 'tis false. 
Men. From Silvius, sir. 

Pom. He dreams; I know they are in Rome to- 
gether, 
Looking for Antony. But all the charms of 
love, 20 

Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wann'd lip ! 
Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with 

both ! 
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, 
Keep his brain fuming; Epicurean cooks 
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite ; 25 
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his hon- 
our 
Even till a Lethe'd dulness ! 

Enter Varrius. 

How now, Varrius ! 

Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver; 
Mark Antony is every hour in Rome 
Expected; since he went from Egypt 'tis 30 
A space for further travel. 

Pom. I could have given less matter 

A better ear. Menas, I did not think 
This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd his 

helm 
For such a petty war; his soldiership 
Is twice the other twain. But let us rear 35 



711 



14 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[A 



CT II. SC. lo 



The higher our opinion^ that our stirring 
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
The ne'er-lust-wearied Antony. 

Men. I cannot hope 

Caesar and Antony shall well greet together. 
His wife that's dead did trespasses to Caesar, 
His brother warr'd upon him; although, I 
think, 41 

Not mov'd by Antony. 

Pom. I know not, Menas, 

How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
Were't not that we stand up against them all, 
'Twere pregnant they should square betM^een 
themselves ; 45 

For they have entertained cause enough 
To draw their swords ; but how the fear of us 
May cement their divisions and bind up 
The petty difference, we yet not know. 
Be't as our gods will have't ! It only stands 50 
Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. 
Come, Menas. Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — Rome. The house of Lepidus.] 
Enter Enobarhus and Lepidus. 

Lep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, 
And shall become you well, to entreat your 

captain 
To soft and gentle speech. 

Eno. I shall entreat him 

To answer like himself; if Caesar move him. 
Let Antony look over Caesar's head 5 

And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, 
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, 
I would not shave't to-day. 

Lep. 'Tis not a time 

For private stomaching. 

Eno. Every time 

Serves for the matter that is then born in't. 10 

Lep. But small to greater matters must give 
way. 

Eno. Not if the small come first. 

Lep. Your speech is passion; 

But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here 

comes 
The noble Antony. 

Enter Antony and Ventidius. 

Eno. And yonder, Caesar. 



Enter Ccesar, Moecenas, and Agi'ippa. 

Ant. If we compose well here, to Parthia! 15 

Hark, Ventidius. 
Goes. I do not know, 

Maecenas ; ask Agrippa. 
Lep. Noble friends. 

That which combin'd us was most great, and 
let not 

A leaner action rend us. What's amiss. 

May it be gently heard; when we debate 20 

Our trivial difference loud, we do commit 

Murder in healing wounds; then, noble part- 
ners. 

The rather, for I earnestly beseech. 

Touch you the sourest points with sweetest 
terms. 

Nor curstness grow to the matter. 
Ant. 'Tis spoken well. 

Were we before our armies, and to fight, 26 

I should do thus. Flourish. 

Cces. Welcome to Rome. 
Ant. Thank you. 

Goes. Sit. 

Ant. Sit, sir. 

C(BS. Nay, then. 

Ant. I learn, you take things ill which are not 
so. 

Or being, concern you not. 
Cces. I must be laugh'd at, 30 

If, or for nothing or a little, I 

Should say myself offended, and with you 

Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at, that I 
should 

Once name you derogately, when to sound 
your name 

It not concern'd me. 
^nt. My being in Egypt, Caesar, 

What was't to you.^ 36 

C(Bs. No more than my residing here at Rome 

Might be to you in Egypt; yet, if you there 

Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt 

Might be my question. 
Ant. How intend you, practis'd.? 40 

C(Bs. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine in- 
tent 

By what did here befall me. Your wife and 
brother 

Made wars upon me; and their contesta- 
tion 

Was theme for you, you were the word of 
war. 



712 



ACT II. SC. II.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



15 



Ant. You do mistake your business; my brother 
never 45 

Did urge me in his act; I did inquire it; 

And have my learning from some true reports^ 

That drew their swords with you. Did he 
not rather 

Discredit my authority with yours ; 

And make the wars alike against my stomachy 

Having alike your cause? Of this my let- 
ters 51 

Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a 
quarrel, 

As matter whole you have not to make it 
with. 

It must not be with this. 
Cces. You praise yourself 

By laying defects of judgment to me; but 55 

You patch'd up your excuses. 
Ant. Not so, not so; 

I know you could not lack, I am certain on't. 

Very necessity of this thought, that I, 

Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he 
fought, 

Could not with graceful eyes attend those 
wars 60 

Which fronted mine own peace. As for my 
wife, 

I would you had her spirit in such another ; 

The third o' the world is yours, which with a 
snaffle 

You may pace easy, but not such a wife. 
Eno. Would we had all such wives, that the 

men might go to wars with the women ! 66 

Ant. So much uncurbable, her garboils, Caesar, 

Made out of her impatience, which not wanted 

Shrewdness of policy too, I grieving grant 

Did you too much disquiet; for that you must 

But say, I could not help it. 
Cces. I wrote to you 71 

When rioting in Alexandria; you 

Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 

Did gibe my missive out of audience. 
Ant. Sir, 

He fell upon me ere admitted; then 75 

Three kings I had newly feasted, and did 
want 

Of what I was i' the morning; but next day 

I told him of myself; which was as much 

As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fel- 
low 

Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, 80 

Out of our question wipe him. 

71 



Cces. You have broken 

The article of your oath; which you shall 

never 
Have tongue to charge me with. 

Lep. Soft, Caesar ! 

Ant. No, 

Lepidus, let him speak. 

The honour is sacred which he talks on now, 85 
Supposing that I lack'd it. But, on, Caesar; 
The article of my oath. 

Cws. To lend me arms and aid when I requir'd 
them ; 
The which you both denied. 

Atit. Neglected, rather; 

And then when poison'd hours had bound me 

up 90 

From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I 

^ may, 
I'll play the penitent to you; but mine hon- 
esty 
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my 

power 
Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia, 
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here; 95 
For which myself^ the ignorant motive, do 
So far ask pardon as befits mine honour 
To stoop in such a case. 

Lep. 'Tis noble spoken. 

Mcec. If it might please you, to enforce no 
further 
The griefs between ye ; to forget them quite 100 
Were to remember that the present need 
Speaks to atone you. 

Lep. Worthily spoken, Maecenas. 

Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love for 
the instant, you may, when you hear no more 
words of Pompey, return it again. You shall 
have time to wrangle in when you have noth- 
ing else to do. 107 

Ant. Thou art a soldier only; speak no more. 

Eno. That truth should be silent I had almost 
forgot. no 

Ant. You wrong this presence; therefore speak 
no more. 

Eno. Go to, then; your considerate stone. 

Cces. I do not much dislike the matter, but 
The manner of his speech; for't cannot be 
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions 
So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew 116 
What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge 

to edge 
O' the world I would pursue it. 



16 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act II. SC. II. 



Agr. Give me leave, Caesar, — 

CcBS. Speak, Agrippa. 

Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, 120 
Admir'd Octavia ; great Mark Antony 
Is now a widower. 

Cces. Say not so, Agrippa ; 

If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof 
Were well deserv'd of rashness. 

Ant. I am not married, Caesar; let me hear 125 
Agrippa further speak. 

Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity. 

To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts 
With an unslipping knot, take Antony 
Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims 130 
No worse a husband than the best of men; 
Whose virtue and whose general graces speak 
That which none else can utter. By this mar- 
riage. 
All little jealousies, which now seem great, 
And all great fears, which now import their 
dangers, 135 

Would then be nothing; truths would be tales, 
Where now half tales be truths; her love to 

both 
Would, each to other and all loves to both. 
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke; 
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought, 140 
By duty ruminated. 

Ant. Will Caesar speak? 

Cces. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd 
With what is spoke already. 

Ant. What power is in Agrippa, 

If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,' 
To make this good? 

Cces. The power of Caesar, and 145 

His power unto Octavia. 

Ant. May I never 

To this good purpose, that so fairly shows. 
Dream of impediment! Let me have thy 

hand: 
Further this act of grace ; and from this hour 
The heart of brothers govern in our loves 150 
And sway our great designs ! 

Cces. There is my hand. 

A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother 
Did ever love so dearly; let her live 
To join our kingdoms and our hearts; and 

never 
Fly off our loves again ! 

Lep. Happily, amen ! 155 

Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst 
Pompey; 



For he hath laid strange courtesies and great 
Of late upon me. I must thank him only. 
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report; 
At heel of that, defy him. 

Lep. Time calls upon's ; 160 

Of us must Pompey presently be sought, 
Or else he seeks out us. 

Ant. Where lies he? 

Cces. About the mount Misenum. 

Ant. What is his strength by land? 

Cces. Great and increasing; but by sea 165 

He is an absolute master. 

Ant. So is the fame. 

Would we had spoke together! Haste we 

for it: 
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we 
The business we have talk'd of. 

Cces. With most gladness; 

And do invite you to my sister's view, 170 

Whither straight I'll lead you. 

Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 

Not lack your company. 

Lep. Noble Antony, 

Not sickness should detain me. 

Flourish. [Exeunt Ccesar, Antony, and 

Lepidus.] 

Mcec. Welcome from Egypt, sir. 

Eno. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Maece- 
nas ! My honourable friend, Agrippa ! 176 

Agr. Good Enobarbus ! 

Mcec. We have cause to be glad that matters 
are so well digested. You stayed well by't 
in Egypt. 180 

Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of counte- 
nance, and made the night light with drinking. 

Mcec. Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a 
breakfast, and but twelve persons there; is 
this true? 185 

Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had 
much more monstrous matter of feast, which 
worthily deserved noting. 

Mcec. She's a most triumphant lady, if report 
be square to her. 190 

Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she 
pursed up his heart, upon the river of Cydnus. 

Agr. There she appeared indeed; or my re- 
porter devised well for her. 

Eno. I will tell you. 195 

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, 
Burn'd on the water: the jooop was beaten 

gold; 
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that 



714 



ACT II. SC. 



11.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



17 



The winds were love-sick with them; the oars 

were silver. 
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, an:l 
made 200 

The water which they beat to follow faster, 
As amorous of their strokes. For her own 

person, 
It beggar'd all description; she did lie 
In her pavilion — cloth-of-gold of tissue — 
O'er-picturing that Venus where we see 205 
The fancy outwork nature ; on each side her 
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling 

Cupids, 
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did 

seem 
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did 

cool. 
And what they undid did. 
Agr. O, rare for Antony ! 210 

Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes^ 
And made their bends adornings ; at the helm 
A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle 
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft 
hands, 215 

That jarelj frame the office. From the barge 
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
Her people out upon her; and Antony, 
Enthron'd i' the market-place, did sit alone, 220 
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy. 
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too 
And made a gap in nature. 
Agr, Rare Egyptian! 

Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her. 
Invited her to supper; she replied, 225 

It should be better he became her guest; 
Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony, 
Whom ne'er the word of 'No' woman heard 

speak, 
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the 

feast, 
And for his ordinary j^ays his heart 230 

For what his eyes eat only. 
Agr. Ro3^al wench ! 

She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed ; 
He plough'd her, and she cropp'd. 
Eno. I saw her once 

Hop forty paces through the public street; 
And having lost her breath, she spoke, and 
panted, 235 

That she did make defect perfection, 

71 



And, breathless, power breathe forth. 
Mcec. Now Antony must leave her utterly. 
Eno. Never, he will not; 

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 240 

Her infinite variety. Other women cloy 

The appetites they feed; but she makes hun- 
gry 

Where most slie satisfies; for vilest things 

Become themselves in her; that the holy 
priests 

Bless her when slie is riggish. 245 

Mccc. If beauty, wisdom, modest}^, can settle 

The heart of Antony, Octavia is 

A blessed lottery to him. 
Ag7\ Let us go. 

Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest 249 

Whilst you abide here. 
Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank you. Exeunt. 



[Scene III. — The same. Caesar's house.^ 

Enter Antony, Coesar, Octavia between them, 
\^and Attenda7its'\. 

Ant. The world and my great office will some- 
times 
Divide me from your bosom. 
Octa. All which time 

Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers 
To them for you. 
Ant. Good night, sir. My Octavia, 

Read not my blemishes in the world's report. 5 
I have not kept my square ; but that to come 
Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, 

dear lady. 
Good night, sir. 
Cces. Good night. 

[Exeunt Coesar and Octavia.'] 

Enter Soothsayer. 

Ant. Now, sirrah; you do wish yourself in 
Egypt? 10 

Sooth. Would I had never come from tlience, 
nor you 

Thither ! 
A7it. If 3'^ou can, your reason? 
Sooth. I see it in 

My motion, have it not in my tongue; but yet 

Hie you to Egypt again. 
Ant. Say to me, 15 

5 



18 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act II. SC. III. 



^Yhose fortunes shall rise higher^ Caesar's or 
mine ? 
Sooth. Caesar's. 

Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side. 
Thy demon, that thy spirit which keeps thee, 

is 
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, 20 

Where Caesar's is not ; but, near him, thy angel 
Becomes a fear, as being o'erpower'd; there- 
fore 
Make space enough between you. 
Ant. Speak this no more. 

Sooth. To none but thee; no more, but when to 
thee. 
If thou dost play with him at any game, 25 
Thou art sure to lose; and, of that natural 

luck. 
He beats thee 'gainst the odds. Thy lustre 

thickens. 
When he shines by; I say again, thy spirit 
Is all afraid to govern thee near him; 
But, he away, 'tis noble. 
Ant. Get thee gone: 30 

Say to Ventidius I would speak with him; 

Ea!it [Soothsay er] . 
He shall to Parthia. Be it art or hap. 
He hath spoken true; the very dice obey him; 
And in our sports my better cunning faints 
Under his chance. If we draw lots, he 
speeds ; 35 

His cocks do win the battle still of mine. 
When it is all to nought; and his quails ever 
Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to 

Egypt; 
And though I make this marriage for my 

peace, 
I' the east my pleasure lies. 

Enter Ventidius. 

O, come, Ventidius, 40 
You must to Parthia; your commission's ready; 
Follow me, and receive 't. Exeunt. 



[Scene IV. — The same. A street.] 

Enter Lepidus, Mcecenas, and Agrippa. 

Lep. Trouble yourselves no further: pray you, 
hasten 
Your generals after. I 

71 



^gr. Sir, Mark Antony 

Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow. 
Lep, Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress. 

Which will becx)me you both, farewell. 
^^^- We shall, 5 

As I conceive the j ourney, be at the Mount 

Before you, Lepidus. 
Lep. Your way is shorter ; 

My purposes do draw me much about: 

You'll win two days upon me. 
Mcec. \ 

J. f Sir, good success ! 



^9 . 

Lep. Farewell. 



Exeunt. 10 



[Scene V. — Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace.'] 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, IraSj, and Alexas. 

Cleo. Give me some music; music, moody food 

Of us that trade in love. 
All. The music, ho! 

Enter Mardian the Eunuch. 

Cleo. Let it alone; let's to billiards; come, 
Charmian. 

Char. My arm is sore; best play with Mardian. 

Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd 5 
As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, 
sir? 

Mar. As well as I can, madam. 

Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though 't 
come too short. 
The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now; 
Give me mine angle; we'll to the river, there. 
My music playing far off, I will betray u 

Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall 

pierce 
Their slimy j aws ; and, as I draw them up, 
I'll think them every one an Antony, 
And say *Ah, ha ! you're caught.' 

Char. 'Twas merry when 

You wager'd on your angling ; when your diver 
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, w^hich he 17 
With fervency drew up. 

Cleo. That time, — O times ! — 

I laugh'd him out of patience; and that night 
I laugh'd him into patience; and next morn, 20 
Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed ; 
Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst 
I wore his sword Philippan. 

6 



ACT II. SC. v.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



19 



Enter a Messenger. 

O, from Italy! 
Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears. 
That long time have been barren. 

Mess. Madam, madam, — 25 

Cleo. Antonio's dead ! — If thou say so, villain, 
Thou kill'st thy mistress ; but well and free. 
If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
My bluest veins to kiss ; a hand that kings 
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 30 

Mess. First, madam, he is well. 

Cleo. Why, there's more gold. 

But, sirrah, mark, we use 
To say the dead are well; bring it to that, 
The gold I give thee will I melt and pour 
Down thy ill-uttering throat. 35 

Mess. Good madam, hear me. 

Cleo. Well, go to, I will ; 

But there's no goodness in thy face. If An- 
tony 
Be free and healthful, — so tart a favour 
To trumpet such good things! If not well. 
Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown'd with 
snakes, 40 

Not like a formal man. 



Will 't 
mind to 



please you hear me 



strike thee ere thou 



Mess. 

Cleo. I have a 
speak'st; 
Yet, if thou say Antony lives, is well. 
Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him, 
I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail 45 
Rich pearls upon thee. 

Mess. Madam, he's well. 

Cleo. Well said. 

Mess. And friends with Caesar. 

Cleo. Thou'rt an honest man. 

Mess. Caesar and he are greater friends than 
ever. 

Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. 

Mess. But yet, madam, — 

Cleo. I do not like 'But yet,' it does allay 50 
The good precedence ; fie upon 'But yet' ! 
'But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth 
Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend. 
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear. 
The good and bad together. He's friends 
with Caesar; 55 

In state of health thou say'st; and tliou say'st 
free. 

Mess. Free, madam! no; I made no such report: 
He's bound unto Octavia. 



717 



Cleo. For what good turn ? 

Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. 
Cleo. I am pale, Charmian. 

Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia. 60 

Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee! 

Strikes him down. 
Mess. Good madam, patience. 
Cleo. What say you? Hence, 

Strikes him. 
Horrible villain ! or I'll spurn thine eyes 
Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head. 

She hales him up and down. 

Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd 

in brine, 65 

Smarting in lingering pickle. 

Mess. Gracious madam, 

I that do bring the news made not the match, 

Cleo. Say 'tis not so, a province I will give thee. 

And make thy fortunes proud; the blow thou 

hadst 
Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage. 
And I will boot thee with what gift beside 71 
Thy modesty can beg. 
Mess. He's married, madam. 

Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. 

Draws a knife. 
Mess. Nay, then I'll run. 

What mean you, madam? I have made no 
fault. Exit. 

Char. Good madam, keep yourself within your- 
self ; 75 
The man is innocent. 
Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunder- 
bolt. 
Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures 
Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again; 
Though I am mad, I will not bite him ; call. 80 
Char. He is afeard to come. 

Cleo. I will not hurt him. 

[Exit Charmian.'] 
These hands do lack nobility, that they strike 
A meaner than myself; since I myself 
Have given myself the cause. 

Re-enter [Charmian and] Messenger. 

Come hither, sir. 
Though it be honest, it is never good 85 

To bring bad news. Give to a gracious mes- 
sage 
An host of tongues ; but let ill tidings tell 
Themselves when they be felt. 



20 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act II. SC. V. 



Mess. I have done my duty. 

Cleo. Is he married? 

I cannot hate thee worser than I do, 90 

If thou again say 'Yes.' 
Mess. He's married, madam. 

Cleo. The gods confound thee! dost thou hold 

there still .f^ 
Mess. Should I lie, madam ? 
Cleo. O, I would thou didst, 

So half my Egypt were submerg'd and made 
A cistern for scal'd snakes ! Go, get thee 
hence : 95 

Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me 
Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is mar- 
ried? 
Mess. I crave your highness' pardon. 
Cleo. He is married? 

Mess. Take no offence that I would not offend 
you. 
To punish me for what you make me do 100 
Seems much unequal; he's married to Octa- 
via. 
Cleo. O, that his fault should make a knave of 
thee. 
That art not what thou'rt sure of! Get thee 

hence : 
The merchandise whicli thou hast brought 

from Rome 

Are all too dear for me; lie they upon thy 

hand, 105 

And be undone by 'em. [Ea:it Messenger.] 

Char. Good your highness, patience. 

Cleo. In praising Antony, I have disprais'd 

Caesar. 
Char. Many times, madam. 

Cleo. I am paid for't now. 

Lead me from hence; 

I faint; O Iras, Charmian ! 'tis no matter, no 
Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him 
Report the feature of Octavia, her years, 
Her inclination, let him not leave out 
The colour of her hair ; bring me word quickly. 

\_Ea;it Alexas.'] 
Let him for ever go; — let him not — Char- 
mian, 115 
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 
The other way's a Mars. Bid you Alexas 

[To Mardian.] 
Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, 
• Charmian, 

But do not speak to me. Lead me to my 
chamber. Exeunt. 

71 



[Scene VI. — Near Misenum.] 

Flourish. Enter Pompey [and Menas] at one 
door, with drum and trumpet: at another, 
Caesar, Lepidus, Antony, Enoharhus, Mce- 
cenas, with Soldiers marching. 

Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine; 
And we shall talk before we fight. 

Cces. Most meet 

That first we come to words; and therefore 

have we 
Our written purposes before us sent; 
Which, if thou hast consider'd, let us know 5 
If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword. 
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth 
That else must perish here. 

Pom. To you all three. 

The senators alone of this great world. 
Chief factors for the gods : I do not know 10 
Wherefore my father should revengers want, 
Llaving a son and friends ; since Julius Ceesar, 
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted. 
There saw you labouring for him. What 

was't 

That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire; and 

what 15 

Made the all-honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus, 

With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous 

freedom. 
To drench the Capitol; but that they would 
Have one man but a man? And that is it 
Hath made me rig my navy, at whose burthen 
The anger'd ocean foams ; with which I meant 
To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful 
Rome 22 

Cast on my noble father. 

Cces. Take your time. 

Ant. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy 
sails ; 
We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou 
know'st 25 

How much we do o'er-count thee. 

Pom. At land, indeed. 

Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house ; 
But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself. 
Remain in't as thou mayst. 

Lep. Be pleas'd to tell us — 

For this is from the present — how you take 30 
The offers we have sent you. 

Cces. There's the point. 

Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh 
What it is worth embrae'd. 

8 



ACT II. SC. VI.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



21 



CcBS. And what may follow, 

To try a larger fortune. 

Pom. You have made me offer 

Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and I must 3S 

Rid all the sea of pirates; then, to send 
Measures of wheat to Rome; this 'greed upon, 
To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back 
Our targes undinted. 

All. That's our offer. 

Pom. Know, then, 40 

I came before jou here a man prepar'd 
To take this offer; but Mark Antony 
Put me to some impatience. Though I lose 
The praise of it by telling, you must know. 
When Caesar and your brother were at blows. 
Your mother came to Sicily and did find 46 

Her welcome friendly. 

Ant. I have heard it, Pompey; 

And am well studied for a liberal thanks 
Which I do owe you. 

Pom. Let me have your hand : 

I did not think, sir, to have met you here. 50 

Ant. The beds i' the east are soft, and thanks to 

you. 

That call'd me timelier than my purpose 
hither ; 

For I have gain'd by't. 
CcBS. Since I saw you last, 

There is a change upon you. 
Pom. Well, I know not 

What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face ; 

But in my bosom shall she never come, 56 

To make my heart her vassal. 
Lep. Well met here. 

Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are agreed; 

I crave our composition may be written. 

And seal'd between us. 
Cces. That's the next to do. 60 

Pom. We'll feast each other ere we part; and 
let's 

Draw lots who shall begin. 
Ant. That will I, Pompey. 

Pom. No, Antony, take the lot; but, first 

Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery 

Sh^ll have the fame. I have heard that 
Julius Caesar 65 

Grew fat with feasting there. 
Ant. You have heard much. 

Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. 
Ant. And fair words to them. 

Pom. Then so much have I heard; 

And I have heard, Apollodorus carried — 

71 



Eno. No more of that; he did so. 

Pom. What, I pray you? 70 

Eno. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. 

Pom. I know thee now; how farest thou, sol- 
dier .f* 

Eno. Well, 

And well am like to do; for, I perceive. 
Four feasts are toward. 

Pom. Let me shake thy hand. 

I never hated thee ; I have seen thee fight, 75 
When I have envied thy behaviour. 

Eno. Sir, 

I never lov'd you much; but I ha' prais'd ye. 
When you have well deserv'd ten times as 

much 
As I have said you did. 

Pom. Enjoy thy plainness, 80 

It nothing ill becomes thee. 
Aboard my galley I invite you all ; 
Will you lead, lords ? 

All. Show us the wa}^, sir. 

Pom. Come. 

Exeunt all hut Menas and Enobarbus. 

Men. [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er 
have made this treaty. — You and I have 
known, sir. 86 

Eno. At sea, I think. 

Men. We have, sir. 

Eno. You have done well by water. 

Men. And you by land. 90 

Eno. I will praise any man that will praise me; 
though it cannot be deni'd what I have done 
by land. 

Men. Nor what I have done by water. 94 

Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your own 
safety. You have been a great thief by sea. 

Men. And you by land. 

Eno. There I deny my land service. But give 
me your hand, Menas; if our eyes hr.d au- 
thority, here they might take two thieves 
kissing. lor 

Men. All men's faces are true, whatsome'er 
their hands are. 

Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a 
true face. 105 

Men. No slander; they steal hearts. 

Eno. We came hither to fight with you. 

Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turn'd to a 
drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away 
his fortune. no 

Eno. If he do, sure he cannot weep't *back 
again. 

9 



22 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act II. SC. VI. 



Men. You've said;, sir. We looked not for 
Mark Antony here. Pray you^ is he married 
to Cleopatra? 115 

Eno. Caesar's sister is called Octavia. 

Men. True^ sir; she was the wife of Cains Mar- 
cellus. 

Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus An- 
tonius. 

Men. Pray ye^ sir? 120 

Eno. 'Tis true. 

Men. Then is Caesar and he for ever knit to- 
gether. 

Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity^ 
I would not prophesy so. 125 

Men. I think the policy of that purpose made 
more in the marriage than the love of the 
parties. 

Eno. I think so too. But you shall find^, the 
band that seems to tie their friendship to- 
gether will be the very strangler of their 
amity; Octavia is of a holy^, cold^ and still con- 
versation. 131 

Men. Who would not have his wife so? 

Eno. Not he that himself is not so; which is 
Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish 
again; then shall the sighs of Octavia blow 
the fire up in Caesar; and^, as I said before, 
that which is the strength of their amity shall 
prove the immediate author of their variance. 
Antony will use his affection where it is: he 
married but his occasion here. 140 

Men. And thus it may be. Come^, sir^, will you 
aboard? I have a health for you. 

Eno. I shall take it^ sir; we have used our 
throats in Egypt. 

Men. Come, let's away. Exeunt. 



[Scene VII. — On hoard Pompey^s galley, off 
Misenum.'\ 

Music plays. Enter two or three Servants with 
a banquet. 

First Serv. Here they'll be, man. Some o' their 
plants are ill-rooted already; the least wind 
i' the world will blow them down. 

Sec. Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured. 

First Serv. They have made him drink alms- 
drink. 6 

Sec. Serv. As they pinch one another by the dis- 
position, he cries out 'No more;' reconciles 
them to his entreaty, and himself to the drink. 



First Serv. But it raises the greater war be- 
tween him and his discretion. n 

Sec. Serv. Why, this it is to have a name in great 
men's fellowship. I had as lief have a reed 
that will do me no service as a partisan I could 
not heave. 15 

First Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and 
not to be seen to move in't, are the holes 
where eyes should be, which pitifully disaster 
the cheeks. 

A sennet sounded. Enter Ccesar, Antony, 
Lepidui,, Pompey, Agrippa, Maecenas, Eno- 
barbus, Menas, with other captains. 

Ant. [To Ccesar] Thus do they, sir; they take 
the flow o' the Nile 20 

By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know. 
By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if 

dearth 
Or foison follow. The higher Nilus swells. 
The more it promises; as it ebbs, the seeds- 
man 
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, 25 
And shortly comes to harvest. 

Lep. You've strange serpents there. 

Ant. Ay, Lepidus. 

Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your 
mud by the operation of your sun; so is your 
crocodile. 31 

Ant. They are so. 

Pom. Sit, — and some wine ! A health to Le- 
pidus ! 

Lep. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll 
ne'er out. 36 

Eno. Not till you have slept; I fear me you'll 
be in till then. 

Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolemies' 
pyramises are very goodly things; without 
contradiction, I have heard that. 41 

Men. [Aside to Pom.] Pompey, a word. 

Pom. [Aside to Men.'] Say in 

mine ear; what is't? 

Men. [Aside to Pom.] Forsake thy seat, I do 
beseech thee, captain. 
And hear me speak a word. 

Pom. Forbear me till anon. 

Whispers in's ear. 
This wine for Lepidus. 45 

Lep. What manner o' thing is your crocodile? 

Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as 
broad as it hath breadth; it is just so high as 



720 



ACT II. SC. VII.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



2S 



it is^ and moves with it own organs ; it lives by 
that which nourisheth it; and the elements 
once out of it^ it transmigrates. 51 

Lep. What colour is it of ? 
Ant. Of it own colour too. 
Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent*. 

Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. 55 
C(BS. Will this description satisfy him.^ 
Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him^ 

else he is a very epicure. 
Pom. [Aside to Men.] Go hang, sir, hang! 
Tell me of that? away! 
Do as I bid you. Where's this cup I call'd 
for } 60 

Men. [Aside to Po7m.] If for the sake of merit 
thou wilt hear me, 
Rise from thy stool. 
Pom. [Aside to Men.] I think thou'rt mad. 
The matter? [Rises, and walks aside.] 

Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy for- 
tunes. 
Pom. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith. 
What's else to say? 
Be jolly, lords. 
Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus, 65 

Keep off them, for you sink. 
Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world ? 
Pom. What say'st thou ? 

Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? 

That's twice. 
Pom. How should that be? 

Men. But entertain it;, 

And, though thou think me poor, I am the 
man 70 

Will give thee all the world. 
Pom. Hast thou drunk well ? 

Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. 
Thou art, if thou darest be, the earthly Jove : 
Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips. 
Is thine, if thou wilt ha 't. 
Pom. Show me which way. 75 

Men. These three world-sharers, these com- 
petitors, 
Are in thy vessels. Let me cut the cable; 
And, when we are put off, fall to their throats ; 
All there is thine. 
Pom. Ah, this thou shouldst have done, 

And not have spoke on 't ! In me 'tis villany ; 
In thee 't had been good service. Thou must 
know, 81 

'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour ; 
Mine honour, it. Repent that e'er thy tongue 

721 



Men. 
Pom. 
Eno. 



Men. 
Eno. 



Hath so betray'd thine act; being done un- 
known, 
I should have found it afterwards well done. 
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 
Men. [Aside] For this, 87 

I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. 
Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis 

offer'd. 
Shall never find it more. 
Pom. This health to Lepidus ! 90 

Ant. Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him^ 

Pompey. 
Eno. Here's to thee, Menas ! 

Enobarbus, welcome ! 
Fill till the cup be hid. 
There's a strong fellow, Menas. 
[Pointing to the Attendant who carries 

off Lepidus.] 
Why? 95 

A' bears the third part of the world, man; 
see'st not? 
Men. The third part, then, is drunk; would it 
were all. 
That it might go on wheels ! 
Eno. Drink thou; increase the reels. 100 

Men. Come. 

Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. 
Ant. It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, 
ho! 
Flere is to Caesar ! 
Cces. I could well forbear 't. 

It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain. 
And it grows fouler. 
Ant. Be a child o' the time. 106 

Goes. Possess it, I'll make answer; 

But I had rather fast from all, four days, 
Than drink so much in one. 
Eno. Ha, my brave emperor! [To Antony.] 

Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 
And celebrate our drink? 
Pom. Let's ha 't, good soldier, m 

Ant. Come, let's all take hands. 

Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our 

sense 
In soft and delicate Lethe. 
Eno. All take hands. 

Make battery to our ears with the loud mu- 
sic; 
Tlie while I'll place you; then the boy shall 
sing; 116 

Tlie holding every man sliall bear as loud 
As his strong sides can volley. 



24 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act II. SC. VII. 



Music plays. 



Enoharhus places them 
hand in hand. 



The Song. 

Come^ thou monarch of the vine, 120 

Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne ! 

In thy fats our cares be drown'd. 

With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd; 

Cup us, till the world go round, 

Cup us, till the world go round ! 125 

CcBS. What would you more? Pompey, good 
night. Good brother. 
Let me request you off; our graver business 
Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let's 

part ; 
You see we have burnt our cheeks. Strong 

Enobarb 
Is weaker than the wine; and mine own 
tongue 130 

Splits what it speaks; the wild disguise hath 

almost 
Antick'd us all. What needs more words ? 

Good night. 
Good Antony, your hand. 
Pom. I'll try you on the shore. 

Ant. And shall, sir; give's your hand. 
Pom. O Antony, 

You have my father's house, — But, what.^ we 
are friends. 135 

Come, down into the boat. 
Eno. Take heed you fall not. 

[Exeunt all but Enoharhus and Menas.'] 
Menas, I'll not on shore. 
Men. No, to my cabin. 

These drums ! these trumpets, flutes ! what ! 
Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell 
To these great fellows; sound and be hang'd, 
sound out! Sound a flourish, with drums. 
Eno. Ho ! says a'. There's my cap. 141 

Men. Ho ! Noble captain, come. Exeunt. 



[ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — A plain in Syria.'] 

Enter Ventidius as it were in triumph, [with 
Silius, and other Romans, Officers, and Sol- 
diers;'] the dead hody of Pacorus home before 
him. 

Ten. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck; and 
now 

7 



Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death 
Make me revenger. Bear the king's son's 

body 
Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes, 
Pays this for Marcus Crassus. 
Sil. ' Noble Ventidius, 5 

Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sw^ord is 

warm. 
The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through 

Media, 
Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither 
The routed fly; so thy grand captain Antony 
Shall set thee on triumphant chariots and 10 
Put garlands on thy head. 
Ven. O Silius, Silius, 

I have done enough; a lower place, note well. 
May make too great an act: for learn this, 

Silius ; 
Better to leave undone, than by our deed 
Acquire too high a fame when him we serve 's 

away. 15 

Caesar and Antony have ever won 
More in their officer than person; Sossius, 
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant. 
For quick accumulation of renown. 
Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his 

favour. 20 

Who does i' the wars more than his captain can 
Becomes his captain's captain; and ambition. 
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of 

loss. 
Than gain which darkens him. 
I could do more to do Antonius good, 25 

But 'twould offend him; and in his offence 
Should my performance perish. 
Sil. Thou hast, Ventidius, that 

Without the which a soldier, and his sword. 
Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to 

Antony ? 
Ven. I'll humbly signify what in his name, 30 
That magical word of war, we have effected ; 
How, with his banners and his well-paid 

ranks. 
The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia 
We have jaded out o' the field. 
Sil. Where is he now? 

Ven. He purposeth to Athens; whither, with 

what haste 35 

The weight we must convey with 's will per- 
mit. 
We shall appear before him. On, there; pass 

along ! Exeunt. 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



25 



[Scene II. — Rome. An ante-chamber in 
C Cesar's house.] 

Enter Agrippa at one door, Enoharhus at 
another. 

Agr. What, are tlie brothers parted? 
Eno. They have despatch'd witli Pompey, he is 
gone ; 
The other three are sealing, Octavia weeps 
To part from Rome ; Caesar is sad_, and Le- 

pidiis, 
Since Pompev's feast, as Menas says, is trou- 
bled ^ 5 
With the green-sickness. 
Agr. 'Tis a noble Lepidiis. 
Eno. A very fine one ; O, how he loves Caesar ! 
Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark An- 
tony ! 
Eno. Caesar? Why, he's the Jnpiter of men. 
[Agr.'] Wliat's Antony? The god of Jupiter. lo 
Eno. Spake you of Caesar? How! the non- 
pareil ! 
Agr. O Antony ! O thou Arabian bird ! 
Eno. W^ould you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar ;' go 

no further. 
Agr. Indeed, he plied them both with excellent 

praises. 
Eno. But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves 
Antony. 15 

Ho ! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, 

poets, cannot 
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho ! 
His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, 
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 
Agr. Both he loves. 

Eno. Tliey are his shards, and he their beetle. 
[Trumpets within.'] So; 20 

This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa. 
Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier; and fare- 
well. 

Enter Ccesar, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia. 

Ant. No further, sir. 

Cces. You take from me a great part of myself; 
Use me well in't.' Sister, prove such a wife 25 
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest 

band 
Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble An- 
tony, 
Let not the piece of virtue, which is set 



Betwixt us as the cement of our love, 

To keep it builded, be the ram to batter 30 

The fortress of it; for better might we 

Have lov'd without this mean, if on both parts 

This be not chcrish'd. 
Ant. Make me not offended 

In your distrust. 
Goes. I have said. 

Ant. You shall not find. 

Though you be therein curious, the least cause 

For what you seem to fear; so, the gods keep 
you, 36 

And make the hearts of Romans serve your 
ends ! 

We will here part. 
Cces. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well ! 

The elements be kind to thee, and make 40 

Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well. 
Oct. My noble brother! 
Ant. The April's in her eyes; it is love's spring. 

And these the showers to bring it on. Be 
cheerful. 
Oct. Sir, look well to my husband's house; 
and — 45 

Goes. What, 

Octavia ? 
Oct. I'll tell you in your ear. 

Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor 
can 

Her heart inform her- tongue, — the swan's 
down-feather. 

That stands upon the swell at the full of tide. 

And neither way inclines. 50 

Eno. [Aside to Agr.] Will Caesar weep? 
Agr. [Aside to Eno.] He has a cloud in's face. 
Eno. [Aside to Agr.] He were the worse for 
that, were he a horse; 

So is he, being a man. 
Agr. [Aside to Eno.] Why, Enobarbus, 

When Antony found Julius Caesar dead. 

He cried almost to roaring; and he wept 55 

When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. 
Eno. [Aside to Agr.] That year, indeed, he was 
troubled with a rheum; 

What willingly he did confound he wail'd. 

Believe 't, till I wept too. 
Gees. 

You shall hear from me still; the time shall 
not 60 

Out-go my thinking on you. 
Ant. Come, sir, come; 

I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love: 



No, sweet Octavia, 



723 



26 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act III. SC. II. 



Look, here I have you ; thus I let you go, 

And give you to the gods. 
Cces. Adieu ; be happy ! 

Lep. Let all the number of the stars give light 

To thy fair way ! 
Cobs. Farewell, farewell ! Kisses Octavia. 

Ant. Farewell! 

Trumpets sound. Exeunt. 

[Scene III. — Alexandria. Cleopatra s palace.~\ 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 

Cleo. Where is the fellow? 

Alex. Half afeard to come. 

Cleo. Go to, go to. Come hither, sir. 

Enter the Messenger as before. 

Alex. Good majesty, 

Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you 
But when you are well pleas'd. 

Cleo. That Herod's head 

I'll have; but how, when Antony is gone 5 
Through whom I might command it.^ Come 
thou near. 

Mess. Most gracious majesty, — 

Cleo. Didst thou behold Octavia? 

Mess. Ay, dread queen. 

Cleo. Where? 10 

Mess. Madam, in Rome; 

I look'd her in the face, and saw her led 
Between her brother and Mark Antony. 

Cleo. Is she as tall as me ? 

Mess. She is not, madam. 

Cleo. Didst hear her speak? is she shrill- 
tongued or low? 15 

Mess. Madam, I heard her speak; she is low- 
voic'd. 

Cleo. That's not so good; he cannot like her 
long. 

Char. Like her ! O Isis ! 'tis impossible. 

Cleo. I think so, Charmian; dull of tongue, and 
dwarfish ! 
What majesty is in her gait? Remember, 20 
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. 

Mess. She creeps ; 

Her motion and her station are as one. 
She shows a body rather than a life, 
A statue than a breather. 

Cleo. Is this certain ? 

Mess. Or I have no observance. 



Char. Three in Egypt 25 

Cannot make better note. 
Cleo. He's very knowing; 

I do perceive 't; there's nothing in her yet. 

The fellow has good judgment. 
Char. Excellent. 

Cleo. Guess at her years, I prithee. 
Mess. Madam, 

She was a widow, — 
Cleo. Widow ! Charmian, hark. 30 

Mess. And I do think she's thirty. 
Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind? is't long 

or round? 
Mess. Round even to faultiness. 
Cleo. For the most part, too, they are foolish 
that are so. 

Her hair, what colour? 35 

Mess. Brown, madam; and her forehead 

As low as she would wish it. 
Cleo. There's gold for thee. 

Thou must not take my former sharpness ill. 

I will employ thee back again; I find thee 

Most fit for business. Go make thee ready; 40 

Our letters are prepar'd. \^Exit Messenger.^ 
Char. A proper man. 

Cleo. Indeed, he is so; I repent me much 

That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by 
him. 

This creature's no such thing. 

Char. Nothing, madam. 

Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and 

should know. 45 

Char. Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend, 

And serving you so long! 
Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, 
good Charmian; 

But 'tis no matter ; thou shalt bring him to me 

Where I wilj write. All may be well enough. 
Char. I warrant you, madam. Exeunt. 51 



[Scene IV. — Athens. A room in Antony's 
house.] 

Enter Antony and Octavia. 

Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, — 

That were excusable, that, and thousands 

more 
Of semblable import, — but he hath wag'd 
New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, 

and read it 
To public ear; 5 



724, 



ACT III. SC. IV.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



27 



Spoke scantly of me; when perforce he could 

not 
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly 
He vented them; most narrow measure lent 



When the best hint was given him, he not 

took't, 
Or did it from his teeth. 
Oct. O my good lord, lo 

Believe not all; or, if you must believe, 
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady. 
If this division chance, ne'er stood between, 
Praying for both parts; 

The good gods will mock me presently, 15 
When I shall pray, 'O, bless my lord and 

husband !' 
Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
'O, bless my brother !' Husband win, win 

brother. 
Prays, and destroys the prayer; no midway 
'Twixt these extremes at all. 
Ant. Gentle Octavia, 20 

Let your best love draw to that point, which 

seeks 
Best to preserve it; if I lose mine honour, 
I lose myself; better I were not yours 
Than yours so branchless. But, as you re- 
quested. 
Yourself shall go between 's; the mean time, 

lady, 25 

I'll raise the preparation of a war 
Shall stain your brother. Make your soonest 

haste ; 
So your desires are yours. 
Oct. Thanks to my lord. 

The Jove of power make me, most weak, most 

weak. 
Your reconciler! Wars *twixt you twain 

would be 30 

As if the world should cleave, and that slain 

men 
Should solder up the rift. 
Ant. When it appears to you where this be- 
gins. 
Turn your displeasure that way; for our 

faults, 
Can never be so equal, that your love 35 

Can equally move with them. Provide your 

going; 
Choose your own company, and command what 

cost 
Your heart has mind to. Exeunt. 

725 



[Scene V. — The same. Another room.'] 
Enter Enoharhus and Eros, [^meeting']. 

Eno. How now, friend Eros ! 

Eros. There's strange news come, sir. 

Eno. What, man? 

Eros. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon 
Pompey. 5 

Eno. This is old. What is the success } 

Eros. Caesar, having made use of him in the 
wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him 
rivality; would not let him partake in the 
glory of the action; and not resting here, ac- 
cuses him of letters he had formerly wrote to 
Pompey; upon his own appeal, seizes him; so 
the poor third is up, till death enlarge his con- 
fine. 13 

Eno. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no 

more; 

And throw between them all the food thou 

hast, 15 

They'll grind [the one] the other. Where's 

Antony ? 

Eros. He's walking in the garden — thus ; and 
spurns 
The rush that lies before him; cries, 'Fool 

Lepidus !' 
And threats the throat of that his officer 
That murder'd Pompey. 

Eno. Our great navy's rigg'd. 20 

Eros. For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius; 
My lord desires you presently ; my news 
I might have told hereafter. 

Eno. 'Twill be naught; 

But let it be. Bring me to Antony. 

Eros. Come, sir. Exeunt. 



[Scene VI. — Rome. Ccesar's house.'] 
Enter Ccesar, Agrippa, and Maecenas. 

Cces. Contemning Rome, he has done all this, 

and more. 
In Alexandria: here's the manner oft: 
I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver 'd, 
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
Were publicly enthron'd: at the feet sat 5 
Caesarion, whom they call my father's son. 
And all the unlawful issue that their lust 
Since then hath made between them. Unto 

her 
He gave the stablishment of Egypt; made her 



28 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act III. SC. VI. 



Of lower Sj'ria^ Cyprus, Lydia^ lo 

Absolute queen. 
Mcec. This in the public eye? 

Cces. r the common show-place, where they 
exercise. 

His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of 
kings ; 

Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia, 

He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd 

Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia; she i6 

In the habiliments of the goddess Isis 

That day aj^pear'd; and oft before gave audi- 
ence. 

As 'tis reported, so. 
Mcec. Let Rome be thus 

Inform'd. 
Agr. Who, queasy with his insolence 20 

iVlready, will their good thoughts call from 
him. 
Cces. The people know it; and have now re- 
ceiv'd 

His accusations. 
Agr. Who does he accuse? 

Cces. Caesar ; and that, having in Sicily 

Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated 
him 25 

His part o' the isle; then does he say, he lent 
me 

Some shipping unrestor'd ; lastly, he frets 

That Lepidus of the triumvirate 

Should be depos'd; and, being, that we detain 

All his revenue. 
Agr. Sir, this should be answer'd. 30 

Cces. 'Tis done already, and the messenger gone. 

I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel ; 

That he his high authority abus'd. 

And did deserve his change; for what I have 
conquer'd, 

I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, 35 

And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I 

Demand the like. 
Mcec. He'll never yield to that. 

Cces. Nor must not then be yielded to in this. 

Enter Octavia with her train. 

Oct. Hail, Caesar, and my lord! hail, most dear 

Caesar ! 
Cces. That ever I should call thee castaway ! 40 
Oct. You have not call'd me so, nor have you 

cause. 
Cces. Why have you stol'n upon us thus? You 

come not 



Like Caesar's sister; the wife of Antony 
Should have an army for an usher, and 

- The neighs of horse to tell of her approach 45 
Long ere she did appear ; the trees by the way 
Should have borne men; and expectation 

fainted. 
Longing for what it had not; na}^, the dust 
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, 
Rais'd by your populous troops; but you are 
come 50 

A market-maid to Rome; and have prevented 
The ostentation of our love, which, left un- 

shown. 
Is often left unlov'd. We should have met 

you 
By sea and land ; sujDplying every stage 
With an augmented greeting. 

Oct. Good my lord, 55 

To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it 
On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, 
Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted 
My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd 
His pardon for return. 

Cces. Which soon he granted, 60 

Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. 

Oct. Do not say so, my lord. 

C(ES. I have eyes upon him. 

And his affairs come to me on the wind. 
Where is he now ? 

Oct. My lord, in Athens. 

Cces. No, my most wronged sister; Cleopatra 
Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his 
empire 66 

Up to a whore; who now are levying 
The kings o' the earth for war. He hath as- 
sembled 
Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus, 
Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king 70 

Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas; 
King Malchus of Arabia; King of Pont; 
Herod of Jewry ; Mithridates, king 
Of Comagene; Polemon and Amyntas, 
Tlie kings of Mede and Lycaonia, 75 

With a more larger list of sceptres. 

Oct. Ay me, most wretched, 

That have my heart parted betwixt two 

friends 
That do afflict each other! 

Cces. Welcome hither; 

Your letters did withhold our breaking forth; 

Till we perceiv'd, both how you were wrong 

led, 80 



726 



ACT III. SC. VI.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



29 



And we in negligent danger. Cheer your 
heart: 

Be you not troubled with the time, which 
drives 

O'er your content these strong necessities; 

But let determin'd things to destiny 

Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to 
Rome ; 85 

Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd 

Beyond the mark of thought; and the high 
gods. 

To do you justice, make them ministers 

Of us and those that love you. Best of com- 
fort, 

And ever welcome to us. 
Agr. Welcome, lady. 90 

Mcec. Welcome, dear madam. 

Each heart in Rome does love and pity you: 

Only the adulterous Antony, most large 

In his abominations, turns you off; 

And gives his potent regiment to a trull, 95 

That noises it against us. 
Oct. Is it so, sir? 

Cces. Most certain. Sister, welcome: pray jow, 

Be ever known to patience ; my dear'st sister ! 

Exeunt. 



[Scene VIL — Near Actium. Antony's camp.] 

Enter Cleopatra and Enoharhus. 

Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 
Eno. But why, why, why.? 

Cleo. Thou hast forspoke my being in these 
wars, 
And say'st it is not fit. 
Eno. Well, is it, is it.? 

Cleo. If not, denounc'd against us, why should 
not we 5 

Be there in person? 
Eno. [Aside] Well, I could reply: 

If we should serve with horse and mares to- 
gether. 
The horse were merely lost; the mares would 

bear 
A soldier and his horse. 
Cleo. What is't you say ? 10 

Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony; 
Take from his heart, take from his brain, 

from's time, 
What should not then be spar'd. He is al- 
ready 



Traduc'd for levity; and 'tis said in Rome 

That Photinus an eunuch and your maids 15 

Manage this war. 
Cleo. Sink Rome, and their tongues rot 

That speak against us ! A charge we bear i' 
the war. 

And, as the president of my kingdom, will 

Appear there for a man. Speak not against 
it; 

I will not stay behind. 
Eno. Nay, I have done. 20 

Here comes the emperor. 

Enter Antony and Canidius. 

Ant. Is it not strange, Canidius, 

That from Tarentum and Brundusium 
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea. 
And take in Toryne? You have heard on't, 
sweet ? 

Cleo. Celerity is never more admir'd 25 

Than by the negligent. 

Ant. A good rebuke. 

Which might have well becora'd the best of 

men. 
To taunt at slackness. Canidius, we 
Will fight with him by sea. 

Cleo. By sea ! what else ? 

Can. Why will my lord do so? 

Ant. For that he dares us to't. 30 

Eno. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight. 

Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, 
Where Caesar fought with Pompey; but these 

offers. 
Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes 

off; 
And so should you. 

Eno. Your ships are not well mann'd ; 

Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people 36 
Ingross'd by swift impress ; in Caesar's fleet 
Are those that often have 'gainst Pompey 

fought: 
Their ships are yare; yours, heavy; no dis- 
grace 
Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, 40 

Being prepar'd for land. 

Ant. By sea, by sea. 

Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away 
The absolute soldiership you have by land ; 
Distract your army, which doth most consist 
Of war-mark'd footmen ; leave unexecuted 45 
Your own renowned knowledge ; quite forego 
The way which promises assurance; and 



727 



30 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act III. SC. VII. 



Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, 

From firm security. 
^nt. I'll fight at sea. 

Cleo. I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. 50 
A7it. Our overplus of shipping will we burn; 

And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the head 
of Actium 

Beat the approaching Caesar. But if we fail. 

We then can do't at land. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Thy business? 
Mess. The news is true, my lord ; he is descried ; 
Caesar has taken Toryne. 56 

Ant. Can he be there in person.^ 'tis impossible; 
Strange that his power should be. Canidius, 
Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, 
And our twelve thousand horse. We'll to our 
ship ; 60 

Away, my Thetis ! 

Enter a Soldier. 

How now, worthy soldier ! 
Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea; 
Trust not to rotten planks. Do you mis- 
doubt 
This sword and these my wounds? Let the 

Egyptians 

And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we 65 

Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, 

And fighting foot to foot. 

Ant. Well, well; away! 

Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Enoharhus. 

Sold. By Hercules, I think I am i' the right. 
Can. Soldier, thou art; but his whole action 
grows 

Not in the power on't. So our leader's led, 70 

And we are women's men. 
Sold. You keep by land 

The legions and the horse whole, do you not? 
[Caw.] Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, 

Publicola, and Caelius, are for sea; 

But we keep whole by land. This speed of 
Caesar's 75 

Carries beyond belief. 
Sold. While he was yet in Rome, 

His power went out in such distractions as 

Bcguil'd all spies. 
Can. Who's his lieutenant, hear you? 

Sold. They say, one Taurus. 
Can. Well I know the man. 



80 
and 



Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. The emperor calls Canidius. 
Can. With news the time's with labour 
throes forth. 
Each minute, some. Exeunt, 

[Scene VIII. — A plain near Actium.'] 

Enter Ccesar, [and Taurus,'] with his army, 
marching. 

Cces. Taurus ! 

Taur. My lord ? 

C(Es. Strike not by land; keep whole; provoke 
not battle. 
Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed 
The prescript of this scroll ; our fortune lies 5 
Upon this jump. Exeunt, 



[Scene IX. — Another part of the plain.] 

Enter Antony and Enoharhus. 

Ant. Set we our squadrons on yond side o' the 
hill. 
In eye of Caesar's battle; from which place 
We may the number of the ships behold, 
And so proceed accordingly. Exeunt, 



[Scene X. — Another part of the plain.] 



Canidius marcheth with his land 



army one way 



728 



over the stage; and Taurus, the lieutenant of 
Ccesar, the other way. After their going in, 
is heard the noise of a sea-fight. 

Alarum. Enter Enoharhus. 

Eno. Naught, naught, all naught ! I can behold 
no longer: 
The Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral. 
With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder: 
To see't mine eyes are blasted. 

Enter Scarus. 

Scar. Gods and goddesses. 

All the whole synod of them ! 
Eno. What's thy passion ? 5 

Scar. The greater cantle of the world is lost 

With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away 

Kingdoms and provinces, 
Eno. How appears the fight? 



ACT III. SC. X,] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



31 



Scar. On our side like the token'd pestilence, 
Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of 
Egypt,— ^ 10 

Whom leprosy o'ertake ! — i' the midst o' the 

fight. 
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd^, 
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, 
The breese upon her, like a cow in June, 
Hoists sails and flies. 15 

Eno. That I beheld; 

Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could 

not 
Endure a further view. 

Scar. She once being loof 'd, 

The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, 
Claps on his sea-wing, and, like a doting mal- 
lard, 20 
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her; 
I never saw an action of such shame; 
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before 
Did violate so itself. 

Eno. Alack, alack ! 

Enter Can'idius. 

Can. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath, rs 

And sinks most lamentably. Had our gen- 
eral 

Been what he knew himself, it had gone well ; 

O, he has given example for our flight. 

Most grossly, b}'' his own ! 
Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts? 

Why, then, good night indeed. 30 

Can. Toward Peloponnesus are they fled. 
Scar. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend 

What further comes. 
Can. To Caesar will I render 

My legions and my horse: six kings already 

Show me the way of yielding. 
Eno. I'll yet follow 35 

The wounded chance of Antony, though my 
reason 

Sits in the wind against me. [Exeunt.^ 



[Scene XL — Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace.'] 
Enter Antony with Attendants. 

Ant. Hark! the land bids me tread no more 

upon't; 
It is asham'd to bear me ! Friends, come 

hither : 
I am so lated in the world, that I 



Have lost my way for ever ; I have a ship 
Laden with gold; take that, divide it; fly, 5 
And make your peace with Caesar. 
All. Fly! not we. 

Ant. I have fled myself; and have instructed 
cowards 
To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be 

gone; 
I have myself resolv'd upon a course 
Which has no need of you ; be gone ! 10 

My treasure's in the harbour, take it. O, 
I follow'd that I blush to look upon. 
My very hairs do mutiny; for the white 
Reprove the brown for rashness, and they 

them 

For fear and doting. Friends, be gone; you 

shall 15 

Have letters from me to some friends that will 

Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not 

sad. 
Nor make replies of loathness; take the hint 
Which my despair proclaims; let that be left 
Which leaves itself; to the sea-side straight- 
way ; 20 
I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
Leave me, I pray, a little ; pray you now. 
Nay, do so; for, indeed, I have lost command. 
Therefore I pray you — I'll see you by and by. 

Sits down. 

Enter Cleopatra led by Charmian and [Iras]; 
Eros [following]. 

Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him, comfort him. 

Iras. Do, most dear queen. 26 

Char. Do ! why, what else ? 

Cleo. Let me sit down. O Juno ! 

Ant. No, no, no, no, no. 

Eros. See you here, sir? 30 

Ant. O fie, fie, fie! 

Char. Madam! 

Iras. Madam, O good empress ! 

Eros. Sir, sir, — 

Ant. Yes, my lord, yes; he at Philippi kept 35 
His sword e'en like a dancer ; while I struck 
The lean and wrinkled Cassius ; and 'twas I 
That the mad Brutus ended: he alone 
Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had 
In the brave squares of war. Yet now — No 
matter. 40 

Cleo. Ah, stand by. 

Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen. 

Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him; 



729 



32 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act III. SC. XI. 



He is unqiialitied with very shame. 
Cleo. Well then, sustain me. O ! 45 

Eros. Most noble sir, arise; the queen ap- 
proaches. 

Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her, 
but 

Your comfort makes the rescue. 
Ant. I have offended reputation, 

A most unnoble swerving. 
Eros. Sir, the queen. 50 

Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt .^ See, 

How I convey my shame out of thine eyes 

By looking back what I have left behind 

'Stroy'd in dishonour. 
Cleo. O my lord, my lord, 

Forgive my fearful sails ! I little thought 55 

You would have foUow'd. 
Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too well 

My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings. 

And thou shouldst tow me after. O'er my 
spirit 

Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that 

Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods 60 

Command me. 
Cleo. O, my pardon ! 

Ant. Now I must 

To the young man send humble treaties, dodge 

And palter in the shifts of lowness; who 

With half the bulk o' the world play'd as I 
pleased. 

Making and marring fortunes. You did know 

How much you were my conqueror ; and that 66 

My sword, made weak by my affection, would 

Obey it on all cause. 
Cleo. Pardon, pardon! 

Ant. Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates 

All that is won and lost. Give me a kiss ; 70 

Even this repays me. We sent our school- 
master ; 

Is a' come back? Love, I am full of lead. 

Some wine, within there, and our viands ! 
Fortune knows 

We scorn her most when most she offers blows. 

Eaieunt. 



[Scene XII. — Egypt. Ccesar's camp.'] 

Enter Ccesar, Dolahella, [Thy reus], with others. 

Cces. Let him appear that's come from Antony. 
Know you him? 



T>ol. Caesar, 'ti« his schoolmaster: 

An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither 
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing. 
Which had superfluous kings for messengers 5 
Not many moons gone by. 

Enter [Euphronius], ambassador from Antony. 

CcBs. Approach, and speak. 

[Euph.] Such as I am, I come from Antony. 
I was of late as petty to his ends 
As is the morn-dew on the myrtle-leaf 
To his grand sea. 

CcBS. Be't so; declare thine office. 10 

[Euph.] Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, 
and 
Requires to live in Egypt; which not granted. 
He lessens his requests ; and to thee sues 
To let him breathe between the heavens and 

earth, 
A private man in Athens; this for him. 15 

Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness. 
Submits her to thy might, and of thee craves 
The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs. 
Now hazarded to thy grace. 

Cobs. For Antony, 

I have no ears to his request. The queen 20 
Of audience nor desire shall fail, so she 
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend. 
Or take his life there. This if she perform. 
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. 

[Euph.] Fortune pursue thee ! 

Cces. Bring him through the bands. 25 

[Exit Euphronius.] 

[To Thy reus] To try thy eloquence, now 'tis 
time; despatch; 
From Antony win Cleopatra. Promise, 
And in our name, what she requires; add 

more. 

From thine invention, offers. Women are not 

In their best fortunes strong; but want will 

perjure 30 

The ne'er-touch'd vestal. Try thy cunning, 

Thyreus ; 
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we 
Will answer as a law. 

Thyr. Caesar, I go. 

Cces. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, 34 
And what thou think'st his very action speaks 
In every power that moves. 

Thyr. Caesar, I shall. Exeunt. 



730 



ACT III. SC. XIII.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



33 



[Scene XIII. — Alexandria. Cleopatra's 
palace.^ 

Enter Cleopatra, Enoharhus, Charmian, arid 
Iras. 

Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus ? 

Eno. Think, and die. 

Cleo. Is Antony or we in fault for this.^ 

Eno. Antony only, that would make his will 
Lord of his reason. What though you fled 
From that great face of war, whose several 
ranges 5 

Frighted each other ? why should he follow ? 
The itch of his affection should not then 
Have nick'd his captainship ; at such a point. 
When half to half the world oppos'd, he being 
The mered question; 'twas a shame no less lo 
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, 
And leave his navy gazing. 

Cleo. Prithee, peace. 

Enter Antony with [Eiiphronius^, the Am- 
bassador. 

Ant. Is that his answer? 

Euph. Ay, my lord. 

Ant. The queen shall then have courtesy, so she 

Will yield us up. 
Euph. He says so. 

Ant. Let her know't. i6 

To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head, 
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim 
With principalities. 
Cleo. That head, my lord ? 

Ant. To him again; tell him he wears the rose 20 
Of youth upon him; from which the world 

should note 
Something particular; his coin, ships, legions. 
May be a coward's; whose ministers would 

prevail 
Under the service of a child as soon 
As i' the command of Caesar. I dare him 
therefore 25 

To lay his gay comparisons apart. 
And answer me declin'd, sword against sword, 
Ourselves alone. I'll write it; follow me. 

[Exeunt Antony and Euphronius.'] 

Eno. [Aside] Yes, like enough, high-battled 

Caesar will 

Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to the 

show, 30 

Against a sworder ! I see men's judgments 

are 



A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward 
Do draw the inward quality after them. 
To suffer all alike. That he should dream. 
Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will 35 
Answer his emptiness ! Caesar, thou hast sub- 
dued 
His judgment too. 

Enter an Attendant. 

Att. A messenger from Caesar. 

Cleo. What, no more ceremony? See, my 
women ! 
Against the blown rose may they stop their 

nose 
That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. 40 

[Exit Attendant.] 
Eno. [Aside] Mine honesty and I begin to 
square. 
The loyalty well held to fools does make 
Our faith mere folly. Yet he that can en- 
dure 
To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord 
Does conquer him that did his master conquer, 
And earns a place i' the story. 

Enter Thyreus. 

Cleo. Caesar's will? 46 

Thyr. Hear it apart. 

Cleo. None but friends ; say boldly. 

Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 
Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has. 

Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our mas- 
ter so 

Will leap to be his friend ; for us, you know 

Whose he is we are, and that is, Caesar's. 
Thyr. So. 

Thus then, thou most renown'd; Caesar en- 
treats. 

Not to consider in what case thou stand'st. 

Further than he is Caesar. 
Cleo. Go on ; right royal. 55 

Thyr. He knows that you embrace not Antony 

As you did love, but as you fear'd him. 
Cleo. O ! • 

Thyr. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he 

Does pity, as constrained blemishes. 

Not as deserv'd. 
Cleo. He is a god, and knows 60 

What is most right; mine honour was not 
yielded, 

But conquer'd merely. 



731 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act III. SC. XIII. 



Eno. lAside] To be sure of that, 

I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky, 
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for 
Thy dearest quit thee. Exit. 

Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar 65 

What you require of him? for he partly begs 
To be desir'd to give. It much would please 

him. 
That of his fortunes you should make a staff 
To lean upon ; but it would warm his spirits. 
To hear from me you had left Antony, 70 
And put yourself under his shroud. 
The universal landlord. 

Cleo. What's your name? 

Thyr. My name is Thyreus. 

Cleo. Most kind messenger, 

Say to great Caesar this: in deputation 
I kiss his conquering hand; tell him, I am 
prompt 75 

To lay my crown at's feet, and there to kneel ; 
Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear 
The doom of Egypt. 

Thyr. 'Tis your noblest course. 

Wisdom and fortune combating together. 
If that the former dare but what it can, 80 
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to 

lay 
My duty on your hand. 

Cleo. Your Caesar's father oft, 

When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, 
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place. 
As it rain'd kisses. 

Re-enter Antony and Enoharhus. 

Ant. Favours, by Jove that thunders ! 

What art thou, fellow ? 
Thyr. One that but performs 86 

The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 
To have command obey'd. 
Eno. [Aside] You will be whipp'd. 

Ant. Approach, there! Ah, you kite! Now, 
gods and devils ! 
Authority melts from me ; of late, when I cried 
'Ho !' 90 

Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth. 
And cry 'Your will'?* Have you no ears? I 

am 
Antony yet. 

Enter a Servant. 

Take hence this Jack, and whip him. 



Eno. [Aside] 'Tis better playing with a lion's 
whelp 
Than with an old one dying. 
Ant. Moon and stars ! 95 

Whip him. W^ere't twenty of the greatest 

tributaries 
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find 

them 
So saucy with the hand of she here, — what's 

her name. 
Since she was Cleopatra ? Whip him, fel- 
lows. 
Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face, 100 
And whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence. 
Thyr. Mark Antony, — 

Ant. Tug him away; being whipp'd. 

Bring him again. The Jack of Caesar's shall 
Bear us an errand to him. 

Exeunt [Attendants'] with Thyreus. 
You were half blasted ere I knew you ; ha I 105 
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, 
Forborne the getting of a lawful race, 
And by a gem of women, to be abus'd 
By one that looks on feeders ? 
Cleo, Good my lord, — 

Ant. You have been a boggier ever; no 

But when we in our viciousness grow hard — 
O misery on't! — the wise gods seel our 

eyes; 
In our own filth drop our clear j udgments ; 

make us 
Adore our errors ; laugh at's, while we strut 
To our confusion. 
Cleo. O, is't come to this? 115 

Ant. I found you as a morsel cold upon 

Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a frag- 
ment 
Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter 

hours, 
Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have- 
Luxuriously pick'd out; for I am sure 120 

Though you can guess what temperance 

should be. 
You know not what it is. 
Cleo. Wherefore is this? 

Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards 
And say 'God quit you !' be familiar with 
My playfellow, your hand ; this kingly seal 125 
And plighter of high hearts ! O, that I were 
Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar 
The horned herd ! for I have savage cause ; 
And to proclaim it civilly, were like 



732 



ACT III. SC. XIII.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



35 



A halter'd neck which does the hangman thank 
For being yare about him. 

Re-enter Servant with Tliyreus, 

Is he whipp'd? 131 
First Att. Soundly, my lord. 

Ant. Cried he.'' and begg'd a pardon? 

First Att. He did ask favour. 
Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent 
Thou wast not made his daughter; and be 

thou sorry 135 

To follow Ceesar in his triumph, since 
Thou hast been whipp'd for following him. 

Henceforth 
The white hand of a lady fever thee, 
Shake thou to look on't. Get thee back to 

Caesar, 
Tell him thy entertainment ; look, thou say 140 
He makes me angry with him ; for he seems 
Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am. 
Not what he knew I was. He makes me 

angry ; 
And at this time most easy tis to do't. 
When my good stars, that were my former 

guides, 145 

Have empty left their orbs, and shot their 

fires 
Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike 
My speech and what is done, tell him he has 
Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom 
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or tor- 



ture. 



ISO 



As he shall like, to quit me: urge it thou: 

Hence with thy stripes, begone ! 

Ej:it Thyreus. 
Cleo. Have you done yet? 
Ant. Alack, our terrene moon 

Is now eclips'd; and it portends alone 

The fall of Antony ! 
Cleo. I must stay his time. 155 

Ant. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes 

With one that ties his points ? 
Cleo. Not know me yet? 

Ant. Cold-hearted toward me? 
Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so, 

From my cold heart let heaven engender hail, 

And poison it in the source; and the first 
stone 160 

Drop in ray neck; as it determines, so 

Dissolve my life ! The next Caesarion smite ! 

Till by degrees the memory of my womb, 



Together with my brave Egyptians all. 
By the discandying of this pelleted storm, 165 
Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile 
Have buried them for prey ! 
Ant. I am satisfied. 

Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where 
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land 
Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too 170 

Have knit again, and fleet, threatening most 

sea-like. 
Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou 

hear, lady? 
If from the field I shall return once more 
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood. 
I and my sword will earn our chronicle ; 175 
There's hope in't yet. 
Cleo. That's my brave lord ! 

Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd, 
And fight maliciously; for when mine hours 
Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives 180 
Of me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth. 
And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, 
Let's have one other gaudy night. Call to 

me 
All my sad captains; fill our bowls once more; 
Let's mock the midnight bell. 
Cleo. It is my birth-day; 

I had thought to have held it poor ; but, since 

my lord 186 

Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. 
Ant. We will yet do well. 
Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord. 
Ant. Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night 

I'll force 190 

The wine peep through their scars. Come on, 

my queen; 
There's sap in't yet. The next time I do 

fight, 
I'll make death love me; for I will contend 
Even with his pestilent scythe. 

Exeunt \^all hut Enobarhus^. 
Eno. Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be 

furious, 195 

Is to be frighted out of fear; and in that 

mood 
The dove will peck the estridge; and I see 

still, 
A diminution in our captain's brain 
Restores his heart. When valour preys on 



It eats the sword it fights "vvith, I will seek 200 
Some way to leave him, Exit, 



733 



36 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act IV. SC. I. 



[ACT FOURTH 
Scene I. — Before Alexandria. 



Ccesar's camp.^ 
with his 



Enter Ccesar, Agrippa, and Mcecenas, 
Army; Ccesar reading a letter. 



CcBs. He calls me boy; and chides, as he had 
power 
To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger 
He hath whipp'd with rods; dares me to per- 
sonal combat, 
Caesar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know 
I haye manj^ other ways to die; meantime 5 
Laugh at his challenge. 

Mcec. Csesar must think. 

When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted 
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now 
Make boot of his distraction; never anger 
Made good guard for itself. 

Cces. Let our best heads 10 

Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles 
We mean to fight. Within our files there are. 
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late. 
Enough to fetch him in. See it done. 
And feast the army; we have store to do't, 15 
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor An- 
tony ! Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — Alexandria. Cleopatra's palace. ^^ 

Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enoharhus, Charmian, 
Iras, Alexas, with others. 



Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. 
Eno. No? 

Ant. Why should he not? 

Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better 
fortune. 
He is twenty men to one. 
Ant. To-morrow, soldier. 

By sea and land I'll fight; or I will live, 5 
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood 
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight 
well? 
Eno. I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.' 
Ant. Well said; come on. 

Call forth ray household servants; let's to- 
night 
Be bounteous at our meal. I 

734 



Enter three or four Servitors. 



been 



Give me thy hand, 10 
rightly honest ; — so hast 



-and thou. You have 



The gods forbid ! 



Thou hast 

thou ; — 
Thou, — and thou,- 

serv'd me well. 
And kings have been your fellows. 
Cleo. [Aside to Eno.] What means this? 

Eno. [Aside to Cleo.] 'Tis one of those odd 
tricks which sorrow shoots 
Out of the mind. 
Ant. And thou art honest too. 15 

I wish I could be made so many men. 
And all of you clapp'd up together in 
An Antony, that I might do you service 
So good as you have done. 
All. 

Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to- 
night. 20 
Scant not my cups; and make as much of me 
As when mine empire was your fellow too. 
And sufFer'd my command. 
Cleo. [Aside to Eno.] What does he mean? 
Eno. [Aside to Cleo.] To make his followers 

weep. 
Ant. Tend me to-night. 

May be it is the period of your duty. 25 

Haply you shall not see me more ; or if, 
A mangled shadow. Perchance to-morrow 
You'll serve another master. I look on you 
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest 

friends, 
I turn you not away; but, like a master 30 

Married to your good service, stay till death. 
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more. 
And the gods yield you for't ! 
Eno. What mean you, sir. 

To give them this discomfort? Look, they 

weep. 
And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd: for shame, 35 
Transform us not to women. 
Ant. Ho, ho, ho! 

Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus ! 
Grace grow where those drops fall! My 

hearty friends, 
You take me in too dolorous a sense; 
For I spake to you for your comfort; did de- 
sire you 40 
To burn this night with torches. Know, my 

hearts, 
I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you 



ACT IV. SC. II.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



37 



Where rather I'll expect victorious life 
Than death and honour. Let's to supper, 

come, 
And drown consideration. Exeunt. 45 



[Scene III. — The same. Before the palace.'] 
Enter a company of Soldiers. 

1. Sold. Brother, good night; to-morrow is the 

day. 

2. Sold. It will determine one wav. Fare you 

well. 
Heard you of nothing strange about the 
streets ? 

1. Sold. Nothing. What news? 

2. Sold. Belike 'tis but a rumour. Good night 

to you. 5 

1. Sold. Well, sir, good night. 

They meet other Soldiers. 

2. Sold. Soldiers, have careful watch. 

1. Sold. And you. Good night, good night. 

They place themselves in every corner of 

the stage. 

2. Sold. Here we ; and if to-morrow 

Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope 10 
Our landmen will stand up. 

1. Sold. 'Tis a brave army, 
And full of purpose. 

Music of the hautboys as under the stage. 

2. Sold. Peace ! what noise? 

1. Sold. List, list! 

2. Sold. Hark! 

1. Sold. Music i' the air. 

3. Sold. Under the earth. 
Jf.. Sold. It signs well, does it not? 

3. Sold. No. 

1. Sold. Peace, I say ! 
What should this mean? 15 

2. Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony 

lov'd. 
Now leaves him. 

1. Sold. Walk; let's see if other watchmen 
Do hear what we do. 

[They advance to another post.] 

2. Sold. How now, masters ! 
All. Speaking together. How now ! 

How now ! do you hear this ? 
1. Sold. Ay; is't not strange? 20 

3. Sold. Do you hear, masters? do you hear? 



1. Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have 
quarter ; 
Let's see how it will give off. 
All. Content. 'Tis strange. Exeunt. 

[Scene IV. — The same. A room in the pal- 
ace.] 

Enter Antony and Cleopatra, [Charmian,] with 
others. 

Ant. Eros ! mine armour, Eros ! 
Cleo. Sleep a little. 

Ant. No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, 
Eros! 

Enter Eros [with armoiw]. 

Come, good fellow, put mine iron on. 

If fortune be not ours to-day, it is 

Because we brave her: come. 
Cleo. Nay, I'll help too. 5 

What's this for? 
Ant. Ah, let be, let be! thou art 

The armourer of my heart. False, false; this, 
this. 
Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help. Thus it must be. 
Ant. Well, well. 

We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good 
fellow ? 

Go put on thy defences. 
Eros. Briefly, sir. 10 

Cleo. Is not this buckled well? 
Ant. Rarely, rarely: 

He that unbuckles this, till we do please 

To dafF't for our repose, shall hear a storm. 

Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen's a squire 

More tight at this than thou. Despatch. O 
love, IS 

That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and 
knew'st 

The royal occupation! thou shouldst see 

A workman in't. 

Enter an armed Soldier. 

Good morrow to thee; welcome. 
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike 

charge. 
To business that we love we rise betime, 20 
And go to 't with delight. 
Sold. A thousand, sir. 



735 



38 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



Early though 't be, have on their riveted trim, 
And at the port expect you. 

Shout. Trumpets flourish. 

Enter Captains and Soldiers, 

\^Capt.'] The morn is fair. Good morrow, gen- 
eral. 
All. Good morrow, general. 

Ant. 'Tis well blown, lads: 25 

This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
That means to be of note, begins betimes. 
So, so; come, give me that. This way; well 

said. 
Fare thee 



well, dame, 
me. 
This is a soldier's kiss. 



whate'er becomes of 



Rebukeable 30 

\_Kisses her.'] 

And worthy shameful check it were, to stand 

On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee 

Now, like a man of steel. You that will 

fight. 
Follow me close; I'll bring you to't. Adieu. 
Exeunt [Antony, Eros, Captains, and 

Soldiers.] 
Char. Please you, retire to your chamber. 
Cleo. Lead me. 35 

He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar 

might 
Determine this great war in single fight! 
Then, Antony, — but now — Well, on. Exeunt. 



[Scene V. — Alexandria. Antony's camp.] 

Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros; \_a 
Soldier meeting them], 

[Sold.] The gods make this a happy day to 

Antony ! 
Ant. Would thou and those thy scars had once 
prevail'd 
To make me fight at land! 
[Sold.] Hadst thou done so, 

The kings that have revolted, and the soldier 
That has this morning left thee, would have 
still 5 

Followed thy heels. 



Who's 



gone 



this 



mornmg : 



Ant. 

Sold. Who? 

One ever near thee. Call for Enobarbus, 
He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar's camp' 
Say 'I am none of thine/ 



Ant. What say'st thou? 

Sold. Sir, 

He is with Caesar. 

Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 10 

He has not with him. 

Ant. Is he gone? 

Sold. Most certain. 

Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it. 
Detain no jot, I charge thee. Write to him — 
I will subscribe — gentle adieus and greetings. 
Say that I wish he never find more cause 15 
To change a master. O, my fortunes have 
Corrupted honest men! Despatch. — Enobar- 
bus ! Exeunt. 



[Scene VI. — Alexandria 
Flourish 



C Cesar's camp.] 



Enter Coesar, A grip pa, with Enobar- 
bus, and Dolabella. 



Cces. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight: 

Our will is Antony be took alive; 

Make it so known. 
Agr. Caesar, I shall. [Exit.] 

Cces. The time of universal peace is near. 

Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd 
world 5 

Shall bear the olive freely. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess, Antony 

Is come into the field. 

Cces, Go charge Agrippa 

Plant those that have revolted in the van. 
That Antony may seem to spend his fury 10 
Upon himself. Exeunt [all but Enobarbus], 

Eno. Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry on 
Affairs of Antony; there did persuade 
Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, 
And leave his master Antony. For this 
pains IS 

Caesar hath hang'd him. Canidius and the 

rest 
That fell away have entertainment, but 
No honourable trust. I have done ill; 
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely. 
That I will joy no more. 

Enter a Soldier of Coesar's. 

Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 20 

Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
His bounty overplus. The messenger 



736 



ACT IV. SC. VI.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



39 



Came on my guard; and at thy tent is now 
Unloading of his mules. 

Eno. I give it you. 

Sold. Mock not, Enobarbus. 25 

I tell you true. Best you saf'd the bringer 
Out of the host; I must attend mine office, 
Or would have done't myself. Your emperor 
Continues still a Jove. Exit. 

Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth, 30 

And feel I am so most. O Antony, 
Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have 

paid 
]\Iy better service, when my turpitude 
Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows 

my heart. 
If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean 
Shall outstrike thought; but thought will do't, 



I feel. 



36 



I fight against tliee ? No ! I will go seek 

Some ditch wherein to die; the foul'st best 

fits 

My latter part of life. Exit. 



[Scene VII. — Field of battle between the 
camps.^ 

Alarum. Drums and trumpets. Enter Agrippa 
[and others^. 

Agr. Retire, we have engag'd ourselves too far, 
Caesar himself has work, and our oppression 
Exceeds what we expected. Exeunt. 

Alarums. Enter Antony, and Scarus wounded. 

Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought in- 
deed ! 
Had we done so at first, we had droven them 
home 5 

With clouts about their heads. 

[Retreat] far off. 
Ant. Thou bleed'st apace. 

Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T, 

But now 'tis made an H. 
Ant. They do retire. 

Scar. We'll beat 'em into bench-holes; I have 
yet 
Room for six scotches more. 10 

Enter Eros. 

Eros. They are beaten, sir; and our advantage 
serves 
For a fair victory. 



Scar. Let us score their backs, 

And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind. 
'Tis sport to maul a runner. 

Ant. I will reward thee 

Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold 15 
For thy good valour. Come thee on. 

Scar. I'll halt after. Exeunt. 



[Scene VIII. — Under the walls of Alexandria.'] 

Alarum. Enter Antony, in a anarch; Scarus, 
with others. 

Ant. We have beat him to his camp; run one 

before. 
And let the queen know of our gests. To- 
morrow, 
Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the 

blood 
That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all; 
For doughty-handed are you, and have fought 
Not as you serv'd the cause, but as 't had 

been 6 

Each man's like mine; you have shown all 

Hectors. 
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, 
Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful 

tears 
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and 

kiss 10 

The honour'd gashes whole. [To Scarus] 

Give me thy hand; 

Enter Cleopatra, [attended]. 

To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts, 
Make her thanks bless thee. [To Cleo.] O 

thou day o' the world, 
Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and 

all. 
Through proof of harness to my hearty and 

there 15 

Ride on the pants triumphing ! 
Cleo. Lord of lords ! 

O infinite virtue, comest thou smiling from 
The world's great snare uncaught? 
Ant. My nightingale, 

We have beat them to their beds. What, girl ! 

though grey 
Do something mingle with our younger brown, 

yet ha' we 20 

A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can 
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man ; 



737 



40 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act IV. SC. VIII. 



Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand. 
Kiss it, my warrior: he hath fought to-day 
As if a god, in hate of mankind, had 25 

Destroy'd in such a shape. 

Cleo. I'll give thee, friend, 

An armour all of gold; it was a king's. 

Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled 
Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand. 
Through Alexandria make a jolly march; 30 
Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe 

them; 
Had our great palace the capacity 
To camp this host, we all would sup together, 
And drink carouses to the next day's fate. 
Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters, 35 
With brazen din blast you the city's ear; 
Make mingle with our rattling tabourines; 
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds 

together, 
Applauding our approach. Exeunt. 39 



[Scene IX. — Ccesar's camp.] 

Enter a Sentry and his company; Enoharhus 
follows. 

[i. Sent.'] If we be not reliev'd within this hour. 

We must return to the court of guard: the 
night 

Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle 

By the second hour i' the morn. 
[2. Sent.] This last day was 

A shrewd one to 's. 
Eno. O, bear me witness, night, — 5 

S. Sent, What man is this ? 

2. Sent. Stand close, and list him. 
Eno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, 

When men revolted shall upon record 
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did 
Before thy face repent ! 
1. Sent. Enobarbus! 

3. Sent. Peace! 10 
Hark further. 

Eno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, 
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon 

me. 
That life, a very rebel to my will. 
May hang no longer on me; throw my heart 15 
Against the flint and hardness of my fault; 
Which, being dried with grief, will break to 
powder, 



1. 



1. 



And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, 
Nobler than my revolt is infamous. 
Forgive me in thine own particular; 20 

But let the world rank me in register 
A master-leaver and a fugitive. 
O Antony! O Antony! [Dies.] 

Sent. Let's speak 

To him. 24 

Sent. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks 
May concern Caesar. 

Sent. Let's do so. But he sleeps. 

Sent. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as 

his 
Was never yet for sleep. 
Sent. Go we to him. 

Sent. Awake, sir, awake! Speak to us. 



Sent. 



H 



ear you, sir 



Sent. The hand of death hath raught him. 

Hark! the drums Drums afar off. 30 

Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear 

him 
To the court of guard; he is of note; our hour 
Is fully out. 
Sent. Come on, then; 
He may recover yet. Exeunt \with the body.] 



[Scene X. — Between the two camps.] 
Enter Antony and Scarus, with their Army. 

Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea; 
We please them not by land. 

Scar. For both, my lord. 

Ant. I would they'd fight i' the fire or i' the 
air; 
We'd fight there too. But this it is; our foot 
Upon the hills adjoining to the city 5 

Shall stay with us ; order for sea is given ; 
They have put forth the haven; [further on,] 
Where their appointment we may best dis- 
cover. 



And look on their endeavour. 



Exeunt. 9 



[Scene XI. — Another part of the same."] 

Enter Ccesar, and his Army. 

Cces. But being charg'd, we will be still by land. 
Which, as I take 't,.we shall; for his best force 
Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales. 
And hold our best advantage. Exeunt. 



738 



ACT IV. SC. 



XII.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



41 



[Scene XII. — Another part of the same.^ 

Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight. Enter An- 
tony and Scarus. 

Ant. Yet they are not join'd: where yond pine 
does standi 
I shall discover all. I'll bring thee word 
Straight, how 'tis like to go. Exit. 

Scar. Swallows have built 

i In Cleopatra's sails their nests; the augurers 
Say they know not, they cannot tell; look 
grimly, 5 

And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony 
Is valiant, and dejected; and, by starts. 
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear. 
Of what he has, and has not. 

Re-enter Antony. 

Ant. All is lost; 

This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me. 10 

My fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder 
They cast their caps up and carouse together 
Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore ! 

'tis thou 
Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart 
Makes only wars on thee. Bid them ail fly; 15 
For when I am reveng'd upon my charm, 
I have done all. Bid them all fly; begone. 

[Exit Scarus.] 
O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more. 
Fortune and Antony part here; even here 
Do we shake hands. All come to this.^ The 

hearts 20 

That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave 
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets 
On blossoming Caesar ; and this pine is bark'd, 
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am: 
O this false soul of Egypt! this grave 

charm, — 25 

Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd 

them home; 
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, — 
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, 
Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss. 
What, Eros, Eros ! 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Ah, thou spell ! Avaunt ! 30 
7Zeo. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love? 
4nt. Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving, 
And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take 
thee, 



And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians. 
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot 35 
Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown 
For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let 
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up 
With her prepared nails. 

Exit Cleopatra. 
'Tis well thou'rt gone. 
If it be well to live; but better 'twere 40 

Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death 
Might have prevented many. Eros, ho ! 
The shirt of Nessus is upon me. Teach me, 
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage! 
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' the 
moon ; 45 

And with those hands, that grasp'd the heav- 
iest club. 
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall 

die; 
To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, 

and I fall 
Under this plot; she dies for't. Eros, ho! 

Exit. 



[Scene XIII. — Alexandria. Cleopatra's 
palace.] 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian. 

Cleo. Help me, my women ! O, he is more mad 

Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of 
Thessaly 

Was never so emboss'd. 
Char. To the monument! 

There lock yourself, and send him word you 
are dead. 

The soul and body rive not more in parting 5 

Than greatness going off. 
Cleo. To the monument! 

Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; 

Say, that the last I spoke was 'Antony,' 

And word it, prithee, piteously; hence, Mar- 
dian, 

And bring me how he takes my death. To 
the monument! Exeunt. 10 



[Scene XIV. — The same. Another room.] 

Enter Antony and Eros. 

Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me? 

Eros. Ay, noble lord. 



739 



42 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act IV. SC. XIV. 



Ant. Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish; 
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion^ 
A tower'd citadel^ a pendent rock, 
A forked mountain, or blue promontory 5 
With trees upon't, that nod unto the world, 
And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen 

these signs? 
They are black vesper's pageants. 
Eros. Ay, my lord. 

Ant. That which is now a horse, even with a 

thought 
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct, 10 
As water is in water. 
Eros. It does, my lord. 

Ant. My good knave Eros, now thy captain is 
Even such a body. Here I am Antony; 
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. 
I made these wars for Egypt; and the 

queen, — 15 

Whose heart I thought I had, for she had 

mine ; 
Which whilst it was mine had annex'd unto't 
A million moe, now lost, — she, Eros, has 
Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd my 

glory 
Unto an enemy's triumph. 20 

Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us 
Ourselves to end ourselves. 

Enter Mardian. 

O, thy vile lady ! 

She has robb'd me of my sword. 

Mar. No, Antony; 

My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes 

mingled 24 

With thine entirely. 

Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch; peace! 

She hath betray'd me and shall die the death. 

Mar. Death of one person can be paid but once, 

And that she has discharg'd: what thou 

wouldst do 
Is done unto thy hand; the last she spake 
Was 'Antony ! most noble Antony !' 30 



Then in the midst a tearing groan did break 
The name of Antony; it was divided 
Between her heart and lips. She render'd 

life, 
Thy name so buried in her. 
'Ant. Dead, then? 

Mar. Dead. 

Ant, Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done, 

740 



And we must sleep, [To Mar.'] That thou 

depart'st hence safe, 36 

Does pay thy labour richly; go. 

Exit Mardian. 
Off, pluck off! 
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep 
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my 

sides ! 
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent, 40 
Crack thy frail case ! Apace, Eros, apace. 
No more a soldier; bruised pieces, go; 
You have been nobly borne. From me awhile. 

Exit Eros. 
I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for 

now 45 

All length is torture; since the torch is out. 
Lie down, and stray no farther. Now all 

labour 
Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles 
Itself with strength; seal, then, and all is 

done. 
Eros! — I come, my queen: — Eros! — Stay for 

me ! so 

Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand 

in hand. 
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts 

gaze. 
Dido and her ^Eneas shall want troops, 
And all the haunt be ours. Come, Eros, Eros ! 

Re-enter Eros. 

Eros. What would my lord? 
Ant. Since Cleopatra died, 55 

I have liv'd in such dishonour, that the gods 
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword 
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Nep- 
tune's back 
With ships made cities, condemn myself to 

lack 
The courage of a woman ; less noble mind 60 
Than she which by her death our Caesar tells 
'I am conrqueror of myself.' Thou art sworn, 

Eros, 
That, when the exigent should come, which 

now 
Is come indeed, when I should see behind me 
The inevitable prosecution of 65 

Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, 
Thou then wouldst kill me; do't; the time is 
come. 



ACT IV. SC. XIV.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



43 



The gods withhold me ! 



Thou strikest not me, 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st 
Put colour in thy cheek. 
Eros. 

Shall I do that M'hich all the Parthian darts, 70 
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not? 
Ant. Eros, 

Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and 

see 
Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending 

down 
His corrigible neck, his face subdued 
To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd 
seat 75 

Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, 

branded 
His baseness that ensu'd? 
Eros. I would not see't. 

Ant. Come, then; for with a wound I must be 
cur'd. 
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast 

worn 
Most useful for thy country. 
Eros. O, sir, pardon me ! 80 

Ant. When I did make thee free, sworest thou 
not then 
To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once; 
Or thy precedent services are all 
But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. 
Eros. Turn from me, then, that noble counte- 
nance. 85 
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. 
Ant. Lo thee! [Turning from him.'] 
Eros. My sword is drawn. 
Ant. Then let it do at once 

The thing why thou hast drawn it. 
Eros. My dear master, 

^ly captain, and my emperor, let me say, 90 
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. 
Ant. 'Tis said, man; and farewell. 
Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike 

now? 
Ant. Now, Eros. 

Eros. Why, there then ! thus I do escape the 
sorrow 
Of Antony's death. Kills himself. 

Ant. Thrice-nobler than myself! 95 

Thou tcachest me, O valiant Eros, what 
I should, and thou couldst not. My queen 

and Eros 
Have by their brave instruction got upon me 
A nobleness in record; but I will be 
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't 100 

741 



As to a lover's bed. Come, then; and, Eros, 
Thy master dies thy scholar; to do thus 

[Falling on his sword.'] 
I learn'd of thee. Hoav ! not dead? not dead? 
The guard, ho ! O, despatch me ! 

Enter [Dercetas and] Guard. 

1. Guard. What's the noise? 
Ant. I have done my work ill, friends; O, make 

an end 103 

Of w^hat I have begun. 

2. Guard. The star is fall'n. 
1. Guard. And time is at his period. 
All. Alas, and woe! 
Ant. Let him that loves me strike me dead. 

1. Guard. Not I. 

2. Guard. Nor I. 

3. Guard. Nor any one. Exeunt Guard, no 
Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers 

%• 

This sword but shown to Caesar, with this 

tidings. 
Shall enter me with him. 

Enter Diomedes. 

Dio. Where's Antony? 
Der. There, Diomed, there. 

Dio. Lives he? 

Wilt thou not answer, man? Exit Dercetas. 
Ant. Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy 
sword, and give me n6 

Sufficing strokes for death. 
Dio. Most absolute lord. 

My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. 
Ant. When did she send thee? 
Dio. Now, my lord. 

Ant. Where is she? 

Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a 
prophesying fear 120 

Of what hath come to pass; for when she 

saw — 
Which never shall be found — you did suspect 
She had dispos'd with Caesar, and that your 

rage 
Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she 

was dead; 
But, fearing since how it might work, hatli 
sent 125 

Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come, 
I dread, too late. 



44 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act IV. SC. XIV. 



Ant. Too late, good Diomed; call my guard, I 

prithee. 
Dio. What, ho; the emperor's guard! The 

guard, what, ho ! 
Come, your lord calls ! 130 

Enter four or five of the Guard of Antony. 

Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra 
bides ; 
'Tis the last service that I shall command you. 
1. Guard. Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not 
live to wear 
All your true followers out. 
All. Most heavy day ! 

Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp 
fate 135 

To grace it with your sorrows ; bid that wel- 
come 
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it 
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up. 
I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends, 
And have my thanks for all. 140 

Exeunt, bearing Antony. 



[Scene XV. — The same. A monument.] 

Enter Cleopatra, and her maids aloft, with 
Charmian and Iras. 

Cleo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence. 

Char. Be comforted, dear madam. 

Cleo. No, I will not; 

All strange and terrible events are welcome, 
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow, 
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great 5 
As that which makes it. 

Enter, [below,'] Diomedes. 

How now! is he dead? 
Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead. 
Look out o' the other side your monument; 
His guard have brought him thither. 

Enter, [below,] Antony, borne by the Guard. 

Cleo. O sun, 

Burn the great sphere thou movest in ! darkling 

stand 10 

The varying shore o' the world. O Antony, 

Antony, Antony ! Help, Charmian, help, 

Iras, help; 
Help, friends below ; let's draw him hither. 



Ant. ^ Peace! 

Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, 
But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. 15 

Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony 

Should conquer Antony ; but woe 'tis so ! 
Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only 
I here importune death awhile, until 
Of many thousand kisses the poor last 20 

I lay upon thy lips. 
Cleo. I dare not, dear, — 

Dear my lord, pardon, — I dare not. 
Lest I be taken; not the imperious show 
Of the full-fortun'd Caesar ever shall 
Be brooch'd with me ; if knife, drugs, serpents, 
have 25 

Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe. 
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes 
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour 
Demuring upon me. But come, come^ An- 
tony, — 
Help me, my women, — we must draw thee up ; 
Assist, good friends. 
Ant. O, quick, or I am gone. 31 

Cleo, Here's sport indeed! How heavy weighs 
my lord ! 
Our strength is all gone into heaviness. 
That makes the weight; had I great Juno's 

power. 
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee 
up, 35 

And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a lit- 
tle, — 
Wishers were ever fools, — O, come, come, 
come; 

They heave Antony aloft to Cleopatra. 
And welcome, welcome! die where thou hast 

lived. 
Quicken with kissing ; had my lips that power. 
Thus would I wear them out. 
All. A heavy sight! 40 

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying. 

Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. 

Cleo. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high. 

That the false housewife Fortune break her 

wheel, 
Provok'd by my offence. 
Ant. One word, sweet queen. 45 

Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety 
O! 
Cleo. They do not go together. 
Ant. Gentle, hear me: 

None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. 



742 



ACT IV. SC. XV.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



45 



Cleo. My resolution and my hands I'll trust; 

None about Caesar. 50 

Ant. The miserable change now at my end 

Lament nor sorrow at; but please your 
thoughts 

them with those my former 



feeding 



for- 



In 

tunes 
Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o' the 

world. 
The noblest; and do now not basely die, 55 
Not cowardly put off my helmet to 
My countryman, — a Roman by a Roman 
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now my spirit is 

going; 
I can no more. 

Cleo. Noblest of men, woo't die ? 

Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide 60 

In this dull world, which in thy absence is 
No better than a sty.^ O, see, my women, 

[Antony dies.] 
The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord ! 
O, wither'd is the garland of the war, 
The soldier's pole is fall'n; young boys and 
girls 65 

Are level now with men ; the odds is gone. 
And there is nothing left remarkable 
Beneath the visiting moon. [Faints.] 

Char. ' O, quietness, lady ! 

Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. 

Char. Lady ! 

Iras. Madam ! 

Char. O madam, madam, madam ! 



Iras. Royal Egypt, 

Empress ! 

Char. Peace, peace, Iras ! 

Cleo. No more, but e'en 
manded 
By such poor passion as 
And does the meanest 

me 
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods; 76 
To tell them that this world did equal theirs 
Till they had stol'n our jewel. All's but 

naught ; 
Patience is sottish, and impatience does 
Become a dog that's mad ; then is it sin 80 

To rush into the secret house of death. 



a woman, and com- 

the maid that milks 
chares. It were for 



you 



Ere death dare come to us? How do 

women ? 
What, what ! good cheer ! Why, how now 

Charmian ! 
My noble girls ! Ah, women, women, look, 



Our lamp is spent, it's out! Good sirs, take 
heart. 85 

We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's 
noble. 

Let's do it after the high Roman fashion, 

And make death proud to take us. Come^ 
away ! 

This case of that huge spirit now is cold. 

Ah, women, women ! come ; we have no friend 

But resolution, and the briefest end. 91 

Exeunt; [those above] hearing off 

Antony's body. 



Scene I. 



[ACT FIFTH 
-Alexandria. Ccesar's carnf.'] 



Enter Coesar, Agrippa, Dolabella, [Maecenas, 
Gallus, Proculeius, and others,] his council of 

war. 

Cces. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield; 

Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks 

The pauses that he makes. 
Dol. Caesar, I shall. [Exit.] 

Enter Dercetas, with the sword of Antony. 



Cces. Wherefore is that? and what art thou that 
darest 
Appear thus to us ? 

Der. I am call'd Dercetas; 5 

Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy 
Best to be serv'd : whilst he stood up and spoke. 
He was my master; and I wore my life 
To spend upon his haters. If thou please 
To take me to thee, as I was to him 10 

I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not, 
I yield thee up my life. 

Cces. What is't thou say'st? 

Der. I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. 

Cces. The breaking of so great a thing should 
make 
A greater crack. The round world 15 

wShould have shook lions into civil streets. 
And citizens to their dens: the death of An- 
tony 
Is not a single doom ; in the name lay 
A moiety of the world. 

Der. He is dead, Caesar; 

Not by a public minister of justice, 20 

Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand. 
Which writ his honour in the acts it did, 
74>3 



46 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act v. SC. 1.' 



Hath, with the courage which the heart did 

lend it, 
Splitted the heart. This is his sword; 
I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd 25 
With his most noble blood. 
CcBS. Look you sad, friends } 

The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings 
To wash the eyes of kings. 
[Agr.] And strange it is, 

That nature must compel us to lament 
Our most persisted deeds. 
Mcec. His taints and honours 30 

Wag'd equal with him. 
[Agr.] A rarer spirit never 

Did steer humanity; but you, gods, will give 

us 
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is 

touch 'd. 
Mcec. When such a spacious mirror's set before 

him. 
He needs must see himself. 
Cces. O Antony! 35 

I have follow'd thee to this ; but we do launch 
Diseases in our bodies. I must perforce 
Have shown to thee such a declining day. 
Or look on thine ; we could not stall together 
In the whole world; but yet let me lament, 40 
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts. 
That thou, my brother, my competitor 
In top of all design, my mate in empire. 
Friend and companion in the front of war. 
The arm of mine own body, and the heart 45 
Where mine his thoughts did kindle, — that our 

stars, 
Unreconciliable, should divide 
Our equalness to this. Hear me, good 

friends, — 
But I will tell you at some meeter season ; 

Enter an Egyptian. 

The business of this man looks out of him, 50 

We'll hear him what he says. Whence are 
you.^ 
Egyp. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my 
mistress, 

Confin'd in all she has, her monument. 

Of thy intents desires instruction, 

That she preparedly may frame herself 55 

To the way she's forc'd to. 
CcBS. Bid her have good heart: 

She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, 

How honourable and how kindly we 



Determine for her ; for Caesar cannot live 
To be ungentle. 

Egyp. So the gods preserve thee ! Exit. 

Cces. Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say, 61 
We purpose her no shame; give her what com- 
forts 
The quality of her passion shall require. 
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke 
She do defeat us ; for her life in Rome 65 

Would be eternal in our triumph. Go, 
And with your speediest bring us what she 

says. 
And how you find of her. 

Pro, Caesar, I shall. Exit. 

Cces. Gallus, go you along. [Exit Gallus.] 
Where's Dolabella, 
To second Proculeius? 

All. Dolabella! 70 

Cces. Let him alone, for I remember now 

How he's employ'd: he shall in time be ready. 
Go with me to my tent; where you shall see 
How hardly I was drawn into this war; 
How calm and gentle I proceeded still 75 

In all my writings ; go with me, and see 
What I can show in this. Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — Alexandria. A room in the 
monument.] 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. 

Cleo. My desolation does begin to make 
A better life. 'Tis paltry to be Caesar; 
Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave, 
A minister of her will; and it is great 
To do that thing that ends all other deeds ; 5 
Which shackles accidents and bolts up change ; 
Which sleeps, and never palates more the 

dung. 
The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. 

Enter, [to the gates of the monument,] Procu- 
leius, [Gallus, and Soldiers.] 

Pro. Caesar sends greeting to the Queen of 
Egypt; 
And bids thee study on what fair demands 10 
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. 

Cleo. What's thy name? 

Pro. My name is Proculeius. 

Cleo. Antony 

Did tell me of you, bade me trust you; hui 



744 



ACT V. SC. II.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



47 



I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd. 
That have no use for trusting. If your mas- 
ter 15 
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell 

him, 
That majesty, to keep decorum, must 
No less beg than a kingdom. If he please 
To give me conquer 'd Egypt for my son. 
He gives me so much of mine own, as I 20 

Will kneel to him with thanks. 
Pro. Be of good cheer ; 

You're fall'n into a princely hand, fear noth- 
ing. 
Make your full reference freely to my lord. 
Who is so full of grace, that it flows over 
On all that need. Let me report to him 25 
Your sweet dependency; and you shall find 
A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness. 
Where he for grace is kneel'd to. 
Cleo. Pray you, tell him 

I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him 
The greatness he has got. I hourly learn 30 
A doctrine of obedience; and would gladly 
Look him i' the face. 
Pro. This I'll report, dear lady. 

Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied 
Of him that caus'd it. — 

[^Here Proculeius and two of the Guard 

ascend the monument by a ladder placed 

against a window, and, having descended, 

come behind Cleopatra. Some of the 

Guard unbar and open the gates.'] 

You see how easily she may be surpris'd: 35 

Guard her till Ceesar come. ^Exit.] 

Iras. Royal queen ! 

Char. O Cleopatra ! thou art taken, queen. 
Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands. 

[Drawing a dagger.'] 

Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold: 

[Seizes anl disarms her.] 

Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this 40 

Reliev'd, but not betray'd. 

Cleo. W^hat, of death too, 

That rids our dogs of languish.^ 
Pro. Cleopatra, 

Do not abuse my master's bounty by 
The undoing of yourself; let the world see 
His nobleness well acted, which your death 45 
Will never let come forth. 
Cleo. Where art thou, death ? 

Come hither, come ! come, come, and take a 
queen 



Worth many babes and beggars ! 

Pro. O, temperance, lady! 

Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir; 

If idle talk will once be necessary, 50 

I'll not sleep neither. This mortal house I'll 

ruin. 
Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I 
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court; 
Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye 
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up 55 
And show me to the shouting varletry 
Of censuring Rome.^ Rather a ditch in 

Egypt 
Be gentle grave unto me! rather on Nilus' 

mud 
Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies 
Blow me into abhorring ! rather make 60 

My country's high pyramides my gibbet. 
And hang me up in chains I 
Pro. You do extend 

These thoughts of horror further than you 

shall 
Find cause in Caesar. 

Enter Dolabella. 

Del. Proculeius, 

What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows, 

And he hath sent for thee; for the queen, 66 

I'll take her to my guard. 
Pro. So, Dolabella, 

It shall content me best ; be gentle to her. 

[To Cleo.] To Caesar I will speak what you 
shall please. 

If you'll employ me to him. 
Cleo. Say, I would die. 70 

Exeunt Proculeius [and Soldiers.] 
Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me ? 
Cleo. I cannot tell. 

Dol. Assuredly you know me. 

Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard or 
known. 

You laugh when boys or women tell their 
dreams ; 

Is't not your trick ? 
Dol. I understand not, madam. 75 

Cleo. I dream'd there was an Emperor Antony: 

O, such another sleep, that I might see 

But such another man ! 
Dol. If it might please ye, — 

Cleo. His face was as the heavens; and therein 
stuck 



745 



48 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act v. sc. 



II. 



A sun and moon^ which kept their course, and 



lighted 



80 



The little O, the earth. 

Dol. Most sovereign- creature, — 

Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean, his rear'd arm 
Crested the world; his voice was propertied 
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends; 
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb. 
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, 
There was no winter in 't. An Antony it was 
That grew the more by reaping. His delights 
Were dolphin-like; they show'd his back above 
The element they liv'd in; in his livery 90 
Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and 

islands were 
As jDlates dropp'd from his pocket. 

Dol. Cleopatra ! 

Cleo. Think you there was, or might be, such a 
man 
As this I dream'd of .^ 

Dol. Gentle madam, no. 

Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. 95 
But, if there be, or ever were, one such, 
It's past the size of dreaming. Nature 

wants stuff 
To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to 

imagine 
An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy, 
Condemning shadows quite. 

Dol. Hear me, good madam. 100 

Your loss is as yourself, great; and you bear it 
As answering to the weight. Would I might 

never 
O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel, 
By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites 
My very heart at root. 

Cleo. I thank you, sir. 105 

Know you what Caesar means to do with me? 

Dol. I am loath to tell you what I would you 
knew. 

Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, — 

Dol. Though he be honourable, — 

Cleo. He'll lead me, then, in triumph? 

Dol. Madam, he will; I know't. no 

Flourish. All [shout within'] 'Make way there: 

Caesar!' 

Enter Ccesar, Gallus, Proculeius, Maecenas, 
[Seleucus,'\ and others of his Train. 

Cces. Which is the Queen of Egypt? 
Dol. It is the emperor, madam. 

Cleopatra kneels. 



Cces. Arise, you shall not kneel. 

I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt. 
Cleo. Sir, the gods 

Will have it thus; my master and my lord 116 

I must obey. 
Cces. Take to you no hard thoughts; 

The record of what injuries you did us. 

Though written in our flesh, we shall remem- 
ber 

As things but done by chance. 
Cleo. Sole sir o' the world, 120 

I cannot proj ect mine 'own cause so well 

To make it clear; but do confess I have 

Been laden with like frailties which before 

Have often sham'd our sex. 
Cces. Cleopatra, know. 

We will extenuate rather than enforce. 125 

If you apply yourself to our intents. 

Which towards you are most gentle, you shall 
find 

A benefit in this change; but if you seek 

To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 

Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself 130 

Of my good purposes, and put your children 

To that destruction which I'll guard them 
from. 

If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave. 
Cleo. And may, through all the world; 'tis 
yours; and we. 

Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, 
shall 135 

Hang in what place you please. Here, my 
good lord. 
Cces. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. 
Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and 
j ewels, 

I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valu'd; 

Not petty things admitted. Where's Seleu- 

CUS ? 140 

Sel. Here, madam. 

Cleo. This is my treasurer; let him speak, my 
lord. 
Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd 
To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleu- 
cus. 
Sel. Madam, 

I had rather seal my lips, than, to my peril, 145 
Speak that which is not. 
Cleo. What have I kept back? 

Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made 

known. 
Cces. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve 



746 



ACT V. SC. II.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



49 



Your wisdom in the deed. 
Cleo. See, Caesar ! O, behold, 150 

How pomp is follow'd! mine will now be 

yours ; 
And, should we shift estates, yours would be 

mine. 
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does 
Even make me wild. O slave, of no more 

trust 
Than love that's hir'd! What, goest thou 
back.'* thou shalt 155 

Go back, I warrant thee; but I'll catch thine 

eyes, 
Though they had wings. Slave, soulless vil- 
lain, dog! 
O rarely base ! 
CcBS. Good queen, let us entreat you. 

Cleo. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this. 
That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me, 160 
Doing the honour of thy lordliness 
To one so meek, that mine own servant should 
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by 
Addition of his envy ! Say, good Caesar, 
That I some lady trifles have reserv'd, 165 
Immoment toys, things of such dignity 
As we greet modern friends withal; and say. 
Some nobler token I have kept apart 
For Livia and Octavia, to induce 
Their mediation; must I be unfolded 170 

With one that I have bred ? The gods ! it 

smites me 
Beneath the fall I have. [To Seleucus] 

Prithee, go hence; 
Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits 
Through the ashes of my chance. Wert thou 

a man. 
Thou wouldst have mercy on me. 
Cces. Forbear, Seleucus. 175 

[Exit Seleucus.] 
Cleo. Be it known, that we, the greatest, are 
misthought 
For things that others do; and, when we fall, 
We answer others' merits in our name. 
Are therefore to be pitied. 
Cces. Cleopatra, 

Not. what you have reserv'd, nor what ac- 
knowledg'd, 180 

Rut we i' the roll of conquest; still be 't yours. 
Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe, 
Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you 
Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be 
cheer'd; 



]\Iake not your thoughts your prisons ; no, dear 
queen ; — 185 

For we intend so to dispose you as 
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and 

sleep ; 
Our care and pity is so much upon you. 
That we remain your friend; and so, adieu. 
Cleo. My master, and my lord ! 
Cces. Not so. Adieu. 190 

Flourish. Exeunt Ccesar and his train. 
Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I 
should not 
Be noble to myself; but, hark thee, Charmian. 
[Whispers Charmian.] 
Iras. Finish, good lady; the bright day is done. 

And we are for the dark. 
Cleo. Hie thee again. 

I have spoke already, and it is provided; 195 
Go put it to the haste. 
Char. Madam, I will. 

Re-enter Dolabella. 

Dol. Where is the queen .^ 

Char. Behold, sir. [Exit.] 

Cleo. Dolabella ! 

Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your com- 
mand. 
Which my love makes religion to obey, 
I tell you this. Caesar through Syria 200 

Intends his journey; and within three days 
You with your children will he send before. 
Make your best use of this. I have per- 

form'd 
Your pleasure and my promise. 

Cleo. Dolabella, 

I shall remain your debtor. 

Dol. I your servant. 205 

Adieu, good queen; I must attend on Caesar. 

Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. Exit Dolabella. 
Now, Iras, what think'st thou.^* 
Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown 
In Rome, as well as I ; mechanic slaves 
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, sliall 
Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths. 
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, 212 
And forc'd to drink their vapour. 

Iras. The gods forbid! 

Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras; saucy lictors 
Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald 
rhymers 215 

Ballad us out o' tune; the quick comedians 



747 



50 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act v. SC. II. 



Extemporally will stage us, and present 

Our Alexandrian revels; Antony 

Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall 
see 

Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness 

I' the posture of a whore. 
Iras. O the good gods! 221 

Cleo. Nay, that's certain. 
Iras. I'll never see't; for, I am sure, my nails 

Are stronger than mine eyes. 
Cleo. Why, that's the way 

To fool their preparation, and to conquer 225 

Their most absurd intents. 

Re-enter Charmian. 

Now, Charmian ! 
Show me, my women, like a queen. Go fetch 
My best attires. I am again for Cydnus, 
To meet Mark Antony. Sirrah Iras, go. 
Now, noble Charmian, we'll despatch indeed; 
And, when thou hast done this chare, I'll give 

thee leave 231 

To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and 

all. 
Wherefore's this noise? A noise within. 

[Exit Iras.l 

Enter a Guardsman. 

Guard. Here is a rural fellow 

That will not be deni'd your highness' pres- 
ence: 
He brings you figs. 235 

Cleo. Let him come in. \Exit Guardsman.'] 

What poor an instrument 
May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty. 
My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing 
Of woman in me; now from head to foot 
I am marble-constant; now the fleeting moon 
No planet is of mine. 

Re-enter Guardsman, and Clown [bringing in a 
basket.'] 



This is the man. 241 



for his biting is immortal; those that do die 
of it do seldom or never recover. 

Cleo. Rememberest thou any that have died 
on't } 249 

Clown. Very many, men and women too. I 
heard of one of them no longer than yester- 
day; a very honest woman, but something 
given to lie; as a woman should not do, but in 
the way of honesty; how she died of the bit- 
ing of it, what pain she felt. Truly, she 
makes a very good report o' the worm; but he 
that will believe all that they say, shall never 
be saved by half that they do ; but this is most 
fallible, the worm's an odd worm. 

Cleo. Get thee hence; farewell. 260 

Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm. 

[Setting down his basket.] 

Cleo. Farewell. 

Clown. You must think this, look you, that the 
worm will do his kind. 

CleOo Ay, ay; farewell, 265 

Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted 
but in the keeping of wise people ; for, indeed, 
there is no goodness in the worm. 

Cleo. Take thou no care; it shall be heeded. 

Clown. Very good. Give it nothing, I pray 
you, for it is not worth the feeding. 271 

Cleo. Will it eat me.^ 

Clown. You must not think I am so simple but 
I know the devil himself will not eat a woman. 
I know that a woman is a dish for the gods, 
if the devil dress her not. But, trilly, these 
same whoreson devils do the gods great harm 
in their women; for in every ten that they 
make, the devils mar five. 

Cleo. Well, get thee gone; farewell. 280 



Guard. 

Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. 

Exit Guardsman. 

Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there. 

That kills and pains not? 244 

Clown. Truly, I have him; but I would not be 

the party that should desire you to touch him, 

748 



Clown. Yes, forsooth. I wish you joy 



worm. 



o' the 
Exit. 



[Re-enter Iras with a robe, 

me my robe, put on my crown; I 



crown, c^'c] 

Cleo, Give 

have 
Immortal longings in me; now no more 
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this 

lip : 285 

Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I 

hear 
Antony call; I see him rouse himself 
To praise my noble act ; I hear him mock 
The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men 
To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I 
? 



come: 



290 



ACT V. 



SC. II.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



51 



Now to that name my courage prove my title ! 
I am fire and air; my otlier elements 
I give to baser life. So; have yon done? 
Come then^ and take the last wavmth of my 

lips. 
Farewell^ kind Cliarmian; Iras^ long fare- 
well. 2Q5 
[Kisses them. Iras falls and dies.] 
Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? 
If thon and nature can so gently part^ 
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, 
Which hurts, and is desir'd. Dost thou lie 

still? 
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world 
It is not worth leave-taking. 301 

Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I 
may say, 
The gods themselves do weep ! 
Cleo. This proves me base; 

If she first meet the curled Antony, 
He'll make demand of her, and spend that 
kiss 305 

Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou 
mortal wretch, 
[To an asp, which she applies to her breast.] 
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
Of life at once untie ; poor venomous fool, 
Be angry, and despatch. O, couldst thou 

speak. 
That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass 310 
Unpolicied ! 
Char. O eastern star ! 

Cleo. Peace, peace ! 

Dost thou not see my baby at my breast. 
That sucks the nurse asleep? 
Char. O, break ! O, break ! 

Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gen- 
tle,— 
O Antony! — Nay, I will take thee too: 315 
[Applying another asp to her arm.] 
What should I stay — Dies. 

Char. In this vile world? So, fare thee well. 
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies 
A lass unparallel'd. Downy windows, close; 
And golden Phoebus never be beheld 320 

Of eyes again so royal ! Your crown's awry ; 
I'll mend it, and then play- 

Enter the Guard, [rushing in.] 

1. Guard. Where is the queen? 

Char. Speak softly, wake her not. 

1. Guard. Caesar hath sent — 



Char. Too slow a messenger. 

[Applies an asp.] 
O, come apace, despatch ! I partly feel thee. 

1. Guard. Approach, ho! All's not well; Cae- 

sar's beguil'd. 326 

2. Guard. There's Dolabella sent from Caesar; 

call him. 

1. Guard. What work is here! Charmian, is 

this well done? 
Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess 
Descended of so many royal kings. 330 

Ah, soldier! Dies. 

Re-enter Dolabella. 

Dol. How goes it here? 

2. Guard. All dead. 

Dol. Caesar, thy thoughts 

Touch their effects in this ; thyself art com- 
ing 
To see perform'd the dreaded act which thou 
So sought'st to hinder. 335 

All. [Within] A way there, a way for Caesar! 

Re-enter Ccesar and all his train, marching. 

Dol. O sir, you are too sure an augurer; 

That you did fear is done. 
Cces. Bravest at the last. 

She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal. 

Took her own way. The manner of their 
deaths ? 340 

I do not see them bleed. 
Dol. Who was last with them? 

1. Guard. A simple countryman, that brought 
her figs: 

This was his basket. 
Cces. Poison'd, then. 

1. Guard. O Caesar, 

This Charmian liv'd but now; she stood and 
spake; 

I found her trimming up the diadem 345 

On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood 

And on the sudden dropp'd. 
Cces. O noble weakness ! 

If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear 

By external swelling; but she looks like sleep. 

As she would catch another Antony 350 

In her strong toil of grace. 
Dol. Here, on her breast. 

There is a vent of blood and something blown; 

The like is on her arm. 



749 



52 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



[act v. SC. II. 



1. Guard. This is an aspic's trail; and these 
fig-leaves 
Plave slime upon them, such as the aspic 
leaves 3S5 

Upon the caves of Nile. 

Cobs. Most probable 

That so she died; for her physician tells me 
She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite 
Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed; 
And bear her women from the monument. 360 
She shall be buried by her Antony ; 



No grave upon the earth shall clip in it 
A pair so famous. High events as these 
Strike those that make them; and their story 

is 
No less in pity than his glory which 365 

Brought them to be lamented. Our army 

shall 
In solemn show attend this funeral; 
And then to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see 
High order in this great solemnity. 

Exeunt omnes. 



FINIS. 



NOTES 



The Folio (F) gives only 'Actus primus, Scoena 
Prima'; no other division is indicated. The present 
division, with the indications of place and the dra- 
matis personae, is the work of Rowe (170'9) and later 
editors. 

ACT I 

i. 3 files and musters, armies in battle order. 

6 front, brow. 

8 reneg-es all temper, abandons all self-control. 
12 triple pillar, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavius, the 

triumvirs, divided the dominion of Rome. 
16 bourn, limit. 

19 them, the news, usually plural in Shakespeare. 
23 take in, take captive. 
26 dismission, discharge. 
28 process, formal command. 
31 else so, so at other times. 
34 rang-'d, ordered. 
37 mutual, closely united. 
39 weet, know. 
42-43 I will pretend Antony is faithful, (though I 

know) he will never be. 
43 stirr'd, governed. 

45 confound, waste. 

46 stretch, be protracted. 
48 ambassadors, messengers. 
50 whose] F2; who Fj. 

54 qualities, occupations, or, perhaps, natural gifts. 

58 property, behavior, character. 

59 still, ever. 

60 approves, proves true. 

62 rest you happy, God give you happy repose (of 
mind). 

11. S. D. Note that Rannius and Lucilius, who do not 
appear elsewhere in the stage directions, have no 
speeches in this scene. Mardian is also silent. 
2 absolute, perfect. 
5 charge] Theobald; change F. The reference is 



to the putting on a marriage wreath, with an 
equivocal allusion to the mythical horns worn by 
deceived husbands. 

16 fairer, that is, paler; the term is ambiguous. 

25-28 A facetious and anachronistic blasphemous 
reference to the three kings of the East and the 
Nativity. The speech helped the 'groundlings' to 
keep the date of the action in mind. 

39 fertile] Theobald; foretell F. 

40 for a witch, for all the witchcraft thou hast. 

66 go, bear children. 

67 Isis, chief goddess of Egypt. 
70 cuckold, deceived husband. 

95 The state of affairs compelled them to be friends. 

103 as, as though. Compare this scene with Cleo- 
patra's acts, II. V. 61-65. 

105 extended, seized upon. 

107 Lydia, Ionia, Roman provinces in Asia Minor. 

109 home, straight out, a home-thrust. 

114 minds] Hanmer; winds F. 

113-115 We grow idle without reproof; reproof is 
like plowing, earing", plowing. 

117 Sicyon, near Corinth in Greece. 

127 contempts, feeling of contempt. 

129 revolution lowering, threatening changes. 

141 occasion, cause. 

147 moment, cause. 

148 mettle, ardent quality. 

161 withal, with, discredited your travel, made 

people think you had seen little. 
178 broached, opened, begun. 

185 expedience, enterprise. 

186 leave] Pope; love F. 

197 blood and life, hardihood and activity. Stands 
up for, lays claim to be. 

198 main, chief, best. 

198 quality, party. 

199 danger, endanger. 

200 courser's hair, the hairsnake is still popularly 
believed to come from a horse-hair cast in water. 

202 place is] place F. requires] require F. 



750 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



5S 



iii. 13 sullen, melancholy. 
14 breathing", utterance. 

32 color, pretense. 

36 bent, look. 

37 race, flavor, smack (used of wine). 

44 use, trust, lent out, but bearing interest. 
48 scrupulous, cautious in taking action. 

54 particular, personal interest. 

55 safe, warrant. 

61 parboils, brawls, best, my best one (referring 
to Cleopatra); or perhaps the best news. 

71 affects, the old N. second person singular. 

81 meetly, fair, good enough. 

82 my] F. om. F. 

84 Herculean, the Antonii claimed descent from 
Hercules (Plutarch). 

85 carriage of his chafe, the bearing of anger. 

90 oblivion, forgetfulness. a very Antony, like 
Antony (i. e., utterly fugitive). 

91 am all forgotten, have forgotten all. 

92-93 But that you cleverly make wanton pastime 
your means of' favor, I should think you wholly 
possessed by it. 

97 eye, look. 

iv. 2 natural vice, personal disposition. 

3 competitor, partner, our] Heath; one F. 
14 purchas'd, obtained otherwise than by inheritance. 

22 composure, disposition. 

24 foils, blemishes. Many editors correct to soils, 

with the same meaning. 
26 vacancy, unoccupied time. 
28 call on, call to account. 
31 rate, chide. 

33 rebel to judgment, act against their best judg- 
ment. 

42 A reference to the fable of King Log and King 

Stork. 
44 dear'd] Theobald; fear'd F. 
46 lackeying] Theobald; lacking F. The meaning 

is 'following like a lackey.' 

56 wassails, drinking of wassails, healths. 

62 stale, urine. These details are from Plutarch. 
66 brows'd] F; Irrowsedst Globe. 

71 lank'd, grew thin. 

V. 4 mandragora, the mandrake-juice, of narcotic and 
other properties. 

11 unseminar'd, without seed. 

12 affections, mental tendencies, desires. 

23 arm, weapon. 

24 burgonet, light steel-cap. 

36 medicine, doctor, physician. 

37 tinct, elixir, the transmuting compound of the 
alchemists. 

41 orient, eastern. 

48 arm-gaunt, the meaning, and perhaps the word 

itself, is doubtful; perhaps 'worn in warfare' is the 

best rendering proposed. 
71 paragon, compare. 
78 or I'll, though I must. 

ACT II 

1. 21 wann'd, turned wan, salt, lewd. 
26 prorogue, prolong, weaken by delay. 



27 Lethe'd, as if he had drunk the water of Lethe 
(forgetfulness). 

41 warr'd] Fg; wann'd l\. 

45 pregnant, obvious, square, quarrel. 

50-51 It is incumbent ui:>on us, vitally, etc. 

ii. 4 move, exasperate. 

25 curstness, malignancy, ill-humor. 

34 derogately, disparagingly. 

39 practise on, plot against. 

40 question, motive for quarrel. 
44 theme, cause, justification. 
47 reports, reporters. 

50 stomach, wrath. 

52 patch, patch together, invent (not the modern 
patch up). 

53 not] Rowe; om. F. 
60 graceful, favorable. 

74 gibe my missive, drive out my messenger with 

railing. 
96 motive, instigator. 

102 atone, reconcile. 

115 conditions, dispositions. 

122 so] Rowe; say F. 

123 reproof] Warburton; proof F. 

135 fears, causes of fear, which now import their 
dangers, which become dangerous by their very ex- 
istence. 

167 spoke together, exchanged blows. 

179 stayed well by't, kept things going. 

211 Nereides, daughters of Nereus, a sea-god. 

212, 213 tended . . . adornings, a famous Shake- 
speare crux. We may read: attended her, with 
glances directed toward her, and graced her by their 
graceful obeisances. 

216 yarely frame the ofiice, readily do the work. 

230 ordinary, price charged for a meal at an ordi- 
nary (inn). 

244 become themselves, are becoming. 

245 riggish, wanton. 

iii, 6 kept my square, due bounds. 
14 motion, inward prompting. 
19 demon, attendant spirit, 
30 away] Pope; alway F. 

35 chance, good luck. 

38 inhoop'd, placed within the hoop for fighting. 

iv. 6 the] om. F. 

V. 12 finn'd] Theobald; fine F. 
22 tires, head-dress. 

28 yield, give out. 
38 favour, face. 

41 formal, normal. 

43 is] Tyrwhitt; 'tis F. 

96 Narcissus, beloved of Echo, fell in love with his 
own beauty. 

103 sure of, acquainted with; Antony's deceitfulness, 

vi, 7 tall, strong. 
13 ghosted, appeared as ghost to. 
24 fear, frighten. 

26 o'er-count, outnumber. 

27 o'er-count, over-reach. 



751 



54 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



30 from the present, beside the point. 
55 counts, lines used in counting; hence, furrows in 
the face. 

casts, casts up, reckons. 
59 composition, agreement. 

126 made more, was stronger argument. 
131 conversation, conduct. 

vii. 2 plants, soles of the feet. 

5 alms-drink, drink beyond his share, contributed 
. by others (Collier). 
7 pinch . . . disposition, bear grudges at each 
other's conduct. 
14 partisan, halberd. 

18 disaster, an astrological term, prove ill to. 
20 S. D. sennet, trumpet-note of approach. 
23 foison, plenty. 
74 pales, surrounds. 
100 reels, contraction for revels (Furness) ; but per- 
haps merely the dance. 
103 strike the vessels, clink the cups. 
107 possess it, be master of it. 
117 holding", burden, refrain, 
bear] Theobald; beat F. 
121 pink eyne, blinking eyes, pink, wink, contract. 

127 off] Rowe; of F. 
131 disguise, disorder. 



ACT III 

1. S. D. Pacorus, son of Orodes, the king of Parthia. 

1 darting Parthia, the Parthians were famous for 
archery, especially for shooting in flight. 

2 Marcus Crassus, proconsul with Caesar. 
24 darkens, obscures. 

27 Sil] Theobald; Bom. F. 

34 jaded, spurred to fatigue. 

ii. 6 green-sickness, anemia, peculiar to women. 
10 Agr] Rowe; Ant. F. 
12 Arabian bird, the phoenix, of which but one was 

fabled to exist. 
20 shards, wing-cases. 
26-27 As my uttermost bond shall be pledged for 

thee. 

28 piece, specimen. 

35 curious, particular. 

51 S. D. ff. Note that these asides give scope to the 
single scene, as the frequent change of scene en- 
larges the general canvas on which the empire is 
portrayed. 

51 cloud in's face, used also of a white mark on a 
horse, as shown in line 53. 

iii. 3 Herod, the traditionally fierce Herod of the 
miracle plays. 
22 station, standing still. 
44 no such, thing, no such great thing. 



iv. 8 them] then F. 

9 took't] Theobald; look't F. 
15 presently, now. 
24 branchless, destitute. 
27 stain, throw in the shade. 



V. 6 success, sequel. 

9 rivality, partnership. 

13 up, all up, done; or perhaps, shut up. 

14 world thou hast] Hanmer; would thou hadst F. 
14 chaps, jaws. 

16 the one] Johnson; om. F. 

vi. 6 Caesarion, son of Julius Caesar and Cleopatra. 
Octavius was Julius Caesar's grand-nephew and 
adopted heir. 
10 Lydia, a Roman jjrovince in Asia Minor. 

13 he there] Johnson; hither F. 

16 Cilicia, the coastal plain on the south of Asia 
Minor. 

20 queasy with, sick of. 

25 rated, assigned. 

29 being, being deposed. 

60 pardon, permission. 

61 obstruct] Theobald; abstract F. 
67 levying-, assembling. 

88 make them] Capell; makes his F. 

93 large, licentious. 

95 regiment, government, trull, lewd woman. 

vii. 3 f orspoke, opposed. 

5 even if not, since the war is proclaimed against 
us, etc. Caesar proclaimed war formally against 
Cleopatra (Plutarch). Some editors, however, omit 
the comma after 'not.' 

17 charge, part of the cost. 
37 ingross'd, recruited. 

39 yare, readily manceuvered. 
45 unexecuted, unusetl. 

52 head, headland. Actium is in southern Greece. 
58 power, army. 

61 Thetis, a sea-nymph, mother of Achilles. 

69 action, enterprise. 

70 in the power on't, in the most promising direc- 
tion. 

73 [Can.] Pope; Ven. F. 
77 distractions, detachments. 

viii. 6 jump, crisis. 

ix. 2 battle, battle-array. \ 

X. 2 admiral, flagship. 

6 cantle, part. 

9 token'd, indicated by tokens (on the skin). 
10 ribaudred, made up of ribaldry. 

14 breese, gadfly. 

18 loof'd, brought head round in the wind. 
20 mallard, wild duck (male). 

37 in the wind, with the wind from hunter to game. 

xi. 3 lated, belated. 
18 loathness, unwillingness. 
39 lieutenantry, use of subordinates. 
47 but, except. 

53 what, for what; i. e., the fleet. 
58 tow] Rowe; stow F. 

69 rates, counts for. 

xii. 12 requires, begs, asks. 
31 Thyreus] Theobald; Thidias F (and elsewhere). 
34 becomes his flaw, suits himself to his broken lot. 



752 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



55 



xiii. 1 think, despair. 




21 nerves, in the modern sense. 


5 ranges, ranks. 




23 favouring] Theobald; savoring F. 


8 nick'd, cut irregularly, as the hair of fools was 


31 owe, own. 


clipped. 




37 tabourines, military drums. 


10 mered, single, from mere, to bound. 






26 comparisons, advantages. 




ix. 13 disponge, pour down as from a sponge. 


27 declin'd, though in a fallen state. 




17 dried, exhausted. 


29 hig-h-battled, aided by great battalions. 




20 in thine own particular, for thyself. 


71 shroud, protection. 




29 raught, snatched. 


74 in deputation, by proxy. 




31 demurely, with subdued sound. 


91 muss, scramble. 






108 abus'd, deceived. 




X. 7 Further on] Rowe ; om. F. 


110 hoggler, waverer. 






112 seel, close by sewing up the lids (practised 


in 


xii. 4 augurers] Capell; auguries F. 


falconry). 




8 fretted, corroded. 


120 luxuriously, lustfull3\ 




13 triple-turn'd, thrice faithless. 


124 quit, requite. 




21 spaniel'd] Hanmer; panell'd F. 


127 Basan, Bashan, a land famous for bulls; Psalms 


25 grave, sublime. 


XXII, 12, etc. 




37 doits] Thirlby; dolts F. doits, fools. 


157 points, tagged laces for attaching the hose 


to 


43 Nessus, the Centaur sent Hercules a poisoned 


the doublet. 




shirt. 


161 determines, ends. 




44 Alcides, Hercules. 


163 memory, memorials, here, children. 




45 Lichas, Hercules' companion. 


165 diseandying] Thirlby; discandering F, dissolv- 




ing. 




3fiii. 2 Telamon, Ajax, who went mad because 


171 fleet, nimbly, sea-like, like the sea itself. 




Odysseus received Achilles' armor. 


180 nice and lucky, unconsidering and reckless. 




2 Thessaly, where Meleager slew a boar. 


183 gaudy, Lat. gaudimn, a feast. 




3 emboss'd, foaming at the mouth from exhaus- 


193 contend with, rival. 




tion. 


197 estridge, ostrich. 




monument, the tomb of Plutarch. 


199 preys on] Rowe; prays in F. 




xiv. 10 the rack dislimns, the gauzy veils, used in 


ACT IV 




pageants to appear like clouds, now come off. Cf. 
line 8. 


1. 8 boot, profit. 




18 moe, more. 

39 battery, beating. 


ii. 8 take all, let the winner take all, equivalent 


to 


46 length, prolixity, delay. 


'no quarter.' 




52 port, behavior. 


25 period, end. 




54 haunt, popularity. 
63 exigent, crisis, need. 


iii. 16 Hercules. Cf. note on I. iii. 84. 




73 pleached, folded. 
86 worship, honor. 


iv. 2 chuck, chick. 




123 dispos'd with, come to terms with. 


3 mine] Hanmer; thine F. 




136-138 by welcoming our punishments, we rob them 


15 tight, dextrous. 




of their character. 


19 warlike charge, the position of commander. 






22 trim, equipment. 




XV. 4 our size of sorrow, the extent of our sorrow. 


32 mechanic, base. 




10 darkling, in the dark. 

19 importune, trouble with a request. 


V. 1 [Sold.] Thirlby; Eros F. 




23 imperious, imperial. 
25 brooch'd, adorned. 


vi. 5 three-nook'd, the meaning is obscure. The 


al- 


28 still conclusion, sedate determination. 


lusion is to the peace universal when Christ was 


29 demuring, looking with quiet triumph. 


born. 




32 sport, the sport of angling; cf. II. v. 10. 


26 saf d, authorized. 




38 where] Pope; when F. 


34 blows, swells to the point of bursting. 




44 housewife, harlot. 


35 thought, regret. 




65 pole, standard. 

73 e'en] Capell; in F. 


vii. 2 oppression, trouble. 




75 chares, chores, household tasks. 


6 clouts, bandages. 




85 sirs, used to women as to men. 


9 bench-holes, privies. 






10 scotches, gashes. 




ACT V 


viii. 2 gests, deeds. 




i. 2 mocks the pauses, makes delay a joke. 


15 proof of harness, armor of proof. 




19 moiety, part. 



753 



56 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



28,31 [Agr] Theobald; Dol. F. 

31 wag-'d, waged war, contended. 

36 launch, lance. 

39 stall, dwell. 

59 live] Rowe; leave F. 

63 passion, mourning. 

65 her life, her living person. 

ii. 3 knave, servant. 

6 Death as a warder locks up, that is, ends, ad- 
versity, then sleeps, and never tastes again the 
dross (of ambition), which is the nurse of (feeds) 
beggar and Cassar alike. Warburton and others 
propose 'dug' for 'dung.' 

14 care to be, care whether I be. 

23 reference, submission, 

27 pray in aid, call in help from others, a legal 
term. 

29-30 I acknowledge his supremacy. 

50 if I must talk idly. 

82 rear'd arm, in heraldry, an arm raised on a 
crest. 

85 quail, cause to quail. 

87 Antony] F; autumn Theobald, and most later 
editors. 

92 plates, silver coins. 

97 stuif to vie, etc., materials with which to rival 
fancy. 

99 piece, masterpiece, 'gainst, in competition with. 
100 condemning, making of no account. 



104 smites] Capell; suits F. 
121 project, set forth. 

125 mitigate rather than emphasize (the necessary 
humiliation). 

126 apply to, attend assiduously to. 
135 scutcheons, symbols. 

138 brief, summary. 

140 not . . . admitted, trifles excepted. 

151 foUow'd, served. 

166 immoment, unimportant. 

167 modern, ordinary. 

178 answer . . . name, pay for others' faults in 
our official capacity. 

215 scald, scurvy, mean. 

220 boy, impersonate though a boy. Boys took 
women's parts until the Restoration. 

240 fleeting, floating. 

243 worm, snake. 

264 do his kind, act after hig nature. 

276 dress, season, make ready. 

307 intrinsicate, intricate. 

311 unpolicied, without sense. 

316 what, why. 

321 awry] Rowe; away F. 

332-333 thoughts touch their effects, fears are real- 
ized. 

339 levell'd at, aimed at, saw to. 

351 toil, net. 

358 pursued conclusions, prosecuted experiments. 



754 



THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS 



The Life of Cuius Marc'ms Coriolaims, written 
by Plutarch of Chaeronea in the first century of 
our era, treats a figure of legend rather than of 
history. The story with which his name is linked — 
a city saved by a mother's appeal to a rebellious 
citizen — bears the marks of folk-tale rather than of 
fact. Other historians, however, such as Livy and 
Dionysius, had given the outline of the story in 
some detail; and the bare facts seemed sufficiently 
strong for Plutarch to build upon them an acute and 
searcliiiig study of character-conflict — the aristocrat 
in a commonwealth. Shakespeare, reading Plutarch's 
story in Thomas North's translation (1579) of Bishop 
Amyot's French version (1559), evidently regarded 
the tale as mere truth, and followed the main plot 
with strict fidelity. 

As in his other historical plays, so here, the task 
of dramatization fell into three types of invention; 
the more complete and individual portraiture of the 
chief character; the reduction and alteration of time 
and incident; and the development of a harmonious 
background through subordinate character and inci- 
dent. 

In Plutarch the impatience, arrogance, and self- 
will of Coriolanus are imputed chiefly to his early 
training, or rather lack of training. The dramatist 
suggests this cause, but chiefly conceived the man 
as proud by nature, temperamentally overpowered 
by a passion of aristocratic feeling. The justifica- 
tion of this state of mind therefore required as a 
contrast a debased view of the Roman citizenship. 
Plutarch's attitude towards the plehs is that of a 
philosopher, writing in the decadent days of the 
Empire. He does full justice to the courage of the 
people in fight, and the essential fairness of their 
struggle for greater civic rights. Shakespeare, in 
his new account of the temper of Coriolanus, gives 
him good ground for contempt, in the cowardly and 
greedy turbulence of the rabble, who have been com- 
pared to the Kentishmen of Jack Cade's time. This 
degradation of the Roman ^^lehs may be taken not 
as the dramatist's own opinion of the social order, 
but as an adjustment demanded by his new concep- 
tion of the chief character. Had the alteration not 



been made, Coriolanus would have been, like Leontes 
in The Winter's Tale, a figure removed from the 
tragic stage by the absence of motive for his heartless 
cruelty. As the people are degraded, so the character 
of Coriolanus is heightened by many happy strokes. 
The unvarying loftiness of his speech imparts the 
sense of genius, comparable with that of Hamlet. 
The devotion of Cominius, his superior in command, 
and of Menenius, his senior in age and the respect 
of the people, is an important addition of the dra- 
matist's, removing from the hero the unpleasing trait 
of Timon-like surliness which is dwelt upon by Plu- 
tarch. On the other hand his passions are much 
more easily moved, and his resentment more lasting 
and fatal, in the play than in the Life. His refusal 
to show his wounds, and his contemptuous words to 
the people in soliciting their suff^rages, are entirely 
the dramatist's invention. The fury with which he 
is willing to sacrifice the lives and goods of friends 
as well as foes in a general conflagration is equally 
new; Plutarch's hero made war only to recover 
Volscian territory, and spared the goods of the no- 
bility. Numerous minor touches in the play make 
clear Shakespeare's conception of Coriolanus as a 
man controlled by impulsive feeling rather than by 
thought, in whose every, act there throbs a spirit of 
unreasonable strain and striving. 

The reduction of incident resulted in the combina- 
tion of the three public uprisings at the opening of 
the story into a single one (I. i.) ; the omission of the 
usual list of omens and portents of disaster; and the 
shifting, for dramatic irony, of the final catastrophe 
from Antium to Corioli, the scene of former triumph. 
In accordance with the needs of dramatic time, the 
banishment of Coriolanus takes place in the play im- 
mediately after his disqualification as consul; in Plu- 
tarch this came some time after, and as a result of 
his attitude on free corn. 

Finally, the development of the subordinate ele- 
ments led to the increase of interest in Volumnia, 
and to the creation of Menenius, whose place in 
the drama as a cynical Chorus seems suggested by 
that of Enobarbus in Antony and Cleo'patra. The 
passage given below, if compared with the play 



755 



2 



CORIOLANUS 



(IV. v.), will illustrate not only, in Coriolanus' 
speech, the debt of the dramatist in incident and 
diction, but also, in the reply of Aufidius, the skill 
with which original invention is blended with the 
source, and the dramatic unity of the whole is real- 
ized. 

"For ill-favoredly muffled and disguised as he was, 
yet there appeared a certain majesty in his counte- 
nance, and in his silence: whereupon they went to 
Tullus, who was at supper, to tell him of the strange 
disguising of this man. Tullus rose presently from 
the board, and, coming towards him, asked him what 
he was, and wherefore he came. Then Martius un- 
muffled himself, and after he had paused a while, 
making no answer, he said unto him. 'If thou know- 
est me not yet, Tullus, and, seeing me, dost not 
perhaps believe me to be the man I am indeed, I 
must of necessity bewray myself to be that I am. 
I am Cains Martius, who hath done to thyself par- 
ticularly, and to all the Volsces generally, great hurt 
and mischief, which I cannot deny for my surname 
of Coriolanus that I bear. For I never had other 
benefit nor recompense of all the true and painful 
service I have done, and the extreme dangers I have 
been in, but this only surname; a good memory and 
witness of the malice and displeasure thou shouldst 
bear me. Indeed the name only remaineth with me: 
for the rest the envy and cruelty of the people of 
Rome have taken from me, by the sufferance of the 
dastardly nobility and magistrates, who have for- 
saken me, and let me be banished by the people. 
This extremity hath now driven me to come as a 
poor suitor to take thy chimney hearth, not of any 
hope I have to save my life thereby. For if I had 
feared death, I would not have come hither to have 
put my life in hazard: but pricked forward with 
spite and desire I have to be revenged of them that 
thus have banished me, whom now I begin to be 
avenged on, putting my person between my enemies. 
Wherefore, if thou hast any heart to be wreaked 
of the injuries thy enemies have done thee, speed 
thee now, and let my misery serve thy turn, and so 
use it, as my service may be a benefit to the Volsces, 
promising thee, that I will fight with better good 
will for all you, than ever I did when I was against 
you, knowing that they fight more valiantly, who 
know the force of their enemy, than such as have 
never proved it. And if it be so that thou dare 
not, and that thou art weary to prove fortune any 
more; then am I also weary to live any longer. And 
it were no wisdom in thee to save the life of him, 
who hath* been heretofore thy mortal enemy, and 

7 



whose service now can nothing help nor pleasure 
thee.' Tullus, hearing what he said, was a mar- 
velous glad man, and taking him by the hand, he 
said to him: 'Stand up, O Martius, and be of good 
cheer, for in proffering thyself unto us thou dost 
us great honor; and by this means thou mayest hope 
also of greater things at all the Volsces' hands.' " 

CRITICAL COMMENT— O^mions about Corio- 
larms have differed chiefly in proportion to the crit- 
ic's interest in class conflict. Hazlitt justified what 
he thought to be the aristocratic tendency of the 
play by the demands of poetic rather than real jus- 
tice. "Poetry is right roj'^al. . . . The insolence of 
power is stronger than the plea of necessity. . . . 
The people are poor; therefore they ought to be 
starved. . . . This is the logic of the imagination and 
the passions." Gervinus, on the other hand, tried to 
restore the balance by a study of the character of 
Coriolanus; and finds in his excessive greatness the 
cause of his downfall. Dowden expressed the opin- 
ion of his time, in calling the subject of the play 
"The ruin of a noble life through the sin of pride." 
Masefield has called it "the clash of the aristocratic 
temper with the world," while Professor Sherman 
terms it "the tragedy of the uncompromising ideal- 
ist." Mr. E. K. Chambers blames Volumnia who "has 
lit and fostered in him that wayward ideal of honor. 
Of sympathy or of any ethics save those of the camp, 
she has taught him nothing. . . . Beneath the mask 
of honor there lurks the subtle sin of egoism, laid 
bare to us, as in the Sir Willoughby Patterne of later 
days, by the patient and pitiless insight of the phi- 
losopher." Opinions on the merits of the play range 
at the present time from Max Beerbohm's verdict, 
"a bad play," to Masefield's "one of the greatest of 
Shakespeare's creations." Critics are not wanting 
who still attack the drama as feudal in sentiment 
and unjust to the theory of democracy. The final 
word on the subject may properly come from Aufid- 
ius (IV. vii.) whose critical opportunities were con- 
siderable. 

"So our virtues 
Lie in the interpretation of the time; 
And power unto itself most commendable 
Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair 
To extol what it hath done." 

The recognition of genius lies at the mercy of pub- 
lic opinion, and the easiest way to destroy true self- 
respect is the fatal necessity of parading one's 
own merits. The pain and tragedy of self-adver- 
tisement, so common in our time, appear to be, in 
56 



INTRODUCTION 



the opinion of Aufidius, tlie real cause of the ruin 
of Coriolaiius. 

DRAMATIC TECJIXIQUE—Amoug the greater 
Shakespearean tragedies Coriolamis approaches in 
its structure more closely to the perfection of regu- 
larity than is usual. For this reason the play has 
been a favorite with students who have analyzed the 
drama philosophically. It is mentioned first by Gus- 
tav Freytag in a list of plays which "contain the 
most powerful dramatic elements that have ever 
been created In' a Teuton or Saxon." Freytag cites 
the play also as a "splendid example" of the union 
of the "climax" and the "tragic force." "In this 
piece, the action rises from the exciting force (the 
news that war with the Volscians is inevitable) 
through the first ascent (fight between Coriolanus and 
Aufidius) to the climax, the nomination of Coriolanus 
as consul. The tragic force, the banishment, begins 
here; what seems about to become the highest ele- 
vation of the hero, becomes by his untamable pride 
just the opposite; he is overthrown. This overthrow 
does not occur suddenly; it is seen to perfect itself 
gradually on the stage — as Shakespeare loves to have 
it — and what is overwhelming in the result is first 
perceived at the close of the scene. The two points, 
bound together here by the rapid action, form to- 
gether a powerful group of scenes of violent com- 
motion, the whole of far-reaching and splendid ef- 
fect. But also, after the close of this double scene, 
the action is not at once cut into; for there is im- 
mediately joined to this, as contrast, the beautiful, 
dignified pathos scene of the farewell, which forms 
a transition to what follows; and yet after the hero 
has departed, this helps to exhibit the moods of those 
remaining behind, as a trembling echo of the fierce 
excitement, before the point of repose is reached." 
Freytag further points out that the play, after its 
climax, rises rather than falls in interest, and that 
its two "great scenes," Coriolanus's reception at 
Aufidius's house and his meeting with his mother, take 
place after the catastrophe has been clearly fore- 
shadowed. 

STAGE HISTORY— Coriolanus has suffered much 
in stage adaptation. The Ingratitude of a Com- 
monwealth, or the Fall of Caius Martius Coriolanus 
was played in 1683. Its author, Nahum Tate, made 
more than the usual alterations in suiting the tastes 
of the Restoration audience. His principal addition 
was the invention of a minor villain, Xigridius; but 
he also added a "mad scene," for Volumnia, the 
deaths of Aufidius and Menenius, and the suicide 



of "Nlrgilia. Tate himself had no illusions about his 
work: 

"So we our audience charm with noise and rant, 
'Tis thus we please; and I dare take my oath 
That decency and sense would brcr.k us both." 

A second adai:)tation was that of John Dennis, 
The Invader of his Countnj, or the Fatal Resent- 
ment (1719). Barton Booth performed this at 
Drury Lane. Dennis followed Tate in killing Au- 
fidius at the dictate of poetic justice. 

James Thomson, the poet, left a tragedy, per- 
formed posthumously in 1719 at Covcnt Garden. 
His Coriolamis was not derived from Shakespeare, 
nor indeed from Shakespeare's source; but chiefly 
from Livy and Dionysius. An amalgamation of this 
lifeless and sophisticated version with Shakespeare 
was effected by an unknown hand, and played in 
1754 at Covent Garden. Thomson's style may be 
guessed from the words spoken upon the hero's 
death : 

"'Tis an awful scene, 
Demanding serious solemn meditation." 

Another version, with less of Thomson, was acted 
by John Kemble and his sister, the famous Mrs. 
Siddons, in 1789, and became the favorite vehicle 
for their classical and statuesque form of acting. 
Kemble's Coriolanus was the part which he chose 
for his farewell appearance in 1817. Three years 
later Edmund Kean failed in the part, in a version 
entirely Shakespeare's, though somewhat condensed. 
His less studied elocution and unimpressive figure 
did not catch the audience which had praised Kem- 
ble. Macready made a great success of the play 
in 1838, putting on an enormous mob, and making 
much of the stage scenes depicting the siege of 
Rome. In America Edwin Forrest gave a dignified 
and yet impassioned rendering m 1828 and 1864, 
and carried the play through one of his longest 
runs in . New York City. A statue of Forrest as 
Coriolanus was executed as his own choice of his 
best character. Since his time the play has not held 
the stage. Sir Henry Irving's Coriolanus, put on in 
1901, was harshly criticized; and the great actor's 
elocution was then too feeble to sustain the part. 
Antoine, the .famous Parisian manager, gave the 
play at the Odeon in 1910; M. Joube played the 
title-role. But of late years Coriolanus has lacked 
an interpreter; and it cannot be denied that the tem- 
per of tlie time is out of sympathy with the social 
background of the play. 



757 



CORIOLANUS 



DATE — No very strong evidence exists for the 
date of Coriolanus. The general style and treat- 
ment of theme go to show that it is to be grouped 
with Antony and Cleopatra and probably later. The 
proportions of rhyme, weak endings, and other tests 
of meter offer plausible evidence upon which the 
years 1608-10 have been assigned as the probable 



period of composition. The external evidence is of 
the slightest and may be disregarded. 

TEXT— The play was first printed in the First 
Folio of 1623. The text is often corrupt. The more 
important emendations will be found recorded in the 
notes. 

M. 



758 



THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS 



[Scene: Rome and the neighbourhood; Corioli and the neighbourhood; Antium. 



ICaius Maecius, afterwards Caius Marcius Corio- 

LANUS. 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 

Lieutenant to Aufidius. 



Titus Lartius, 

cominius, 

Menenius Agrippa, friend to Coriolanus. 

Sicixius Velutus, 

Junius Brutus, 

Young Marcius, son to Coriolanus. 

A Roman Herald. 

TuLLus Aufidius, general of the Volscians. 



generals against the Volscians. 



tribunes of the people. 



Conspirators with Aufidius. 
A Citizen of Antium. 
Two Volscian Guards. 
Volumnia, mother to Coriolanus. 
Virgilia, wife to Coriolanus. 
Valeria, friend to Virgilia. 
Gentlewoman, attending on Virgilia. 

Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, -^diles, 
Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to 
Aufidius, and other Attendants.] 



ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [Rome. A street.] 

Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with 
staves, clubs, and other weapons. 

\l. at. Before we proceed any further^ hear me 

speak. 
All. Speak, speak. 
1. Cit. You are all resolved rather to die than 

to famish? 5 

All. Resolved, resolved. 
1. Cit. First, you know Caius Marcius is chief 

enemy to the people. 
All. We know't, we know't. 

1. Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at 
our own price. Is't a verdict? u 

All. No more talking on 't; let it be done. 
Away, away ! 

2. Cit. One word, good citizens. 14 
1. Cit. We are accounted poor citizens, the pa- 
tricians good. What authority surfeits on 



would relieve us; if they would yield us but 
the superfluity, while it were wholesome, we 
might guess they relieved us humanely; but 
they think we are too dear. The leanness 
that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as 
an inventory to particularize their abundance; 
our suff'erance is a gain to them. Let us re- 
venge this with our pikes, ere we become 
rakes; for the gods know I speak this in hun- 
ger for bread, not in thirst for revenge. 26 

2. Cit. Would you proceed especially against 
Caius Marcius? 

All. Against him first; he's a very dog to the 
commonalty. 29 

2. Cit. Consider you what services he has done 
for his country? 

1. Cit. Very well; and could be content to give 
him good report for't, but that he pays him- 
self with being proud. 

All. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 35 

1. Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done fa- 
mously, he did it to that end. Though soft- 
conscienced men can be content to say it was 



759 



CORIOLANUS 



[act 



[. SC. I. 



for his country, lie did it to please his mother, 
and to be parti;/ proud; which he is_, even to 
the altitude of his virtue. 41 

2. Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you 
account a vice in him. You must in no way 
say he is covetous. 44 

1. Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of 
accusations. He hath faults, with surplus, 
to tire in repetition. Shouts within. 

What shouts are these? The other side o' 
the city is risen; why stay we prating here? 
to the Capitol! 

All. Come, come. 50 

1. Cit. Soft! who comes here? 

Enter Menenius Agrippa. 

2. Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that 
hath always loved the people. 

1. Cit. He's one honest enough; would all the 
rest were so ! 55 

Men. What work's, my countrj^men, in hand? 
where go you 
With bats and clubs? The matter? speak, I 
pray you. 

2. Cit. Our business is not unknown to the 
senate; they have had inkling this fortnight 
what we intend to do, which now we'll show 
*em in deeds. They say poor suitors have 
strong breaths; they shall know we have 
strong arms too. 62 

Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine hon- 
est neighbours. 
Will you undo yourselves ? 
2. Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone al- 
ready. 66 
Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care 
Have the patricians of you. For your wants. 
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well 
Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift 
them 70 
Against the Roman state, whose course will on 
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
Of more strong link asunder than can ever 
Appear in your impediment. For the dearth, 
The gods, not the patricians, make it, and 75 
Your knees to them, not arms, must help. 

Alack, 
You are transported by calamity 
Thither where more attends you, and you 

slander 
The helms o' the state, who care for you like 
fathers. 



us I True, indeed ! They 
us yet; suffer us to famish, 
grain; 



When you curse them as enemies. 

2. Cit. Care for "« ' 
ne'er cared for 

and their store-houses crammed with 
make edicts for usury, to support usurers; re 
peal daily any wholesome act established 
against the rich, and provide more piercing 
statutes daily, to chain up and restrain the 
poor. If the wars eat us not. up, they will; 
and there's all the love they bear us. 

Men. Either you must 90 

Confess yourselves wondrous malicious. 
Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you 
A pretty tale; it may be you have heard it; 
But, since it serves my purpose, I will ven- 
ture 
To stale 't a little more. 95 

2. Cit. Well, I'll hear it, sir. Yet you must 
not think to fob off our disgrace with a tale; 
but^ and 't please you, deliver. 

Men. There was a time when all the body's 
members 
Rebell'd against the belly, thus accus'd it ; 100 
That only like a gulf it did remain 
I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, 
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing 
Like labour with the rest, where the other 

instruments 
Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, 
And, mutually participate, did minister 106 
Unto the appetite and affection common 
Of the whole body. The belly answer'd — 

2. Cit. Well^ sir_, what answer made the 
belly? no 

Men. Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of 
smile. 
Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even 

thus — 
For, look you, I may make the belly smile 
As well as speak — it tauntingly replied 
To the discontented members, the mutinous 
parts IIS 

That envied his receipt; even so most fitly 
As 3^ou malign our senators for that 
They are not such as you. 

2. Cit. Your belly's answer? What! 

The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye. 
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, 120 
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter. 
With other muniments and petty helps 
In this our fabric, if that they — 

Men. What then? 



760 



4CT I. SC. 



I.] 



CORIOLANUS 



'Fore me, this fellow si3eaks ! What then ? 

what tlien? 
at. Should by the cormorant belly be re- 

stram'd, 125 

Who is the sink o' the body, — 
Men. " Well, what then ? 

?. Cit. The former agents, if they did complain, 

Wliat could the belly answer? 
^len. I will tell you; 

If you'll bestow a small — of what you have 

little- 
Patience awhile, you'st hear the belly's an- 
swer. 130 
Cit. Ye're long about it. 
Men. Note me this, good friend; 
Your most grave belly was deliberate. 
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd: 
'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he, 
'That I receive the general food at first, 135 
Which you do live upon; and fit it is. 
Because I am the store-house and the shop 
Of the whole body. But, if you do remember, 
I send it through the rivers of your blood. 
Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the 

brain ; 140 

And, through the cranks and offices of man. 
The strongest nerves and small inferior veins 
From me receive that natural comj^etency 
Wliereby they live; and though that all at 

once, 
You, my good friends,' — this says the belly, 

mark me, — 145 

2. Cit. Ay, sir; well, well. 

Men. 'Though all at once cannot 

See what I -do deliver out to each, 
Yet I can make my audit up, that all 
From me do back receive the flour of all, 
And leave me but the bran.' What say you 

to't ? 150 

^. Cit. It was an answer; how apply you this? 

Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly. 

And you the mutinous members; for examine 

Their counsels and their cares, digest things 

rightly 
Touching the weal o' tlie common, you shall 

find 155 

No public benefit which you receive 
But it proceeds or comes from them to you 
And no way from yourselves. What do you 

think, 
You, the great toe of tiiis assembly? 



2. Cit. I the great toe ! why the great toe '. 



160 
761 



Men. For that, being one o' the lowest, basest, 
poorest. 

Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st fore- 
most. 

Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, 

Lead'st first to win some vantage. 

But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs. 

Rome and her rats are at the point of battle; 

The one side must have bale. 

Enter Caius Marcius. 

Hail, noble Marcius ! 167 
Mar. Thanks. What's the matter, you dissen- 

tious rogues. 
That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion. 
Make yourselves scabs ? 
2. Cit. We have ever your good word. 170 

Mar. He that will give good words to thee will 

flatter 
Beneath abhorring. What would you have, 

you curs. 
That like nor peace nor war ? the one affrights 

you. 
The other makes you proud. He that trusts 

to you. 
Where he should find you lions, finds you 

hares ; 175 

Where foxes, geese; you are no surer, no. 
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice. 
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is 
To make him worthy whose offence subdues 

him 
And curse that justice did it. Who deserves 

greatness 180 

Deserves your hate; and your affections are 
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
Which would increase his evil. He that de- 
pends 
Upon your favours swims with fins of lead 
And hews* down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! 

Trust ye? 185 

With every minute j^ou do change a mind. 
And call him noble that was now your hate, 
Him vile that was your garland. What's the 

matter. 
That in these several places of the city 
You cry against the noble senate, who, 190 
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else 
Would feed on one another? What's their 

seeking ? 
Men. For corn at their own rates; whereof, they 

say. 



1 



8 



CORIOLANUS 



[act I. SC. I, 



The city is well stor'd. 
Mar. Hang 'em ! They say ! 

They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know 
What's done i' the Capitol; who's like to rise^ 
Who thrives and who declines; side factions 
and give out 197 

Conj ectural marriages ; making parties strong 
And feebling such as stand not in their lik- 
ing 
Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's 
grain enough! 200 

Would the nobility lay aside their ruth, 
And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry 
With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as 

high 
As I could pick my lance. 
Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly per- 
suaded ; 205 
For though abundantly they lack discretion. 
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I be- 
seech you. 
What says the other troop? 
Mar. They are dissolv'd ; hang 'em ! 
They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth 

proverbs. 
That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must 
eat, 210 

That meat was made for mouths, that the gods 

sent not 
Corn for the rich men only. With these 

shreds 
They vented their complainings; which being 

answer'd. 
And a petition granted them, a strange one — 
To break the heart of generosity, 215 

And make bold power look pale — they threw 

their caps 
As they would hang them on the horns o' the 

moon. 
Shouting their emulation. 
Men. What is granted them? 

Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wis- 
doms. 
Of their own choice; one's Junius Brutus, 220 
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath ! 
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city, 
Ere so prevail'd with me; it will in time 
Win upon power and throw forth greater 

themes 
For insurrection's arguing. 
Men. This is strange. 225 

Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments ! 



762 



Enter a Messenger, hastily. 

Mess. Where's Caius Marcius? 
Mar. Here; what's the matter? 

Mess. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. 
Mar. I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' means 
to vent 
Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. 

Enter Cominius, Titus Lartius, with other Sena- 
tors; Junius Brutus and Sicinius Velutus. 

1. Sen. Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately 
told us; 231 

The Volsces are in arms. 
Mar. They have a leader, 

Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't. 

I sin in envying his nobility. 

And were I any thing but what I am, 235 

I would wish me only he. 
Com. You have fought together. 

Mar. Were half to half the world by the ears 
and he 

Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make 

Only my wars with him; he is a lion 

That I am proud to hunt. 
1, Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, 240 i 

Attend upon Cominius to these wars. 
Cow,: It is your former promise. 
Mar. Sir, it is ; 

And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou 

Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face. 

What, art thou stiff"? stand'st out? 
Tit. No, Caius Marcius; 245 

I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with 
t'other. 

Ere stay behind this business. 
Men. O, true-bred ! 

[i.] Sen. Your company to the Capitol; where, 
I know. 

Our greatest friends attend us. 
Tit. [To Com.'] Lead you on. 

[To Mar.] Follow Cominius; we must follow 
you ; 250 

Right worthy you priority. 
Com. Noble Marcius ! 

1. Sen. [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; 

be gone! 
Mar. Nay, let them follow. 

The Volsces have much corn; take these rats 
thither 

To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners. 



ACT I. SC. 



I.] 



CORIOLANUS 



Your valour puts well forth: pray^ follow. 255 

Citizens steal away. Exeunt all hut 

Sicinius and Brutus. 

Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? 

Bru. He has no equal. 

Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the peo- 
ple,— 

Bru. Mark'd you his lip and eyes ? 

Sic. Nay, but his taunts. 

Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the 
gods. 260 

Sic. Be-mock the modest moon. 

Bru. The present wars devour him; he is grown 
Too proud to be so valiant. 

Sic. Such a nature, 

Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow 
Which he treads on at noon; but I do wonder 
His insolence can brook to be commanded 266 
Under Cominius. 

Bru. Fame, at the which he aims. 

In whom already he's well grac'd, can not 
Better be held nor more attain'd than by 
A place below the first ; for what miscarries 270 
Shall be the general's fault, though he per- 
form 
To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure 
Will then cry out of Marcius 'O, if he 
Had borne the business !' 

Sic. Besides, if things go well. 

Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall 275 

Of his demerits rob Cominius. 

Bru. Come ; 

Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, 
Though ^larcius earn'd them not, and all his 

faults 
To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed 
In aught he merit not. 

Sic. Let's hence, and hear 280 

How tlie despatch is made, and in what fash- 
ion. 
More than his singularity, he goes 
Upon this present action. 

Bru. Let's along. Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — Corioli. The Senate-house.] 

Enter Tullus Aufidius with Senators of Corioli. 

1. Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, 

That they of Rome are ^ter'd in our counsels 
And know how we proceed. 



Auf. Is it not yours? 

What ever have been thought on in this state. 
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome 
Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone 
Since I heard thence; these are the words. I 

think 7 

I have the letter here ; yes, here it is. 
[Reads] 'They have press'd a power, but it is 

not known 
Whether for east or west. The dearth is 

great ; 10 

The people mutinous ; and it is rumour'd, 
Cominius, Marcius your old enemy. 
Who is of Rome worse hated than of you, 
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, 
These three lead on this preparation 15 

Whither 'tis bent; most likely 'tis for you. 
Consider of it.' 

1. Sen. Our army's in the field. 

We never yet made doubt but Rome was 
ready 

To answer us. 
Auf. Nor did you think it folly 

To keep your great pretences veil'd till when 

They needs must show themselves; which in 
the hatching, 21 

It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the dis- 
covery 

We shall be shorten'd in our aim, which was 

To take in many towns ere almost Rome 

Should know we were afoot. 

2. Sen. Noble Aufidius, 25 
Take your commission; hie you to your bands. 
Let us alone to guard Corioli; 

If they set down before 's, for the remove 
Bring up your army; but, I think, you'll find 
They've not prepar'd for us. 

Auf. O, doubt not that; 30 

I speak from certainties. Nay, more. 
Some parcels of their power are forth already,' 
And only hitherward. I leave your honours. 
If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 
'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike 35 
Till one can do no more. 

All. The gods assist you! 

Auf. And keep your honours safe! 

1. Sen. Farewell. 

2. Sen. Farewell. 
All. FareweU. 

Exeunt omnes. 



10 



CORIOLANUS 



[act 



SC. III. 



[Scene III. — Rome. A room in Marcius' 
house. ^ 

Enter Volumma and Virgilia, mother and wife 
to Marcius: they set them down on two lotv 
stools, and sew. 

Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express 
yourself in a more comfortable sort. If my 
son were my husband, I should freelier re- 
joice in that absence wherein he won honour 
than in the embracements of his bed where he 
would show most love. When yet he was but 
tender-bodied and the only son of my womb, 
when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze 
his way, when for a day of kings' entreaties a 
mother should not sell him an hour from her 
beholding, I, considering how honour would 
become such a person, that it was no better 
than picture-like to hang by the wall, if re- 
nown made it not stir, was pleased to let him 
seek danger where he was like to find fame. 
To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he 
returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell 
thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy at 
first hearing he was a man-child than now in 
first seeing he had proved himself a man. 19 

Vir. But had he died in the business, madam; 
how then? 

Vol. Then his good report should have been my 
son ; I therein would have found issue. Hear 
me profess sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each 
in my love alike and none less dear than thine 
and my good Marcius, I had rather had eleven 
die nobly for their country than one voluptu- 
ously surfeit out of action. 28 

Enter a Gentlewoman. 

Gent. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit 

you. 
Vir. Beseech you, give me leave to retire my- 
self. 30 
Vol. Indeed, you shall not. 

Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum. 

See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair. 

As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning 

him. 
Metliinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus : 
'Come on, j^ou cowards ! you were got in fear, 
Tliough you were born in Rome !' his bloody 
brow 27 

With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he 
goes. 



Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow 

Or all or lose his hire. 40 

Vir. His bloody brow ! O Juj^itcr, no blood ! 
Vol. Away, you fool ! it more becomes a man 

Than gilt his trophy; the breasts of Hecuba, 

When she did suckle Hector, look'd not 
lovelier 

Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth 
blood 

At Grecian sword, contemning. 

We are fit to bid her welcome. 
Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius ! 
Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee 

And tread upon his neck. 



45 



Tell Valeria, 
Exit Gent. 



50 



Enter Valeria, with an Usher and a 
Gentlewoman. 



VaL 
Vol. 
Vir. 



My ladies both, good day to you. 

Sweet madam. 

I am glad to see your ladyship. 53 

Val. How do you both.^ you are manifest house- 
keepers. What are you sewing here.^ A 
fine spot, in good faith. How does your little 
son.? 57 

Vir. I thank your ladyship; well, good 
madam. 

Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a 
drum, than look upon his schoolmaster. 61 

Val. O' my word, the father's son; I'll swear, 
'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked 
upon him o' Wednesday half an hour together; 
has such a confirmed countenance. I saw 
him run after a gilded butterfly; and when he 
caught it, he let it go again; and after it 
again; and over and over he comes, and up 
again; catched it again; or whether his fall 
enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his 
teeth and tear it; O, I warrant, how he mam- 
mocked it! 71 

Vol. One on 's father's moods. 

Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. 

Vir. A crack, madam. 

Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must 
have you play the idle huswife with me this 
afternoon. yy 

Vir. No, good madam; I will not out of doors. 

Val. Not out of doors ! 

Vol. She shall, she shall. 80 

Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over 
the threshold till my lord return from the 
wars. 



764 



ACT I. SC. 



III.] 



CORIOLANUS 



11 



Vol. Fie, you confine yourself most unreason- 
ably: come, you must go visit the good lady 
that lies in. 86 

Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit 
her with my prayers; but I cannot go thither. 

Vol, Why, I pray you.'* 

Vir. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want 
love. 91 

Val. You would be another Penelope: yet, they 
say, all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence 
did but iill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I 
would your cambric were sensible as your fin- 
ger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. 
Come, you shall go with us. 97 

Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I 
will not forth. 

Val. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you 
excellent news of your husband. loi 

J'ir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. 

/'«/. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came 
news from him last night. 

Vir. Indeed, madam? 105 

Val. In earnest, it's true; I heajrd a senator 
speak it. Thus it is: the Volsces have an 
army forth; against whom Cominius the gen- 
eral is gone, witli one part of our Roman 
j)ower. Your lord and Titus Lartius are set 
down before their city Corioli; they nothing 
doubt prevailing and to make it brief wars. 
This is true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, 
go with us. 113 

Vir. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey 
you in every thing hereafter. 

Vol. Let her alone, lady: as she is now, she will 
but disease our better mirth. 

Val. In troth, I think she would. Fare you 
well, then. Come, good sweet lady. Prithee, 
Virgilia, turn thy solemnness out o' door, and 
go along with us. 121 

Vir. No, at a word, madam; indeed, I must not. 
I wish 3'ou much mirth. 

Val. Well, then, farewell. Exeunt Ladies. 



[Scene IV. — Before Corioli.^ 

Enter Marcius, Titus Lartius, with drum and 
colours, with Captains and Soldiers, as before 
the city Corioli. To them a Messenger. 

Mar. Yonder comes news. A wager they have 

met. 
Lart. Mv horse to vours, no. 



Mar. 'Tis done. 

Lart. Agreed. 

Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy? 
Mess. They lie in view; but have not spoke as 

yet. 
Lart. So, the good horse is mine. 
Mar. I'll buy him of you. 5 

Lart. No, I'll nor sell nor give him; lend you 

him I will 
For half a hundred years. Summon the town. 
Mar. How far off lie these armies? 
Mess. Within this mile and half. 

Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they 

ours. 
Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in 

work, 10 

That we with smoking swords may march from 

hence. 
To help our fielded friends ! Come, blow thy 

blast. 

They sound a parley. Enter two Senators with 
others on the ivalls of Corioli. 

Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? 
1. Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than 

he. 
That's lesser than a little. Drunv afar off. 

Hark ! our drums 15 

Are bringing .forth our youth. We'll break 

our walls. 
Rather than they shall jDound us up. Our 

gates. 
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with 

rushes ; 
They'll open of themselves. Alarum afar off. 

Hark you, far off ! 
There is Aufidius ; list, what work he makes 20 
Amongst your cloven army. 
Mar. O, they are at it ! 

Lart. Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, 

ho! 

Enter the army of the Volsces. 

Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their 
city. 

Now put your shields before your hearts, and 
fight 

With hearts more proof than shields. Ad- 
vance, brave Titus; 25 

They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, 



765 



12 



CORIOLANUS 



[act 



SC. IV. 



Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come 

on, my fellows; 
He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce, 
And he shall feel mine edge. 

Alarum. The Romans are heat hack to their 
trenches. Re-enter Marcius, cursing. 



Mar. All the contagion of the south light on 

You shames of Rome ! you herd of — Boils and 

plagues 
Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd 
Further than seen, and one infect another 
Against the wind a mile ! You souls of geese. 
That bear the shapes of men, how have you 

"""^ 35 

From slaves that apes would beat ! Pluto and i. Sol 

hell ! 
All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale 
With flight and agu'd fear! Mend and 

charge home. 
Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe 
And make my wars on you; look to 't: come 

If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their 

wives. 
As they us to our trenches follow'd. 



^«^^- O noble fellow ! 

Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword. 
And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, 

Marcius ; 
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, 55 

Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a sol- 
dier 
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible 
Only in strokes ; but, with thy grim looks and 
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds. 
Thou madest thine enemies shake, as if the 
world 60 

Were feverous and did tremble. 



Re-enter Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the 
enemy. 

Look, sir. 

^ari' ^ O, 'tis Marcius ! 

Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. 

They fight, and all enter the city. 



Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and Marcius 
follows them to the gates. 

So, now the gates are ope; now prove good 

seconds. 
'Tis for the followers fortune widens them. 
Not for the fliers. Mark me, and do the 

l^k^- Enters the gate. 45 

1. Sol. Fool-hardiness; not I. 

2. Sol. Nor I. 
1. Sol. See, they have shut him in. 

^^^- To the pot, I warrant him 

Alarum continues 

Re-enter Titus Lartius. 



[Scene V. — Corioli. A street.] 
Enter certain Romans, with spoils. 

1. Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 

2. Rom. And I this. 

3. Rom. A murrain on 't ! I took this for sil- 
ver. Alarum continues still afar off. 



Lart. What is become of Marcius ? 

^^^- Slain, sir, doubtless. 

1. Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels, 

With them he enters; who, upon tlie sud- 
den, ^^ 

Clapp'd to their gates; he is himself alone. 

To answer all the city. 

76a 



Enter Marcius and Titus [Lartius] with a trum- 
pet. 

Mar. See here these movers that do prize their 

hours 5 

At a crack'd drachma! Cushions, leaden 

spoons, 
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
Bury with those that wore them, these base 

slaves. 
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up; down with 

them ! 
And hark, what noise the general makes ! To 

him ! 10 

There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, 
Piercing our Romans; then, valiant Titus, 

take 
Convenient numbers to make good the city; 
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will 

haste 
To help Cominius. 



^CT I. SC. v.] 



CORIOLANUS 



13 



Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st; 15 

Thy exercise hath been too violent 
For a second course of fight. 
Mar, Sir, praise me not. 

My work hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you 

well: 
The blood I drop is rather physical 
Than dangerous to me ; to Aufidius thus 20 

I will appear, and fight. 
^art. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, 

Fall deep in love with thee; and her great 

charms 
Misguide thy opposers' swords ! Bold gen- 
tleman. 
Prosperity by thy page! 
Mar. Thy friend no less 

Than those she placeth highest! So, fare- 
well. 25 
Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius ! 

[Exit Marcius.'] 
Go sound thy trumpet in the market-place; 
Call thither all the officers o' the town. 
Where they shall know our mind : away ! 

Exeunt. 



[Scene VI. — Near the camp of Cominius.'] 

\Enter Cominius, as it were in retire, with soU 
diers. 

Com. Breathe you, my friends; well fought; we 
are come off 
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands. 
Nor cowardly in retire; believe me, sirs. 
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have 

struck. 
By interims and conveying gusts we have 
heard s 

The charges of our friends. Ye Roman gods ! 
Lead their successes as we wish our own. 
That both our powers, with smiling fronts en- 
countering, 
May give you thankful sacrifice. 

Enter a Messenger, 

Thy news? 
Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issu'd, 10 

And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle; 

I saw our party to their trenches driven. 

And then I came away. 
Com. Though thou speak'st truth. 



Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long 
is't since? 
Mess. Above an hour, my lord. 15 

Com. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their 
drums : 
How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour. 
And bring thy news so late? 
Mess. Spies of the Volsces 

Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel 
Three or four miles about, else had I, sir, 20 
Half an hour since brought my report. 

Enter Marcius, [behind]. 

Com. Who's yonder, 

That does appear as he were flay'd ? O gods ! 

He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have 

Before-time seen him thus. 

Mar. Come I too late? 

Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a 

tabor 25 

More than I know the sound of Marcius' 

tongue 
From every meaner man. 
Mar. Come I too late? 

Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of 
others. 
But mantled in your own. 
Mar. O, let me clip ye 

In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart 30 
As merry as when our nuptial day was done. 
And tapers burn'd to bedward ! 
Com. Flower of warriors, 

How is't with Titus Lartius? 
Mar. As with a man busied about decrees; 
Condemning some to death, and some to exile; 
Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the 
other ; 36 

Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, 
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash. 
To let him slip at will. 
Com. Where is that slave 

Which told me they had beat you to your 
trenches ? 40 

Where is he? call him hither. 
Mar. Let him alone; 

He did inform the truth; but for our gentle- 
men. 
The common file — a plague ! tribunes for 

them ! — 
The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did 

budge 
From rascals worse than they. 



767 



14 



CORIOLANUS 



[act I. SC. VI. 



Com. But how prevail'd you? 

Mar. Will the time serve to tell? I do not 

think. 46 

Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the 

field? 
If not, why cease you till you are so? 
Com. Marcius, 

We have at disadvantage fought and did 
Retire to win our purpose. 50 

Mar. How lies their battle? know you on which 
side 
They have plac'd their men of trust? 
Com. As I guess, Marcius, 

Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates^, 
Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, 
Their very heart of hope. 
Mar. I do beseech you, 55 

By all the battles wherein we have fought. 
By the blood we have shed together, by the 

vows 
We have made to endure friends, that you 

directly 
Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates; 
And that you not delay the present, but, 60 
Filling the air with swords advanc'd and 

darts. 
We prove this very hour. 
Com. Though I could wish 

You were conducted to a gentle bath 
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never 
Deny your asking; take your choice of those 
That best can aid your action. 
Mar. Those are they 66 

That most are willing. If any such be here — 
As it were sin to doubt — that love this paint- 
ing 
Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear 
Lesser his person than an ill report; 70 

If any think brave death outweighs bad life 
And that his country's dearer than himself; 
Let him alone, or so many so minded. 
Wave thus, to express his disposition. 
And follow Marcius. 75 

They all shout and wave their swords, take 
him up in their arms, and cast up their 
caps. 
O, me alone ! make you a sword of me ! 
If these shows be not outward, which of you 
But is four Volsces ? none of you but is 
Able to bear against the great Aufidius 
A shield as hard as his. A certain num- 
ber, 80 



Though thanks to all, must I select from all; 
the rest 

Shall bear the business in some other fight. 

As cause will be obey'd. Please you to 
march ; 

And four shall quickly draw out my com- 
mand. 

Which men are best inclin'd. 
Com. March on, my fellows; 

Make good this ostentation, and you shall 86 

Divide in all with us. Exeunt. 



[Scene VII. — The gates of Corioli.] 

Titus Lartius, having set a guard upon Corioli, 
going with drum and trumpet toward Comi- 
nius and Caius Marcius, enters with a Lieu- 
tenant, other Soldiers, and a Scout. 

Lart. So, let the ports be guarded; keep your 
duties. 
As I have set them down. If I do send, des- 
patch 
Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve 
For a short holding. If we lose the field. 
We cannot keep the town. 
Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. 

Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon 's. 6 
Our guider, come; to the Roman camp con- 
duct us. Exeunt. 



[Scene VIIL— .4 field of battle.] 

Alarum as in battle. Enter Marcius and Au- 
fidius at several doors. 

Mar. I'll fight with none but thee; for I do 
hate thee 

Worse than a promise-breaker. 
Auf. We hate alike; 

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor 

More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot. 
Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave, 5 

And the gods doom him after! 
Auf. If I fly, Marcius, 

Holloa me like a hare. 
Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus, 

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls. 

And made what work I pleas'd: 'tis not my 
blood 



768 



ACT I. SC. VIII.] 



CORIOLANUS 



15 



Enter Titus Lartius, with his power, from 
pursuit. 



Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy re- 
venge 10 
Wrench up thy power to the highest. 
Auf. Wert thou the Hector 
That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, 
Thou shouldst not scape me here. 

Here they fight, and certain Volsces come 
in the aid of Aufidius. Marcius fights 
till they be driven in breathless. 
Officious, and not valiant, you have sham'd 

me 
In your condemned seconds. [Exeunt.] 

[Scene IX. — The Roman camp.] 

Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. En- 
ter, at one door, Cominius with the Romans; 
at another door, Marcius, with his arm in a 
scarf. 

Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's 

work, 
Thou't not believe thy deeds: but I'll report 

it 
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles, 
Where great patricians shall attend and shrug, 
T the end admire, where ladies shall be 

frighted, 5 

And, gladly quak'd, hear more ; where the dull 

tribunes. 
That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine hon- 
; ours. 

Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the 

gods 
Our Rome hath such a soldier.' 
Yet camest thou to a morsel of this feast, lo 
Having fully din'd before. 



Com. You shall not be 

The grave of your deserving; Rome must 

know 20 

The value of her own. 'Twere a concealment 

Worse than a theft, no less than a traduce- 

ment. 
To hide your doings ; and to silence that, 
Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd. 
Would seem but modest. Therefore, I be- 
seech you — 25 
In sign of what you are, not to reward 
What you have done — before our army hear 



upon me, and they 



thi 



^art. O general, 

Here is the steed, we the caparison; 
j. Hadst thou beheld — 

Mar. Pray now, no more. My mother. 

Who has a charter to extol her blood. 
When she does praise me grieves me. I have 
done j^ 

As you have done; that's what I can; induc'd 
As you have been; that's for my country. 
He that has but eiFected his good will 
Hath oyerta'en mine act. 



Mar. I have some wounds 
smart 

To hear themselves remember'd. 
(^om. Should they not. 

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, 30 
And tent themselves with death. Of all the 

horses. 
Whereof we have ta'en good and g-ood store, 

of all 
The treasure in this field achiev'd and city. 
We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth. 
Before the common distribution, at 35 

Your only choice. 
Mar. I thank you, general; 

But cannot make my heart consent to take 
A bribe to pay my sword. I do refuse it; 
And stand upon my common part with those 
That have beheld the doing. 40 

A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius! 
Marcius!' cast up their caps and lances. 
Cominius and Lartius stand bare. 
Mar. May these same instruments, which you 
profane. 
Never sound more ! when drums and trumpets 

shall 
I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and 

cities be 
Made all of false-fac'd soothing! 
When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, 45 
Let him be made a coverture for the wars ! 
No more, I say ! For that I have not wash'd 
My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile 

wretch, — 
Which, without note, here's many else have 

done, — 
You shout me forth 
In acclamations hyperbolical; 
As if I lov'd my little should be dieted 
In praises sauc'd with lies. 



so 



769 



16 



CORIOLANUS 



[act I. SC. IX. 



Com. Too modest are you; 

More cruel to your good report than grateful 
To us that give you truly. By your patience, 
If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put 
you, 56 

Like one that means his proper harm, in 

manacles. 
Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be 

it known. 

As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius 

Wears this war's garland. In token of the 

which, 60 

My noble steed, known to the camp, I give 

him. 
With all his trim belonging; and from thiy 

time. 
For what he did before Corioli, call him. 
With all the applause and clamour of the host, 
Caius Marcius Coriolanus ! Bear 65 

The addition nobly ever ! 

Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. 

All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus! 

Cor. I will go wash; 

And when my face is fair, you shall perceive 
Whether I blush or no; howbeit, I thank you. 
I mean to stride your steed, and at all times 71 
To undercrest your good addition 
To the fairness of my power. 

Com. So, to our tent ; 

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write 
To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, 
Must to Corioli back; send us to Rome 76 

The best, with whom we may articulate. 
For their own good and ours. 

Lart. I shall, my lord. 

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now 
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg 
Of my lord general. 

Com. Take't; 'tis yours. What is't? 

Cor. I sometime lay here in Corioli 

At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly. 
He cried to me; I saw him prisoner. 
But then Aufidius was within my view, 85 

And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity; I request 

you 
To give my poor host freedom. 

Com. O, well begg'd ! 

Were he the butcher of my son, he should 
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. 

Lart. Marcius, his name? 

Cor. By Jupiter! forgot. 90 

I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd. 



Have we no wine here ? 
Com. Go we to our tent; 

The blood upon your visage dries ; 'tis time 
It should be look'd to. Come. Exeunt. 



[Scene X. — The camp of the Volsces.] 

A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, 
bloody, with two or three Soldiers. 

Auf. The town is ta'en! 

1. Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good con- 
dition. 
Auf. Condition! 

I would I were a Roman; for I cannot, 
Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition ! 5 
What good condition can a treaty find 
I' the part that is at mercy? Five times, 

Marcius, 
I have fought with thee; so often hast thou 

beat me. 
And wouldst do so, I think, should we en- 
counter 
As often as we eat. By the elements, 10 

If e'er again I meet him beard to beard. 
He's mine, or I am his. Mine emulation 
Hath not that honour in't it had; for where 
I thought to crush him in an equal force. 
True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some 
way IS 

Or wrath or craft may get him. 
1, Sol. He's the devil. 

Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's; 
poison'd 
With only suffering stain by him; for him 
Shall fly out of itself ; nor sleep nor sanctuary. 
Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, 
The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice,! 
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up 
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst 
My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were 

it 

At home, upon my brother's guard, even' 

there, 25 

Against the hospitable canon, would I 

Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to 

the city; 
Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that 

must 
Be hostages for Rome. 
1. Sol. Will not you go? 



770 



ACT I. SC. 



X.] 



CORIOLANUS 



17 



Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove; I pray 

you — 30 

'Tis south the city mills — bring me word 

thither 
How the world goes^ that to the pace of it 
I may spur on my journey. 
2. Sol. I shall, sir. 

lEjseunt.'] 



ACT SECOND 

[Scene I. — Rome. A public place.] 

Enter Menenius with the two Tribunes of the 
people, Sicinius and Brutus. 

Men. The augurer tells me we shall have news 
to-night. 

Bru. Good or bad? 

Men. Not according to the prayer of the peo- 
ple, for they love not Marcius. 5 

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their 
friends. 

Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love? 

Sic. The lamb. 

Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebe- 
ians would the noble Marcius. n 

Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a 
bear. 

Men. He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. 
You two are old men; tell me one thing that 
I shall ask you. 16 

Both. Well, sir. 

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that 
you two have not in abundance ? 

Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with 
all. 21 

Sic. Especially in pride. 

Bru. And topping all others in boasting. 

Men. This is strange now; do you two know 
how you are censured here in the city, I mean 
of us o' the right-hand file? do you? 26 

Both. Why, how are we censured? 

Men. Because you talk of pride now, — will you 
not be angry? 

Both. Well, well, sir, well. 30 

Men. Why, 'tis no great matter ; for a very little 
thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal 
of patience. Give your dispositions the reins, 
and be angry at your pleasures; at the least, 
if you take it as a pleasure to you in being 
so. You blame Marcius for being proud? 36 



Bru. We do it not alone, sir. 

Men. I know you can do very little alone; for 
your helps are many, or else your actions 
would grow wondrous single; your abilities 
are too infant-like for doing much alone. 
You talk of pride ; O that you could turn your 
eyes toward the napes of your necks, and 
make but an interior survey of your good 
selves ! O that you could ! 45 

Bru. What then, sir? 

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of 
unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, 
alias fools, as any in Rome. 

Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough 
too. 50 

Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, 
and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not 
a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to be some- 
thing imperfect in favouring the first com- 
plaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial 
motion; one that converses more with the but- 
tock of the night than with the forehead of 
the morning. What I think I utter, and spend 
my malice in my breath. Meeting two such 
wealsmen as you are — I cannot call you Ly- 
curguses — if the drink you give me touch my 
palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. 
I can't say your worships have delivered the 
matter well, when I find the ass in compound 
with the major part of your syllables; and 
though I must be content to bear with those 
that say you are reverend grave men, yet they 
lie deadly that tell you you have good faces. 
If you see this in the map of my microcosm, 
follows it that I am known well enough too? 
what harm can your bisson conspectuities 
glean out of this character, if I be known well 
enough too? 72 

Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well 
enough. 

Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any 
thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' 
caps and legs; you wear out a good whole- 
some forenoon in hearing a cause between an 
orange-wife and a f osset-seller ; and then re- 
journ the controversy of three pence to a sec- 
ond day of audience. When you are hearing 
a matter between party and party, if you 
chance to be pinched with the colic, you make 
faces like mummers; set up the bloody flag 
against all patience; and, in roaring for a 
chamber-pot^ dismiss the controversy bleed- 



77J 



18 



CORIOLANUS 



[act II. SC. I. 



ing^ the more entangled by your hearing. All 
the peace you make in their cause is, calling 
both the parties knaves. You are a pair of 
strange ones. 89 

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be 
a perfecter giber for the table than a neces- 
sary bencher in the Capitol. 92 

Men, Our very priests must become mockers, 
if they shall encounter such ridiculous sub- 
jects as you are. When you speak best unto 
the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of 
your beards; and your beards deserve not so 
honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher's 
cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's pack- 
saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is 
proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth 
all your predecessors since Deucalion, though 
peradventure some of the best of 'em were 
hereditary hangmen. God-den to your wor- 
ships: more of your conversation would in- 
fect my brain, being the herdsmen of the 
beastly plebeians. I will be bold to take my 
leave of you. 106 

Brutus and Sicinius [go] aside. 

Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Valeria. 

How now, my as fair as noble ladies, — and 
the moon, were she earthly, no nobler, — 
whither do you follow your eyes so fast ? 109 

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius ap- 
proaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. 

Men. Ha ! Marcius coming home ! 

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius ; and with most pros- 
perous approbation. 

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. 
Hoo ! Marcius coming home ! 116 

[Vol. Vir.] Nay, 'tis true. 

Vol. Look, here's a letter from him; the state 
hath another, his wife another; and, I think, 
there's one at home for you. 120 

Men. I will make my very house reel to-night; 
a letter for me! 

Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I 
saw't. 

Men. A letter for me ! it gives me an estate of 
seven years' health ; in which time I will make 
a lip at the physician. The most sovereign 
prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, 
to this preservative, of no better report than 
a horse-drench. Is he not wounded .^^ he was 
wont to come home wounded. 131 



Vir, O, no, no, no. 

Vol. O, he is wounded ; I thank the gods f or't. 

Men. So do I too, if it be not too much; brings 
a' victory in his pocket.^ the wounds become 
him. 136 

Vol. On's brows; Menenius, he comes the third 
time home with the oaken garland. 

Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? 

Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, 
but Aufidius got ofF. 141 

Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant 
him that; and he had stayed by him, I would 
not have been so fidiused for all the chests in 
Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the 
senate possessed of this? 146 

Vol. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes; the 
senate has letters from the general, wherein 
he gives my son the whole name of the war. 
He hath in this action outdone his former 
deeds doubly. 151 

Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of 
him. 

Men. Wondrous ! ay, I warrant you, and not 
without his true purchasing. 

Vir. The gods grant them true ! 156 

Vol. True ! pow, wow. 

Men. True! I'll be sworn they are true. 
Where is he wounded? [To the Tribunes] 
God save your good worships ! Marcius is 
coming home: he has more cause to be proud. 
Where is he wounded? 162 

Vol. I' the shoulder and i' the left arm; there 
will be large cicatrices to show the people, 
when he shall stand for his place. He re- 
ceived in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' 
the body. 166 

Men. One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh, — 
there's nine that I know. 

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty- 
five wounds upon him. 170 

Men. Now it's twenty-seven; every gash was an 
enemy's grave. [A shout and flourish.] 
Hark ! the trumpets. 

Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before 
him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves 
tears : 176 

Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth 

lie; 
Which, being advanc'd, declines, and then men 
die. 



A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius 



772 



ACT II. SC, 



I.] 



CORIOLANUS 



19 



the general, and Titus Lartiusj between them, 
Coriolanus, crowned with an oaken garland; 
with Captains and Soldiers, and a Herald. 

Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did 
fight 
Within Corioli gates ; where he hath won, i8o 
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these 
In honour follows Coriolanus. 
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! 

Flourish. 
All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 
Cor. No more of this; it does offend my heart; 

Pray now, no more. 
Com. Look, sir, your mother ! 

Cor. O, 

You have, I know, petition'd all the gods 187 
For my prosperity ! Kneels. 

Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up ; 

My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and 
By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd, — 190 
What is it ? — Coriolanus must I call thee .^ — 
But, O, thy wife ! 
Cor. My gracious silence, hail ! 

Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd 

home. 
That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my 

dear. 
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, 195 

And mothers that lack sons. 
Men. Now, the gods crown thee ! 

Cor. And live you yet? [To Valeria'] O my 

sweet lady, pardon. 

Vol. I know not where to turn; O, welcome 

home: 

And welcome, general; and ye're welcome all. 

Men. A hundred thousand welcomes. I could 

weep 200 

And I could laugh, I am light and heavy. 

Welcome. 
A curse begin at very root on's heart. 
That is not glad to see thee ! You are three 
That Rome should dote on; yet, by the faith 

of men. 
We have some old crab-trees here at home 
that will not 205 

Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, war- 
riors : 
We call a nettle but a nettle and 
The faults of fools but folly. 
Com. Ever right. 

Cor, Menenius ever, ever. 



Herald. Give way there, and go on ! 
Cor. [To Volurania and Virgilia] Your hand, 
and yours; 210 

Ere in our own house I do shade my head, 
The good patricians must be visited. 
From whom I have received not only greet- 
ings. 
But with them change of honours. 
Vol. I have lived 

To see inherited my very wishes 215 

And the buildings of my fancy; only 
There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not 

but 
Our Rome will cast upon thee. 
Cor. Know, good mother, 

I had rather be their servant in my way 
Than sway with them in theirs. 
Com. On, to the Capitol! 220 

Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as 
before. Brutus and Sicinius [come 
forward] . 
Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared 
sights 
Are spectacled to see him; your prattling 

nurse 
Into a rapture lets her baby cry 
While she chats him; the kitchen malkin pins 
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, 225 
Clambering the walls to eye him; stalls, 

bulks, windows. 
Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges 

hors'd 
With variable complexions, all agreeing 
In earnestness to see him; seld-shown flamens 
Do press among the popular throngs and pufF 
To win a vulgar station; our veil'd dames 231 
Commit the war of white and damask in 
Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton 

spoil 
Of Phoebus' burning kisses ; such a pother 
As if that whatsoever god who leads him 235 
Were slily crept into his human powers 
And gave him graceful posture. 
Sic. On the sudden^ 

I warrant him consul. 
Bru. Then our office may. 

During his power, go sleep. 
Sic. He cannot temperately transport his hon- 
ours 240 
From where he should begin and end, but will 
Lose those he hath won. 
Bru. In that there's comfort. 



773 



20 



CORIOLANUS 



[act II. SC. I. 



Sic. Doubt not 

The commoners, for whom we stand, but they 
Upon their ancient Malice will forget 
With the least cause these his new honours, 
which 245 

That he will give them make I as little ques- 
tion 
As he is proud to do't. 

Bru. I heard him swear. 

Were he to stand for consul, never would he 
Appear i' the market-j^lace nor on him put 
The napless vesture of humility; 250 

Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds 
To the people, beg their stinking breaths. 

Sic. 'Tis right. 

Bru. It was his word: O, he would miss it rather 
Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry 

to him 
And the desire of tlie nobles. 

Sic. I wish no better 255 

Than have him hold that purpose and to put it 
In execution. 

Bru. 'Tis most like he will. 

Sic. It shall be to him then as our good wills, 
A sure destruction. 

Bru. So it must fall out 

To him or our authorities. For an end, 260 
AVe must suggest the people in what hatred 
He still hath held them; that to's power he 

would 
Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders 

and 
Dispropertied their freedoms, holding them. 
In human action and capacity, 265 

Of no more soul nor fitness for the world 
Than camels in the war, who have their 

provand 
Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows 
For sinking under them. 

Sic. This, as you say, suggested 

At some time when his soaring insolence 270 
Shall touch the people — which time shall not 

want. 
If he be put upon't; and that's as easy 
As to set dogs on sheep — will be his fire 
To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze 
Shall darken him for ever. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Bru. What's the matter? 275 

Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis 
thought 



That Marcius shall be consul. 

I have seen the dumb men throng to see him 

and 
Tlie blind to hear him speak; matrons flung 

gloves. 
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handker- 

chers, 280 

Upon him as he pass'd; the nobles bended. 
As to Jove's statue, and the commons made 
A shower and thunder with their caps and 

shouts. 
I never saw the like. 
Bru. Let's to the Capitol; 

And carry with us ears and eyes for the time. 
But hearts for the event. 
Sic. Have with you. Exeunt. 

[Scene II. — The same. The Capitol.] 

Enter two Officers, to lay cushions, as it were 
in the Capitol. 

1. Off. Come, come, they are almost here. How 
many stand for consulships? 

2. Off. Three, they say; but 'tis thought of 
every one Coriolanus will carry it. 4 

1. Off. That's a brave fellow; but he's 
vengeance proud, and loves not the common 
people. 7 

2. Off. Faith, there have been many great men 
that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved 
them ; and there be many that they have loved, 
they know not wherefore ; so that, if they love 
they know not why, they hate upon no better 
a ground. Therefore, for Coriolanus neither 
to care whether they love or hate him mani- 
fests the true knowledge he has in their dis- 
position ; and out of his noble carelessness lets 
them plainly see't. 17 

1. Off. If he did not care whether he had their 
love or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt 
doing them neither good nor harm; but he 
seeks their hate with greater devotion than 
they can render it him; and leaves nothing 
undone that may fully discover him their op- 
posite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and 
displeasure of the people is as bad as that 
which he dislikes, to flatter them for their 
love. 26 

2. Off. He hath deserved worthily of his coun- 
try; and his ascent is not by such easy de- 
grees as those who, having been supple and 
courteous to the people, bonneted, without any 



774 



I ACT II. SC. 11.] 



CORIOLANUS 



21 



I 



^ 



further deed to have them at all into their esti- 
mation and report; but he hath so planted 
his honours in their eyes, and his actions in 
their hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, 
and not confess so much, were a kind of in- 
grateful injury; to report otherwise, were a 
malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pliuck 
reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard 
it. 38 

1. Off. No more of him; he's a worthy man. 
Make way, they are coming. 40 

A sennet. Enter the Patricians and the Trib- 
unes of the people, Lictors before them; Corio- 
lanus, Menenius, Cominius the consul. Si- 
cinius and Brutus take their places by 
themselves. Coriolanus stands. 

Men. Having determin'd of the Volsces and 
To send for Titus Lartius, it remains. 
As the main point of this our after-meeting. 
To gratify his noble service that 
Hath thus stood for his country; therefore, 
please you, 45 

Most reverend and grave elders, to desire 
The present consul, and last general 
In our well-found successes, to report 
A little of that worthy work perform'd 
By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom 50 

We met here both to thank and to remember 
With honours like himself. 

1. Sen. Speak, good Cominius ; 

Leave nothing out for length, and make us 

think 
Rather our state's defective for requital 
Than we to stretch it out. \_To the Tribunes^ 
Masters o' the people, 55 

We do request your kindest ears, and after. 
Your loving motion toward the common body. 
To yield what passes here. 

Sic. We are convented 

Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts 
Inclinable to honour and advance 60 

The theme of our assembly. 

Bru. Which the rather 

We shall be blest to do, if he remember 
A kinder value of the people than 
He hath hereto priz'd them at. 

Men. That's off, that's off; 

I would you rather had been silent. Please 
you 65 

To hear Cominius speak? 

Bru. Most willingly; 



But yet my caution was more pertinent 
Than the rebuke you give it. 
Men. He loves your people; 

But tie him not to be their bedfellow. 
Worthy Cominius, speak. Coriolanus rises, 
and offers to go away. Nay, keep your 
place. 70 

1. Sen. Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear 

What you have nobly done. 
Cor. Your honours' pardon; 

I had rather have my wounds to heal again 
Than hear say how I got them. 
Bru. Sir, I hope 

My words disbench'd you not. 
Cor. No, sir; yet oft, 75 

When blows have made me stay, I fled from 

words. 
You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not: but your 

people, 
I love them as they weigh. 
Men. Pray now, sit down. 

Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head i' 
the sun 
When the alarum were struck than idly sit 80 
To hear my nothings monster'd. Exit. 

Men. Masters of the people. 

Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter — 
That's thousand to one good one — when you 

now see 
He had rather venture all his limbs for 

honour 
Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed, Co- 
minius. 85 
Com. I shall lack voice ; the deeds of Coriolanus 
Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held 
That valour is the chiefest virtue, and 
Most dignifies the haver; if it be. 
The man I speak of cannot in the world 90 
Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years. 
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he 

fought 
Beyond the mark of others ; our then dictator. 
Whom with all praise I point at, saw him 

fight. 
When with his Amazonian chin he drove 95 
The bristled lips before him. He bestrid 
An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the consul's 

view , 

Slew three opposers ; Tarquin's self he met, 
And struck him on his knee. In that day's 

feats. 
When he might act the woman in the scene, 100 



775 



22 



CORIOLANUS 



[act II. SC. II. 



the field, and for his 
the oak. His pupil 



He prov'd best man i' 

meed 
Was brow-bound with 

age 
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea. 
And in the brunt of seventeen battles since 
He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For 
this last, 105 

Before and in Corioli, let me say, 
I cannot speak him home; he stopp'd the 

fliers; 
And by his rare example made the coward 
Turn terror into sport; as weeds before 
A vessel under sail, so men obey'd no 

And fell below his stem. His sword, death's 

stamp. 
Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot 
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion 
Was tim'd with dying cries. Alone he en- 

ter'd 
The mortal gate of the city, which he painted 
With shunless destiny; aidless came off, 116 
And with a sudden reinforcement struck 
Corioli like a planet ; now all's his ; 
When, by and by, the din of war gan pierce 
His ready sense; then straight his doubled 
spirit 120 

Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, 
And to the battle came he; where he did 
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 
'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we call'd 
Both field and city ours, he never stood 125 
To ease his breast with panting. 
Men. Worthy man ! 

1. Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the hon- 
ours 
Which we devise him. 
Com. Our spoils he kick'd at. 

And look'd upon things precious as they were 
The common muck of the world. He covets 
less 130 

Than misery itself would give ; rewards 
His deeds with doing them, and is content 
To spend the time to end it. 
Men. He's right noble; 

Let him be call'd for. 
i. Sen. Call Coriolanus. 

Off. He doth appear. 

Re-enter Coriolanus. 



135 



Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd 
To make thee consul. 



Cor. I do owe them still 

My life and services. 
Men. It then remains " 

That you do speak to the people. 
Cor. I do beseech you. 

Let me o'erleap that custom, for I cannot 140 

Put on the gown, stand naked and entreat 
them. 

For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage: 
please you 

That I may pass this doing. 
Sic. Sir, the people 

Must have their voices; neither will they bate 

One jot of ceremony. 
Men. Put them not to't; 145 

Pray you, go fit you to the custom and 

Take to you, as your predecessors have. 

Your honour with your form. 
Cor. It is a part 

That I shall blush in acting, and might well 

Be taken from the people. 
Bru. Mark you that? 150 

Cor. To brag unto them, thus I did, and thus; 

Show them the unaching scars which I should 
hide. 

As if I had receiv'd them for the hire 

Of their breath only ! 
Men. Do not stand upon't. 

We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, 

Our purpose to them; and to our noble con- 
sul 156 

Wish we all j oy and honour. 
Senators. To Coriolanus come all joy and hon- 
our ! Flourish cornets. Then exeunt [all 
bufl Sicinius and Brutus. 
Bru. You see how he intends to use the people. 
Sic. May they perceive's intent ! He will re- 
quire them, 160 

As if he did contemn what he requested 

Should be in them to give. 
Bru. Come, we'll inform them 

Of our proceedings here ; on the market-place, 

I know, they do attend us. [Exeunt.] 



[Scene HI. — The same. The Forum.] 
Enter seven or eight CitiBcns. 

1. at. Once, if he do require our voices, we 
ought not to deny him. 

2. Cit. We may, sir, if we will. 3 

3. Cit. We have power in ourselves to do it, but 



776 



ACT II. SC. III.] 



CORIOLANUS 



23 



it is a power that we have no power to do; 
for if he show us his wounds and tell us his 
deeds, we are to put our tongues into those 
wounds and speak for them; so, if he tell us 
his noble deeds, we must also tell him our 
noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude 'is 
monstrous, and for the multitude to be in- 
grateful, were to make a monster of the mul- 
titude ; of the which we being members, should 
bring ourselves to be monstrous members. 14 

1. Cit. And to make us no better thought of, a 
little help will serve; for once we stood up 
about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us 
the many-headed multitude. 18 

S. Cit. We have been called so of many; not 
that our heads are some brown, some black, 
some auburn, some bald, but that our wits are 
so diversely coloured: and truly I think if all 
our wits were to issue out of one skull, they 
would fly east, west, north, south, and their 
consent of one direct way should be at once to 
all the points o' the compass. 26 

2. Cit. Think you so? Which way do you judge 
my wit would fly? 

S. Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as 
another man's will ; 'tis strongly wedged up in 
a block-head, but if it were at liberty, 'twould, 
sure, southward. ' 32 

2. Cit. Why that way ? 

S. Cit. To lose itself in a fog, where being three 
parts melted away with rotten dews, the 
fourth would return for conscience sake, to 
help to get thee a wife. 

2. Cit. You are never without your tricks: you 
may, you may. 39 

S. Cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices ? 
But that's no matter, the greater part carries 
it. I say, if he would incline to the people, 
there was never a worthier man. 43 

Writer Coriolanus in a gown of humility, 
with Menenius. 

Here he comes, and in the gown of humility; 
mark his behaviour. We are not to stay all 
together, but to come by him where he stands, 
by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to 
make his requests by particulars; wherein 
every one of us has a single honour, in giving 
him our own voices with our own tongues; 
therefore follow me, and I'll direct you how 



Men. O sir, you are not right; have you not 
known 

The worthiest men have done 't ? 
Cor. What must I say ? 

'I pray, sir,' — Plague upon't ! I cannot bring 

My tongue to such a pace: — 'Look, sir, my 
wounds ! 57 

I got them in my country's service, when 

Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran 

From the noise of our own drums.' 
Men. O me, the gods ! 60 

You must not speak of that: you must desire 
them 

To think upon you. 
Cor. Think upon me ! hang 'em ! 

I would they would forget me, like the virtues 

Which our divines lose by 'em. 
Men. You'll mar all: 

I'll leave you; pray you, speak to 'em, I pray 
you, 6s 

In wholesome manner. Exit. 

Enter three of the Citizens. 

Cor. Bid them wash their faces 

And keep their teeth clean. So, here comes a 

brace. 
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 

3. Cit. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought 
you to't. 70 

Cor. Mine own desert. 

2. Cit. Your own desert! 

Cor. Ay, but not mine own desire. 

3. Cit. How not your own desire? 74 
Cor. No, sir, 'twas never my desire yet to trou- 
ble the poor with begging. 

3. Cit. You must think, if we give you any thing, 
we hope to gain by you. 

the con- 
80 



you shall go by him. 
All. Content, content. 



Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o' 
sulship ? 

1. Cit. The price is to ask it kindly. 
Cor. Kindly! Sir, I pray, let me ha't; I have 

wounds to show you, which shall be yours in 
private. Your good voice, sir ; what say you ? 

2. Cit. You shall ha't, worthy sir. 85 
Cor. A match, sir. There's in all two worthy 

voices begged. I have your alms ; adieu. 

3. Cit. But this is something odd. 
2. Cit. And 'twere to give agatn, — but 'tis no 

matter. Exeunt the three Citizens. 90 

Enter two other Citizens. 

Exeunt Citizens. I Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the 

777 



24 



CORIOLANUS 



[act II. SC. III. 



tune of your voices that I may be consul, I 
have here the customary gown. 

[4-] at. You have deserved nobly of your coun- 
try, and you have not deserved nobly. 95 

Cor. Your enigma? 

[4.] at. You have been a scourge to her ene- 
mies, you have been a rod to her friends; you 
have not indeed loved the common people. 99 

Cor. You should account me the more virtuous 
that I have not been common in my love. I 
will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, the people, 
to earn a dearer estimation of them; 'tis a 
condition they account gentle; and since the 
wisdom of their choice is rather to have my 
hat than my heart, I will practise the insinu- 
ating nod and be off to them most counter- 
feitly. That is, sir, I will counterfeit the be- 
witchment of some popular man and give it 
bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech 
you, I may be consul. no 

[5.] at. We hope to find you our friend; and 
therefore give you our voices heartily. 

[4-.] at. You have received many wounds for 
your country. 114 

Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with show- 
ing them. I will make much of your voices, 
and so trouble you no further. 

Both at. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! 

\Exeunt.^ 

Cor. Most sweet voices ! 

Better it is to die, better to starve, 120 

Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. 
Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here, 
To beg of Hob and Dick, that does appear. 
Their needless vouches? Custom calls me 

to't: 
What custom wills, in all things should we 

do't, 125 

The dust on antique time would lie unswept. 
And mountainous error be too highly heapt 
For truth to o'er-peer. Rather than fool it so. 
Let the high office and the honour go 
To one that would do thus. I am half 
through ; 130 

The one part sufFer'd, the other will I do. 

Enter three Citizens more. 

Here come moe voices. 

Your voices ; for your voices I have fought ; 
Watch'd for your voices ; for your voices bear 
Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six 
I have seen and heard of; for your voices have 



Done many things, some less, some more. 
Your voices; 137 

Indeed, I would be consul. 

6. at. He has done nobly, and cannot go with- 
out any honest man's voice. 140 

7.* at. Therefore let him be consul ; the gods 
give him joy, and make him good friend to 
the people! 

All at. Amen, amen. God save thee, noble 
consul! [Exeunt.'] 

Cor. Worthy voices ! 145 

Re-enter Menenius, with Brutus and Sicinius. 

Men. You have stood your limitation; and the 
tribunes 
Endue you with the people's voice. Remains, 
That, in the official marks invested, you 
Anon do meet the senate. 

Cor. Is this done? 

Sic. The custom of request you have discharg'd: 
The people do admit you, and are summon'd 
To meet anon, upon your approbation. 152 

Cor. Where? at the senate-house? 

Sic. There, Coriolanus. 

Cor. May I change these garments ? 

Sic. You may, sir. 

Cor. That I'll straight do ; and, knowing myself 
again, 155 

Repair to the senate-house. 

Men. I'll keep you company. Will you along? 

Bru. We stay here for the people. 

Sic. Fare you well. 

Exeunt Coriolanus and Menenius. 
He has it now, and by his looks methinks 
'Tis warm at 's heart. 160 

Bru. With a proud heart he wore his humble 
weeds. 
Will you dismiss the people? 

Re-enter the Plebeians. 

Sic. How now, my masters ! have you chose this 
man? 

1. at. He has our voices, sir. 

Bru. We pray the gods he may deserve your 
loves. 165 

2. at. Amen, sir; to my poor unworthy notice, 
He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices. 

S. at. Certainly 

He flouted us downright. 
1. at. No, 'tis his kind of speech; he did not 
mock us. 



778 



ACT II. SC. III.] 



CORIOLANUS 



25 



^. Cit. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but 

says 170 

He used us scornfully; he should have show'd 

us 
His marks of merit, wounds received for's 

country. 
Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. 
Citizens. No, no; no man saw 'em. 

S. Cit. He said he had wounds, which he could 

show in private; 
And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, 175 
'I would be consul,' says he: 'aged custom. 
But by your voices, will not so permit me; 
Your voices therefore.' When we granted 

that. 
Here was 'I thank you for your voices ; thank 

you. 
Your most sweet voices; now you have left 

your voices, 180 

I have no further with you.' Was not this 

mockery ? 
Sic. Why either were you ignorant to see't. 
Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness 
To yield your voices? 
Bru. Could you not have told him 

As you were lesson'd, when he had no power. 
But was a petty servant to the state, 186 

He was your enemy, ever spake against 
Your liberties and the charters that you bear 
I' the body of the weal; and now, arriving 
A place of potency and sway o' the state, 190 
If he should still malignantly remain 
Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might 
Be curses to yourselves.^ You should have 

said 
That as his worthy deeds did claim no less 
Than what he stood for, so his gracious na- 
ture 195 
Would think upon you for your voices and 
Translate his malice towards you into love. 
Standing your friendly lord. 
Sic. Thus to have said, 
As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his 

spirit 
And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd 200 
Either his gracious promise, which you might. 
As cause had call'd you up, have held him to; 
Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, 
Which easily endures not article 
Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage. 
You should have ta'en the advantage of his 

choler 206 



And pass'd him unelected. 
Bru. Did you perceive 

He did solicit you in free contempt 
When he did need your loves, and do you 

think 

That his contempt shall not be bruising to you, 

When he hath power to crush? Why, had 

your bodies 211 

No heart among you? or had you tongues to 

cry 
Against the rectorship of judgment? 
Sic. Have you 

Ere now deni'd the asker? and now again 
Of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow 215 
Your su'd-for tongues? 
3. Cit. He's not confirm'd; we may deny him 

yet. 
2. Cit. And will deny him; 

I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. 

1. Cit. I twice five hundred and their friends to 

piece 'em. 220 

Bru. Get you hence instantly, and tell those 

friends. 

They have chose a consul that will from them 

take 
Their liberties, make them of no more voice 
Than dogs that are as often beat for barking 
As therefore kept to do so. 
Sic. Let them assemble, 225 

And on a safer judgment all revoke 
Your ignorant election; enforce his pride. 
And his old hate unto you; besides, forget not 
With what contempt he wore the humble 

weed, 
How in his suit he scorn'd you ; but your loves. 
Thinking upon his services, took from you 231 
The apprehension of his present portance. 
Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fash- 
ion 
After the inveterate hate he bears you. 
Bru. Lay 

A fault on us, your tribunes ; that we labour'd. 
No impediment between, but that you must 236 
Cast your election on him. 
Sic. Say, you chose him 

More after our commandment than as guided 
By your own true affections, and that your 

minds, 
P re-occupied with what you rather must do 240 
Than what you should, made you against the 

grain 
To voice him consul. Lay the fault on us. 



779 



26 



CORIOLANUS 



[act II. SC. III. 



Brii. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures 

to you, 

How youngly he began to serve his country, 

How long continued, and what stock he 

springs of, 245 

The noble house o' the Marcians, from whence 

came 
That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son. 
Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; 
Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, 
That our best water brought by conduits 
hither ; 250 

And [Censorinus,] nobly named so. 
Twice being [by the people chosen] censor, 
Was his great ancestor. 

Sic. One thus descended, 

That hath beside well in his person wrought 
To be set high in place, we did commend 255 
To your remembrances; but you have found, 
Scaling his present bearing with his past. 
That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke 
Your sudden approbation. 

Bru. Say, you ne'er had done 't — 

Harp on that still — but by our putting on; 260 
And presently, when you have drawn your 

number. 
Repair to the Capitol. 

All. We will so; almost all 

Repent in their election. Exeunt Plebeians. 

Bru. Let them go on ; 

This mutiny were better put in hazard. 
Than stay, past doubt, for greater: 265 

If, as his nature is, he fall in rage 
With their refusal, both observe and answer 
The vantage of his anger. 

Sic. To the Capitol, come; 

We will be there before the stream o' the peo- 
ple. 
And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their 
own, 270 

Which we have goaded onward. Exeunt. 



ACT THIRD 

[Scene I. — Rome. A street."] 

Cornets. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, all the 
Gentry, Cominius, Titus Lartius, and other 
Senators. 

Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new head? 
Lart. He liad, my lord; and that it was whicli 
caus'd 



Our swifter composition. 
Cor. So then the Volsces stand but as at first. 

Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make 
road s 

Upon 's again. 
Com. They are worn, lord consul, so. 

That we shall hardly in our ages see 

Their banners wave again. 
Cor. Saw you Aufidius? 

Lart. On safe-guard he came to me; and did 
curse 

Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely 10 

Yielded the town: he is retir'd to Antium. 
Cor. Spoke he of me? 
Lart. He did, my lord. 

Cor. How? what? 



you, 



'd to 



Lart. How often he had met 
sword; 

That of all things upon the earth he hated 

Your person most, that he would pawn his 
fortunes 15 

To hopeless restitution, so he might 

Be call'd your vanquisher. 
Cor. At Antium lives he? 

Lart. At Antium. 
Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there. 

To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home. 

Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 



Behold, these are the tribunes of the people. 
The tongues o' the common mouth. I do de- 
spise them; 22 
For they do prank them in authority. 
Against all noble sufferance. 
Sic. Pass no further. 
Cor. Ha ! what is that ? 25 
Bru. It will be dangerous to go on; no further. 
Cor. What makes this change? 
Men. The matter? 

Com. Hath he not pass'd the noble and the com- 
mon? 
Bru. Cominius, no. 

Cor. Have I had children's voices? 30 

1. Sen. Tribunes, give way; he shall to the 

market-place. 
Bru. The people are incens'd against him. 
Sic. Stop, 

Or all will fall in broil. 
Cor. Are these your herd? 

Must these have voices, that can yield them 
now 
780 



ACT III. SC. 



!•] 



CORIOLANUS 



27 



And straight disclaim their tongues? What 
are your offices? 35 

You being their mouths^, why rule you not their 
teeth ? 

Have you not set them on? 
Men. Be calm^ be calm. 

Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, 

To curb the will of the nobility. 

Suffer 't, and live with such as cannot rule 40 

Nor ever will be rul'd. 
Bru. Call 't not a plot: 

The people cry you mock'd them, and of 

Ilate, 
When corn was given them gratis, you re~ 
pin'd ; 
Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd 
them 
Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. 45 
Cor. Why, this was known before. 
Bru. Not to them all. 

Cor. Have you inform'd them sithence? 
Bru. How ! I inform them ! 

: Com. You are like to do such business. 
Bru. Not unlike. 

Each way, to better yours. 
Cor. Why then should I be consul? By yond 
clouds, 50 

Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me 
Your fellow tribune. 
Sic. You show too much of that 

For which the people stir; if you will pass 
To where you are bound, you must inquire 

your way. 
Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, 55 
Or never be so noble as a consul. 
Nor yoke with him for tribune. 
Men. Let 's be calm. 

Com. The people are abus'd; set on. This pal- 
tering 
Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus 59 

Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely 
I' the plain way of his merit. 
Cor. Tell me of corn ! 

This was my speech, and I will speak 't 
again — 
Men. Not now, not now. 

1. Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. 

Cor. Now, as I live, I will. My nobler friends, 
I crave their pardons. 65 

For the mutable, rank-scented many, let tliem 
Regard me as I do not flatter, and 
Therein behold themselves; I say again. 



In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our sen- 
ate 
The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, 70 
Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, 

and scatter'd. 
By mingling them with us, the honour'd num- 
ber. 
Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 
Which they have given to beggars. 

Men. Well, no more. 

1. Sen. No more words, we beseech you. 

Cor. How ! no more ! 75 

As for my country I have shed my blood. 
Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
Coin words till their decay against those 

measles. 
Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought 
The very way to catch them. 

Bru. You speak o' the people, 80 

As if you were a god to punish, not 
A man of their infirmity. 

Sic. 'Twere well 

We let the people know't. 

Men. What, what? his choler? 

Cor. Choler ! 

Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, 85 
By Jove, 'twould be my mind ! 

Sic. It is a mind 

That shall remain a poison where it is. 
Not poison any further. 

Cor. Shall remain ! 

Hear you this Triton of the minnows ? mark 

you 
His absolute 'shall'? 

Com. 'Twas from the cannon. 

Cor. 'Shall'! 90 

O good but most unwise patricians ! why. 
You grave but reckless senators, have you 

thus 
Given Hydra here to choose an officer, 
That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but 
The horn and noise o' the monster's, wants 
not spirit 95 

To say he'll turn your current in a ditch. 
And make your channel his? If he have 

power. 
Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake 
Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd. 
Be not as common fools; if you are not, 100 
Let them have cushions by you. You are 

plebeians. 
If they be senators: and they are no less, 



781 



28 



CORIOLANUS 



[act hi. sc. I. 



When^ both your voices blended, the great'st 

taste 
Most palates theirs. They choose their mag- 
istrate. 
And such a one as he, who puts his 'shall/ 105 
His popular 'shall,' against a graver bench 
Than ever frown'd in Greece, By Jove him- 
self! 
It makes the consuls base; and my soul aches 
To know, when two authorities are up. 
Neither supreme, how soon confusion no 

May enter 'twixt the gap of both and take 
The one by the other. 
Com. Well, on to the market-place. 

Cor. Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth 
The corn o' the storehouse gratis, as 'twas used 
Sometime in Greece, — 
Men. Well, well, no more of that. 115 

Cor. Though there the people had more abso- 
lute power, 
I say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed 
The ruin of the state. 
Bru. Why, shall the people give 

One that speaks thus their voice? 
Cor. I'll give my reasons, 

jVIore worthier than their voices. They 
know the corn 120 

Was not our recompense, resting well assur'd 
They ne'er did service for 't; being press'd to 

the war. 
Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, 
They would not thread the gates. This kind 

of service 
Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the 
war, 125 

Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they 

show'd 
Most valour, spoke not for them; the accusa- 
tion 
Which they have often made against the sen- 
ate. 
All cause unborn, could never be the motive 
Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? 
How shall this bisson multitude digest 131 

The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express 
What's like to be their words: 'We did re- 
quest it; 
We are the greater poll, and in true fear 
They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase 
The nature of our seats and make the rabble 
Call our cares fears; which will in time 137 
Break ope the locks o' the senate and bring in 

782 



The crows to peck the eagles. 
Men. Come, enough. 

Bru. Enough, with over-measure. 



Cor. 



No, take more 



What may be sworn by, both divine and hu- 
man. 
Seal what I end withal! This double wor- 
ship. 
Where one part does disdain with cause, the 

other 
Insult without all reason, where gentry, title, 

wisdom. 
Cannot conclude but by the yea and no 14s 
Of general ignorance, — it must omit 
Real necessities, and give way the while 
To unstable slightness; purpose so barr'd, it 

follows, 
Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, be- 
seech you, — 
You that will be less fearful than discreet, 150 
That love the fundamental part of state 
More than you doubt the change on 't, that 

prefer 
A noble life before a long, and wish 
To jump a body with a dangerous physic 
That's sure of death without it, at once pluck 
out 155 

The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick 
The sweet which is their poison. Your dis- 
honour 
Mangles true judgment and bereaves the state 
Of that integrity which should become 't. 
Not having the power to do the good it would. 
For the ill which doth control 't. 
Bru. Has said enough. 161 

Sic. Has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer 

As traitors do. 
Cor. Thou wretch, despite o'erwhelm thee ! 

What should the people do with these bald 
tribunes? 165; 

On whom depending, their obedience fails 
To the greater bench. In a rebellion. 
When what's not meet, but what must be, was 

law. 
Then were they chosen ; in a better hour. 
Let what is meet be said it must be meet, 170 
And throw their power i' the dust. 
Bru. Manifest treason ! 

Sic. This a consul? no 

Bru. The aediles, ho ! 

Enter an jEdile. 



ACT III. SC. I.] 



CORIOLANUS 



Let him be apprehended. 
Sic. Go, call the people; [Exit jEdile] in whose 
name myself 
Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, 175 

A foe to the public weal. Obey, I charge thee, 
And follow to thine answer. 
Cor. Hence, old goat! 

[Senators, c^^c] We'll surety him. 
Com. Aged sir, hands off. 

Cor. Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy 
bones 
Out of thy garments. 
Sic. Help, ye citizens ! 180 

Enter a rabble of Plebeians, with the Mdiles. 

Men. On both sides more respect. 

Sic. Here's he that would take from you all 

your power. 
Bru. Seize him, aediles ! 
All. Down with him! down with him! 
[Senators, ^c] Weapons, weapons, weapons! 
They all bustle about Coriolanus [crying] 

'Tribunes!' 'Patricians!' 'Citizens!' 'What, 
ho !' 186 

'Sicinius !' 'Brutus !' 'Coriolanus !' 'Citizens !' 

'Peace, peace, peace!' 'Stay, hold, peace!' 
Men. What is about to be ? I am out of breath ; 

Confusion 's near; I cannot speak. You, 
tribunes 190 

To the people ! Coriolanus, patience ! 

Speak, good Sicinius. 
Sic. Hear me, people; peace! 

Citizens. Let's hear our tribune : peace ! Speak, 

speak, speak. 
Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties: 

Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius, 195 

Whom late you have nam'd for consul. 
Men. Fie, fie, fie! 

This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 
1. Sen. To unbuild the city and to lay all flat. 
Sic. What is the city but the people? 
Citizens. True, 

The people are the city. 200 

Bru. By the consent of all, we were establish'd 

The people's magistrates. 
Citizens. You so remain. 

Men. And so are like to do. 
Com. That is the way to lay the city flat; 

To bring the roof to the foundation, 205 

And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges. 

In heaps and piles of ruin. 



Sic. This deserves death. 

Bru. Or let us stand to our authority. 

Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce. 
Upon the part o' the people, in whose power 
We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy 211 
Of present death. 
Sic. Therefore lay hold of him; 

Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from 

thence 
Into destruction cast him. 
Bru. Mdiles, seize him! 

Citizens. Yield, Marcius, yield ! 
Men. Hear me one word; 215 

Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. 
^d. Peace, peace ! 

Men. [To Brutus] Be that you seem, truly your 
country's friend, 
And temperately proceed to what you would 
Thus violently redress. 
Bru. Sir, those cold ways, 220 

That seem like prudent helps, are very poison- 
ous 
Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon 

him. 
And bear him to the rock. 
Cor. No, I'll die here. 

Draws his sword. 
There's some among you have beheld me 

fighting : 
Come, try upon yourselves what you have 
seen me. 225 

Men. Down with that sword ! Tribunes, with- 
draw awhile. 
Bru. Lay hands upon him. 

Men. Help Marcius, help, 

You that be noble ; help him, young and old ! 
[Citizens.] Down with him, down with him! 

In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the Mdiles, 

and the People, are beat in. 

Men. Go, get you to your house; be gone, away! 

All will be naught else. 
2. Sen. Get you gone. 

Com. Stand fast; 

We have as many friends as enemies. 232 

Men. Shall it be put to that.^ 
1. Sen. The gods forbid! 

I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house; 
Leave us to cure this cause. 
Men. For 'tis a sore upon us. 

You cannot tent yourself; be gone, beseech 
you. 
[Com.] Come, sir, along with us. 



783 



so 



CORIOLANUS 



[act III. SC. I. 



[Cor.] I would they were barbarians — as they 
are, 
Though in Rome litter'd — not Romans — as 

they are not, 
Though calv'd i' the porch o' the Capitol — 
[Men.] Be gone; 240 

Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ; 
One time will owe another. 
Cor. On fair ground 

I could beat forty of them. 
Men. I could myself 

Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the 

two tribunes. 
Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; 245 
And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands 
Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, 
Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend 
Like interrupted waters and o'erbear 
What they are us'd to bear. 
Men. Pray you, be gone; 250 

I'll try whether my old wit be in request 
With those that have but little. This must be 

patch'd 

With cloth of any colour. 

Com. Nay, come away. 

Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, [and others]. 

A Patrician. This man has marr'd his fortune. 

Men. His nature is too noble for the world: 255 

He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, 

Or Jove for 's power to thunder. His heart 's 

his mouth: 
What his breast forges, that his tongue must 

vent; 
And, being angry, does forget that ever 
He heard the name of death. A noise within. 
Here 's goodly work ! 
2. Pat. I would they were a-bed ! 

Men. I would they were in Tiber! What the 
vengeance ! 262 

Could he not speak *em fair? 

Enter Brutus and Sicinius, with the rahhle again. 

Sic. Where is this viper 

That would depopulate the city and 
Be every man himself? 
Men. You worthy tribunes, — 

Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock 
With rigorous hands: he hath resisted law. 
And therefore law shall scorn him further 

trial 
Than the severity of the public power 
Which he so sets at nought. 



1. Cit. He shall well know 270 

The noble tribunes are the people's mouths. 

And we their hands". 
Citizens. He shall, sure on 't. 
Men. Sir, sir, — 

Sic. Peace! 

Men. Do not cry havoc, where you should but 
hunt 275 

With modest warrant. 
Sic. Sir, how comes 't that you 

Have holp to make this rescue? 
Men. Hear me speak: 

As I do know the consul's worthiness. 

So can I name his faults, — 
Sic. Consul ! what consul ? 

Men. The consul Coriolanus. 
Bru. He consul! 280 

Citizens. No, no, no, no, no. 

Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good 
people, 

I may be heard, I would crave a word or two; 

The which shall turn you to no further harm 

Than so much loss of time. 
Sic. Speak briefly then; 285 

For we are peremptory to dispatch 

This viperous traitor; to eject him hence 

Were but one danger, and to keep him here 

Our certain death; therefore it is decreed 

He dies to-night. 
Men. Now the good gods forbid 290 

That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude 

Towards her deserved children is enroll'd 

In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam 

Should now eat up her own ! 
Sic. He 's a disease that must be cut away. 295 
Men. O, he 's a limb that has but a disease ; 

Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy. 

What has he done to Rome that's worthy 
death? 

Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost — 

Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he 
hath, 300 

By many an ounce — he dropp'd it for his 
country ; 

And what is left, to lose it by his country. 

Were to us all, tliat do 't and suffer it, 

A brand to the end o' tlie world. 
Sic. This is clean kam. 

Bru. Merely awry; when lie did love his coun- 
try, ^ 30s 

It honour'd him. 
Men. The service of the foot 



784 



ACT III. SC. 



I.] 



CORIOLANUS 



SI 



Being once gangrened^, is not then respected 

For what before it was. 
Bru. We'll hear no more. 

Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence ; 

Lest his infection, being of catching nature, 310 

Spread further. 
Men. One word more, one word. 

This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 

The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will too late 

Tie leaden pounds to 's heels. Proceed by 
process; 

Lest parties, as he is belov'd, break out, 315 

And sack great Rome with Romans. 
Bru. If it were so, — 

Sic. What do ye talk? 

Have we not had a taste of his obedience? 

Our aediles smote? ourselves resisted? Come. 
! Men. Consider this : he has been bred i' the wars 

Since a' could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 

In bolted language; meal and bran together 

He throws without distinction. Give me 
leave, 

I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him 

Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, 325 

In peace, to his utmost peril. 
1. Sen. Noble tribunes. 

It is the humane way; the other course 

Will prove too bloody, and the end of it 

Unknown to the beginning. 
Sic. Noble Menenius, 

Be you then as the people's officer. 330 

Masters, lay down your weapons. 
Bru. Go not home. 

Sic. Meet on the market-place. We'll attend 
you there: 

Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll pro- 
ceed 

In our first way. 
Men. I'll bring him to you. 

[To the Senators'] Let me desire your company: 
he must come, 335 

Or what is worst will follow. 
1. Sen, Pray you, let's to him. 

Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — A room in Coriolanus's house.'] 

Enter Coriolanus with Nobles. 

Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears, present 
me 
Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels. 



Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock. 
That the precipitation might down stretch 
Below the beam of sight, yet will I still 5 

Be thus to them. 

\_A Patrician.] You do the nobler. 

Cor. I muse my mother 

Does not approve me further, who was wont 
To call them woollen vassals, things created 
To buy and sell with groats, to show bare 
heads 10 

In congregations, to yawn, be still and won- 
der. 
When one but of my ordinance stood up 
To speak of peace or war. 

Enter Volumnia. 

I talk of you: 
Why did you wish me milder ? would you have 

me 
False to my nature? Rather say I play 15 
The man I am. 
Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, 

I would have had you put your power well on, 
Before you had worn it out. 
Cor. Let go. 

Vol. You might have been enough the man you 
are. 
With striving less to be so ; lesser had been 20 
The thwartings of your dispositions, if 
You had not show'd them how ye were dis- 

pos'd 
Ere they lack'd power to cross you. 
Cor. Let them hang. 

Vol. Ay, and burn too. 

Enter Menenius with the Senators. 

Men. Come, come, you have been too rough, 
something too rough; 25 

You must return and mend it. 
[1.] Sen. There's no remedy; 

Unless, by not so doing, our good city 

Cleave in the midst, and perish. 
Vol. Pi'ay, be counsell'd: 

I have a heart as little apt as yours, 

But yet a brain that leads my use of anger 30 

To better vantage. 
Men. Well said, noble woman ! 

Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but 
that 

The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic 



785 



32 



CORIOLANUS 



[act III. SC. II. 



For the whole state^ I would put mine armour 

on^ 
Which I can scarcely bear. 

Cor. What must I do? 35 

Men. Return to the tribunes. 

Cor. Well, what then.^* what then? 

Men. Repent what you have spoke. 

Cor. For them! I cannot do it to the gods; 
Must I then do 't to them? 

Vol. You are too absolute; 

Though therein you can never be too noble, 40 
But when extremities speak. I have heard 

you say. 
Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, 
I' the war do grow together: grant that, and 

tell me. 
In peace what each of them by the other lose. 
That they combine not there. 

Cor. Tush, tush! 

Men. A good demand. 45 

Vol. If it be honour in your wars to seem 

The same you are not, which, for your best 

ends. 
You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse, 
That it shall hold companionship in peace 
With honour, as in war, since that to both 50 
It stands in like request? 

Cor. Why force you this? 

Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak 
To the people ; not by your own instruction. 
Nor by the matter which your heart prompts 

you. 
But with such words that are but roted in 55 
Your tongue, though but bastards and sylla- 
bles 
Of no allowance to your bosom's truth. 
Now, this no more dishonours you at all 
Than to take in a town with gentle words. 
Which else would put you to your fortune 
and 60 

The hazard of much blood. 
I would dissemble with my nature where 
My fortunes and my friends at stake requir'd 
I should do so in honour. I am in this. 
Your wife, your son, these senators, the no- 
bles ; 65 
And you will rather show our general louts 
How you can frown than spend a fawn upon 

'em. 
For the inheritance of their loves and safe- 
guard 
Of what that want might ruin. 



Men. Noble lady ! 

Come, go with us. Speak fair ; you may salve 

so, 70 

Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 
Of what is past. 
Vol. I prithee now, my. son. 

Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; 
And thus far having stretch'd it — here be with 

them — 
Thy knee bussing the stones — for in such 

business 75 

Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the 

ignorant 
More learned than the ears — waving thy head. 
Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart. 
Now humble as the ripest mulberry 
That will not hold the handling. Or say to 

them, 80 

Thou art their soldier, and being bred in 

broils 
Hast not the soft way which, thou dost con- 
fess. 
Were fit for thee to use as they to claim. 
In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame 
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 85 
As thou hast power and person. 
Men. This but done. 

Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were 

yours ; 
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
As words to little purpose. 
Vol. Prithee now. 

Go, and be rul'd: although I know thou hadst 

rather 90 

Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf 
Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Comi- 

nius. 

Enter Cominius. 

Com. I have been i' the market-place; and, sir, 
'tis fit 

You make strong party, or defend yourself 

By calmness or by absence; all 's in anger. 95 
Men. Only fair speech. 
Com. I think 'twill serve, if he 

Can thereto frame his spirit. 
Vol. He must, and will. 

Prithee now, say you will, and go about it. 
Cor. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce? 
Must I 

With my base tongue give to my noble heart 100 ! 



786 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



CORIOLANUS 



33 



A lie that it must bear ? Well, I will do 't ; 
Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, 
This mould of Marcius, they to dust should 

grind it 
And throw't against the wind. To the mar- 
ket-place ! 
You have put me now to such a part which 
never 105 

I shall discharge to the life. 
Com. Come, come, we'll prompt you. 

Vol. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said 
My praises made thee first a soldier, so. 
To have my praise for this, perform a part 
Thou hast not done before. 
Cor. Well, I must do 't: no 

Away, my disposition, and possess me 
Some harlot's spirit! my throat of war be 

turn'd. 
Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice 
That babies lull asleep ! the smiles of knaves 
Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take 
up 116 

The glasses of my sight ! a beggar's tongue 
Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd 

knees. 
Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his 
That hath receiv'd an alms ! I will not do 't, 
Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth 121 
And by my body's action teach my mind 
A most inherent baseness. 
Vol. At thy choice, then; 

To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour 
Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let 125 
Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear 
Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death 
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. 
Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it 

from me, 
But owe thy pride thyself. 
Cor. Pray, be content. 130 

Mother, I am going to the market-place; 
Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their 

loves. 
Cog their hearts from them, and come home 

belov'd 
Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am go- 
ing; 
Commend me to my wife. I'll return con- 
sul; 13s 
Or never trust to what my tongue can do 
I' the way of flattery further. 



Vol. Do your will. Exit. 

Com. Away! the tribunes do attend you: arm 
yourself 
To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd 
With accusations, as I hear, more strong 140 
Than are upon you yet. 
Cor. The word is 'mildly.' Pray you, let us 
go: 
Let them accuse me by invention, I 
Will answer in mine honour. 
Men. Ay, but mildly. 

Cor. Well, mildly be it then. Mildly ! 145 

Exeunt. 



[Scene III. — The same. The Forum.'] 

Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 

Bru. In this point charge him home, that he 
affects 
Tyrannical power ; if he evade us there. 
Enforce him with his envy to the people. 
And that the spoil got on the Antiates 
Was ne'er distributed. 5 

Enter an Mdile, 

What, will he come? 
Md. He's coming. 

Bru. How accompanied? 

Md. With old Menenius, and those senators 

That always favour'd him. 
Sic. Have you a catalogue 

Of all the voices that we have procur'd 

Set down by the poll? 
Md. I have; 'tis ready. 10 

Sic. Have you collected them by tribes? 
Md. I have. 

Sic. Assemble presently the people hither; 

And when they hear me say 'It shall be so 

I' the right and strength o' the commons,' be 
it either 

For death, for fine, or banishment, then let 
them, IS 

If I say fine, cry 'Fine;' if death, cry 'Death.' 

Insisting on the old prerogative 

And power i' the truth o' the cause. 
Md. I shall inform them. 

Bru. And when such time they have begun to 
cry, 

Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd 20 

Enforce the present execution 

Of what we chance to sentence. 



787 



S4> 



CORIOLANUS 



[act III. SC. III. 



jEd. Very well. 

JSic. Make them be strong and ready for this 
hint, 

When we shall hap to give 't them. 
Bru. Go about it. [Ea;it jEdile.] 

Put him to choler straight: he hath been 

Us'd 25 

Ever to conquer, and to have his worth 
Of contradiction; being once chaf'd, he can- 
not 
Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks 
What's in his heart; and that is there which 

looks 
With us to break his neck. 
Sic. Well, here he comes. 30 

Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, and Cominius, 
with [Senators and Patricians^. 

Men. Calmly, I do beseech you. 
Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece 
Will bear the knave by the volume. The 
honour'd gods 33 

Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of jus- 
tice 
Supplied with worthy men ! plant love 

among 's ! 
Throng our large temples with the shows of 

peace. 
And not our streets with war ! 
1. Sen. Amen, amen. 

Men. A noble wish. 

Re-enter Mdile, with Citizens. 

Sic. Draw near, ye people. 

jEd. List to your tribunes. Audience ! peace, 
I say! 40 

Cor. First, hear me speak. 

Both Tri. Well, say. Peace, ho ! 

Cor. Shall I be charg'd no further than this 
present? 
Must all determine here? 

Sic. I do demand. 

If you submit you to the people's voices. 
Allow their officers and are content 45 

To suffer lawful censure for such faults 
As shall be prov'd upon you? 

Cor. I am content. 

Men. Lo, citizens, he says he is content: 

The warlike service he has done, consider; 
think 



Upon the wounds his body bears, which show 
Like graves i' the holy churchyard. 

Cor. Scratches with briers, 51 

Scars to move laughter only. 

Men. Consider further. 

That when he speaks not like a citizen. 
You find him like a soldier; do not take 
His rougher accents for malicious sounds, 55 
But, as I say, such as become a soldier. 
Rather than envy you. 

Com. Well, well, no more. 

Cor. What is the matter 

That being pass'd for consul with full voice, 
I am so dishonour'd that the very hour 60 

You take it off again? 

Sic, Answer to us. 

Cor. Say, then ; 'tis true, I ought so. 

Sic. We charge you, that you have contriv'd to 
take 
From Rome all season'd office and to wind 
Yourself into a power tyrannical; 65 

For which you are a traitor to the people. 

Cor. How! traitor! 

Men. Nay, temperately; your promise. 

Cor. The fires i' the lowest hell fold-in the peo- 
ple! 
Call me their traitor! Thou injurious trib- 
une! 
Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, 
In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in 71 
Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say 
'Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free 
As I do pray the gods. 

Sic. Mark you this, people? 

Citizens. To the rock, to the rock with him! 

Sic. Peace ! 75 

We need not put new matter to his charge: 
What you have seen him do and heard him 

speak. 
Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, 
Opposing laws with strokes and here defying 
Those whose great power must try him; even 
this, 80 

So criminal and in such capital kind. 
Deserves the extremest death. 

Bru. But since he hath 

Serv'd well for Rome, — 

Cor. What do you prate of service? 

Bru. I talk of that, that know it. 

Cor. You? 8s 

Men. Is this the promise that you made your 
mother ? 



788 



ACT III. SC. III.] 



CORIOLANUS 



35 



Com. Know^ I pray jou, — 

Cor. I'll know no further; 

Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian 

deaths 
Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger 
But with a grain a day, I would not buy 90 
Their mercy at the price of one fair word; 
Nor check my courage for what they can give, 
To have't with saying 'Good morrow.' 

Sic. For that he has, 

As much as in him lies, from time to time 
Envied against the people^ seeking means 95 
To pluck away their power, as now at last 
Given hostile strokes, and that not in the 

presence 
Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers 
That doth distribute it; in the name o' the 

people 
And in the power of us the tribunes, we, 100 
Even from this instant, banish him our city. 
In peril of precipitation 
From off the rock Tarpeian never more 
To enter our Home gates; i' the people's 

name, 
I say it shall be so. 105 

Citizens. It shall be so, it shall be so; let him 
away. 
He's banish'd, and it shall be so. 

Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common 
friends, — 

Sic. He's sentenc'd ; no more hearing. 

Com. Let me speak; 

I have been consul, and can show for Rome no 
Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love 
My country's good with a respect more ten- 
der. 
More holy and profound, than mine own life, 
My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase. 
And treasure of my loins ; then if I would 115 
Speak that, — 

Sic. We know your drift; speak what? 

Bru. There's no more to be said, but he is ban- 
ish'd. 
As enemy to the people and his country: 
It shall be so. 

Citizens. It shall be so, it shall be so. 

Cor. You common cry of curs ! whose breath I 
hate 120 

As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
As the dead carcasses of unburied men 
That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; 
And here remain with your uncertainty! 



Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts ! 
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes. 
Fan you into despair ! Have the power still 
To banish your defenders; till at length 128 
Your ignorance, which finds not till it feels. 
Making but reservation of yourselves, 130 

Still your own foes, deliver you as most 
Abated captives to some nation 
That won you without blows ! Despising, 
For you, the city, thus I turn my back: 
There is a world elsewhere. 

Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, [Menenius, 

Senators, and Patricians^. 

Md. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! 

[^Citizens.^ Our enemy is banish'd! he is gone! 

Hoo ! hoo ! [^Shouting, and throwing up 

their caps.^ 
Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him. 
As he hath follow'd you, with all despite; 
Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard 140 
Attend us through the city. 
[Citizens. 1 Come, come; let's see him out at 
gates ; come. 
The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! Come. 

Exeunt. 



ACT FOURTH 

[Scene I. — Rome. Before a gate of the citi/.~\ 

Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius, 
Cominius, with the young Nobility of Rome. 

Cor. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell. 
The beast 
With many heads butts me away. Nay, 

mother. 
Where is your ancient courage? you were us'd 
To say extremity was the trier of spirits; 
That common chances common men could 
bear; 5 

That when the sea was calm all boats alike 
Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's 

blows, 
When most struck home, being gentle, 

wounded, craves 
A noble cunning: you were us'd to load me 
With precepts that would make invincible 10 
The heart that conn'd them. 
Vir. O heavens ! O heavens ! 
Cor. Nay, I prithee, woman, — 



789 



36 



CORIOLANUS 



[act IV. SC. I. 



Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in 

Rome^ 
And occupations perish ! 
Cor. What, what, what! 

I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, 

mother, 15 

Resume that spirit, when you were wont to 

say. 
If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd 
Your husband so much sweat. Cominius, 
Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my 

mother ; 20 

I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, 
Thy tears are Salter than a younger man's, 
And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime 

general, 
I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft be- 
held 
Heart-hardening spectacles; tell these sad 

women 25 

'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes. 
As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot 

well 
My hazards still have been your solace; and 
Believe't not lightly — though I go alone. 
Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen 30 

Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen — 

your son 
Will or exceed the common or be caught 
With cautelous baits and practice. 
Vol. My first son. 

Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius" 
With thee awhile; determine on some course, 
More than a wild exposture to each chance 36 
That starts i' the way before thee. 
Cor. O the gods ! 

Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee 
Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear 

of us 
And we of thee ; so if the time thrust forth 40 
A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send 
O'er the vast world to seek a single man. 
And lose advantage, which doth ever cool 
I' the absence of the needer. 
Cor. Fare ye well: 

Thou hast years upon thee; and thou art too 

full ^ 45 

Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one 
That's yet unbruis'd : bring me but out at gate. 
Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and 
My friends of noble touch, when I am forth, 



Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, 
come. so 

While I remain above the ground, you shall 

Hear from me still, and never of me aught 

But what is like me formerly. 
Men. That's worthily 

As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep. 

If I could shake ofF but one seven years 55 

From these old arms and legs, by the good 
^ gods, 

I'd with thee every foot. 
Cor. Give me thy hand; 

Come. Exeunt. 



[Scene II. — The same. A street near the 
gate.^ 

Enter Sicinius, Brutus^ and an Mdile. 

Sic. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no 
further. 

The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have 
sided 

In his behalf. 
Bru. Now we liave shown our power. 

Let us seem humbler after it is done 

Than when it was a-doing. 
Sic. Bid them home. 5 

Say their great enemy is gone, and they 

Stand in their ancient strength. 
Bru. Dismiss them home. [Ewit Mdile.'] 

Here comes his mother. 

Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius. 

Sic. Let's not meet her. 

Bru. Why.? 

Sic. They say she's mad. 
Bjm. They have ta'en note of us; keep on your 

w^ay. 10 

Vol. O, ye're well met; the hoarded plague o' 

the gods 
Requite your love ! 
Men. Peace, peace; be not so loud. 

Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should 

hear, — 
Nay, and you shall hear some. [To Brutus'] 

Will you be gone? 
Vir. [To Sicinius] You shall stay too: I would 

I had the power 15 

To say so to my husband. 
Sic. Are you mankind? 



790 



ACT IV. SC. II.] 



CORIOLANUS 



37 



Vol. Ajy fool; is that a shame .^ Note but this 
fool. 

Was not a man my father? Hadst thou fox- 
ship 

To banish him that struck more blows for 
Rome 

Than thou hast spoken words? 
Sic. O blessed heavens ! 

Vol. More noble blows than ever thou wise 
words; 21 

And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what; 
yet go; 

Nay;, but thou shalt stay too; I would my son 

Were in Arabia^, and thy tribe before him. 

His good sword in his hand. 
Sic. What then ? 

Vir. What then ? 

He'd make an end of thy posterity. 26 

Vol. Bastards and all. 

Good man, the wounds that he does bear for 
Rome! 
Men. Come, come, peace. 
Sic. I would he had continu'd to his country 30 

As he began, and not unknit himself 

The noble knot he made. 
Bru. I would he had. 

Vol. '1 would he had' ! 'Twas you incens'd the 
rabble : 

Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth 

As I can of those mysteries which heaven 35 

Will not have earth to know. 
Bru. Pray, let us go. 

Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone; 

You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, 
hear this: — 

As far as doth the Capitol exceed 

The meanest house in Rome, so far my son — 

This lady's husband here, this, do you see — 

Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. 
Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you. 
Sic. Why stay we to be baited 43 

With one that wants her wits ? 
Vol. Take my prayers with you. 

Exeunt Tribunes. 

I would the gods had nothing else to do 45 

But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet 'em 

But once a-day, it would unclog my heart 

Of what lies heavy to't. 
Men. You have told them home; 

And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup 
with me? 
Vol. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, 50 



And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's 

go; 

Leave this faint puling and lament as I do, 
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. 

Exeunt. 
Men. Fie, fie, fie! Exit. 

[Scene III. — A highway between Home and 
Antium.^ 

Enter a Roman and a Volsce, [^meeting']. 

Rom. I know you well, sir, and you know me; 
your name, I think, is Adrian. 

Vols. It is so, sir. Truly, I have forgot you. 

Rom. I am a Roman; and my services are, as 
you are, against 'em; know you me yet? 5 

Vols. Nicanor? no. 

Rom. The same, sir. 

Vols. You had more beard when I last saw you; 
but your favour is well appeared by your 
tongue. What's the news in Rome? I have 
a note from the Volscian state, to find you out 
there: you have well saved me a day's jour- 
ney. 12 

Rom. There hath been in Rome strange insur- 
rections; the people against the senators, pa- 
tricians, and nobles. 15 

Vols. Hath been ! is it ended, then ? Our state 
thinks not so; they are in a most warlike 
preparation, and hope to come upon them in 
the heat of their division. 19 

Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small 
thing would make it flame again: for the 
nobles receive so to heart the banishment of 
that worthy Coriolanus, that they are in a 
ripe aptness to take all power from the peo- 
ple and to pluck from them their tribunes for 
ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you, and 
is almost mature for the violent breaking out. 

Vols. Coriolanus banished ! 28 

Rom. Banished, sir. 

Vols. You will be welcome with this intelli- 
gence, Nicanor. 31 

Rom. The day serves well for them now. I 
have heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt 
a man's wife is when she's fallen out with her 
husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will 
appear well in these wars, his great opposer, 
Coriolanus, being now in no request of his 
country. 38 

Vols. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate. 



791 



CORIOLANUS 



[act IV. SC. III. 



thus accidentally to encounter you; you have 
ended my business^ and I will merrily accom- 
pany you home. 42 

Rom. I shall^ between this and supper, tell you 
most strange things from Rome; all tending 
to the good of their adversaries. Have you 
an army ready, say you? 46 

Vols. A most royal one; the centurions and 
their charges, distinctly billeted, already in 
the entertainment, and to be on foot at an 
hour's warning. so 

Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, 
and am the man, I think, that shall set them 
in present action. So, sir, heartily well met, 
and most glad of your company. 54 

Vols. You take my part from me, sir; I have 
the most cause to be glad of yours. 

Rom. Well, let us go together. Exeunt. 



[Scene IV. — Antium. Before Aufidius's 
house.'] 

Entei' Coriolanus in mean apparel, disguised 
and muffled. 

Cor. A goodly city is this Antium. Ciij, 
'Tis I that made thy widows ; many an heir 
Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
Have I heard groan and drop ; then know me 

not. 
Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with 

stones 5 

In puny battle slay me. 

Enter a Citizen. 

Save you, sir. 
at. And you. 
Cor. Direct me, if it be your will. 

Where great Aufidius lies ; is he in Antium ? 
Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state 

At his house this night. 
Cor. Which is his house, beseech you? 10 

Cit. This, here before you. 

Cor. Thank you, sir; farewell. 

Exit Citizen. 
O world, tliy slippery turns ! Friends now 

fast sworn. 
Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart. 
Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and 

exercise, 
Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love 



Unseparable, shall within this hour, 16 

On a dissension of a doit, break out 
To bitterest enmity. So, f ellest foes. 
Whose passions and whose plots have broke 

their sleep 
To take the one the other, by some chance, 20 
Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear 

friends 
And interjoin their issues. So with me; 
My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon 
This enemy town. I'll enter; if he slay me. 
He does fair justice; if he give me way, 25 
I'll do his country service. Exit. 



[Scene V. — The same. A hall in Aufidius's 
house.] 

Music plays. Enter a Servingman. 

1. Serv. Wine, wine, wine! What service is 
here ! I think our fellows are asleep. Exit. 

Enter a second Servingman. 

2. Serv. Where's Cotus ? my master calls for •; 
him. Cotus ! Exit. 

Enter Coriolanus. 

Cor. A goodly house! the feast smells well; 
but I 5 

Appear not like a guest. 

Re-enter the first Servingman. 

1. Serv. What would you have, friend? whence 
are you? Here's no place for you: pray, go 
to the door. Exit. 

Cor. I have deserv'd no better entertainment, 

In being Coriolanus. n 

Re-enter second Servingman. 

2. Serv. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter 
his eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to 
such companions? Pray, get you out. 

Cor. Away ! 15 

2. Serv. Away! get you away. 
Cor. Now thou'rt troublesome. 
2. Serv. Are you so brave? I'll have you 
talked with anon. 



Enter a third Servingman. The first meets him. 



792 



ACT IV. SC. v.] 



CORIOLANUS 



39 



3. Serv. What fellow's this? 20 

1. Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on: I 
cannot get him out o' the house; prithee^ call 
my master to him. [Retii-es.] 

3. Serv. What have you to do here^ fellow? 

Pray you, avoid the house. 25 

Cor. Let me but stand; I will not hurt your 

hearth. 
3. Serv. What are you? 
Cor. A gentleman. 

3. Serv. A marvellous poor one. 30 

Cor. True, so I am. 
3. Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up 

some other station; here's no place for you; 

pray you, avoid; come. 34 

Cor. Follow your function, go, and batten on 

cold bits. Pushes him away from him. 

3. Serv. What, you will not? Prithee, tell my 

master what a strange guest he has here. 

2. Serv. And I shall. Exit. 

3. Serv. Where dwellest thou? 40 
Cor. Under the canopy. 

3. Serv. Under the canopy! 

Cor. Ay. 

3. Serv. Where's that? 

Cor. V the city of kites and crows. 45 

3. Serv. V the city of kites and crows ! What 
an ass it is ! Then thou dwellest with daws 
too? 

Cor. No, I serve not thy master. 

3. Serv. How, sir! do you meddle with my 
master ? 51 

Cor. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to med- 
dle with thy mistress. 
Thou pratest, and pratest; serve with thy 

trencher, hence ! 
Beats him away. [Exit third Servingman.'] 

Enter Aufidius with the second Servingman. 

Auf. Where is this fellow? 55 

2. Serv. Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a 
dog, but for disturbing the lords within. 

[Retires.'] 

Auf. Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? 

thy name? 

Why speak'st not? speak, man; what's thy 

name? 

Cor. If, Tullus, [Unmuffling.'] 60 

Not yet thou knowest me, and, seeing me, 

dost not 
Think me for the man I am, necessity 
Commands me name myself. 



Auf. What is thy name? 

Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears. 

And harsh in sound to thine. 65 

Auf. Say, what's thy name? 

Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 

Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's 

torn. 
Thou show'st a noble vessel ; what's thy name ? 
Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown; know'st thou 

me yet? 
Auf. I know thee not; thy name? 70 

Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done 
To thee particularly and to all the Volsces 
Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may 
My surname, Coriolanus. The painful serv- 
ice. 
The extreme dangers and the drops of blood 75 
Shed for my thankless country are requited 
But with that surname; a good memory. 
And witness of the malice and displeasure 
Which thou shouldst bear me; only that name 

remains. 
The cruelty and envy of the people, 80 

Permitted by our dastard nobles, who 
Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; 
And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be 
Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity 
Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of 

hope — 85 

Mistake me not — to save my life, for if 
I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
I would have 'voided thee, but in mere spite. 
To be full quit of those my banishers. 
Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast 
A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge 91 
Thine own particular wrongs and stop those 

maims 
Of shame seen through thy country, speed 

thee straight. 
And make my misery serve thy turn. So 

use it 
That my revengeful services may prove 95 
As benefits to thee, for I will fight 
Against my canker'd country with the spleen 
Of all the under fiends. But if so be 
Thou darest not this and that to prove more 

fortunes 
Thou'rt tir'd, then, in a word, I also am 100 
Longer to live most weary, and present 
My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice; 
Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, 
Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate. 



793 



40 



CORIOLANUS 



[act IV. SC. V. 



Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's 

breast^ 105 

And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 
It be to do thee service. 
Auf. O Marcius, Marcius I 

Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from 

my heart 
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter 
Should from yond cloud speak divine things, 
And say ' 'Tis true/ I'd not believe them 

more m 

Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine 
Mine arms about that body, where against 
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke. 
And scarr'd the moon with splinters ! here I 

clip 115 

The anvil of my sword, and do contest 
As hotly and as nobly with thy love 
. As ever in ambitious strength I did 

Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, 
I lov'd the maid I married; never man 120 
Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here. 
Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart 
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 
Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars ! I 

tell thee, 124 

We have a power on foot; and I had purpose 
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn. 
Or lose mine arm for't; thou hast beat me 

out 
Twelve several times, and I have nightly since 
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me. 
We have been down together in my sleep, 130 
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat. 
And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy 

Marcius, 
Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that 
Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster 

all 
From twelve to seventy, and pouring war 135 
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, 
Like a bold flood o'er-beat. O, come, go in. 
And take our friendly senators by the hands; 
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me. 
Who am prepar'd against your territories, 140 
Though not for Rome itself. 
Cor. You bless me, gods ! 

Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt 

have 
The leading of thine own revenges, take 
The one half of my commission; and set 

down — 



As best thou art experienc'd, since thou 

know'st 145 

Thy country's strength and weakness, — thine 

own ways; 
Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, 
Or rudely visit them in parts remote. 
To fright them, ere destroy. But come in; 
Let me commend thee first to those that shall 
Say yea to thy desires. A thousand wel- 
comes ! 151 
And more a friend than e'er an enemy; 
Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand; 
most welcome ! 

Exeunt [Coriolanus and Aufidius']. 

Enter two of the Sermngmen. 

1. Serv. Here's a strange alteration! 154 

2. Serv. By my hand, I had thought to have 
strucken him with a cudgel; and yet my mind 
gave me his clothes made a false report of 
him. 

1. Serv. What an arm he has ! he turned me 
about with his finger and his thumb, as one 
would set up a top. 161 

2. Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there was 
something in him; he had, sir, a kind of face, 
methought, — I cannot tell how to term it. 

1. Serv. He had so; looking as it were — would 
I were hanged, but I thought there was more 
in him than I could think. 167 

2. Serv. So did I, I'll be sworn: he is simply 
the rarest man i' the world. 

1. Serv. I think he is; but a greater soldier than 
he, you wot one. 171 

2. Serv. Who, my master? 

1. Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that. 

2. Serv. Worth six on him, 

1. Serv. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to 
be the greater soldier. 176 

2. Serv. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how 
to say that; for the defence of a town, our 
general is excellent. 

1. Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. 180 

Re-enter third Servingman. 

3. Serv. O slaves, I can tell you news, — news, 
you rascals I 

Both Serv. What, what, what? let's par- 
take. 

3. Serv. I would not be a Roman, of all na- 
tions ; I had as lieve be a condemned man. 186 



794 



ACT IV. SC. v.] 



CORIOLANUS 



41 



Both Serv. Wherefore? wherefore? 

3, Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to 
thwack our general, Caius Marcius. 

1. Serv. Why do you say 'thwack our gen- 
eral' ? 191 

S. Serv. I do not say 'thwack our general;' but 
he was always good enough for him. 

^. Serv. Come, we are fellows and friends; he 
was ever too hard for him; I have heard him 
say so himself. * 196 

1. Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to 
say the troth on't; before Corioli he scotched 
him and notched him like a carbonado. 

2. Serv. And he had been cannibally given, he 
might have boiled and eaten him too. 201 

1. Serv. But, more of thy news? 

S. Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as 
if he were son and heir to Mars; set at upper 
end o' the table ; no question asked him by any 
of the senators, but they stand bald before 
him. Our general himself makes a mistress 
of him; sanctifies himself with 's hand and 
turns up the white o' the eye to his discourse. 
But the bottom of the news is, our general is 
cut i' the middle and but one half of what he 
was yesterday; for the other has half, by the 
entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll 
go, he says, and sowl the porter of Rome 
gates by the ears; he will mow all down be- 
fore him, and leave his passage polled. 215 

2. Serv. And he's as like to do't as any man I 
can imagine. 

3. Serv. Do't! he will do't; for, look you, sir, 
he has as many friends as enemies; which 
friends, sir, as it were, durst not, look you, 
sir, show themselves, as we term it, his friends 
whilst he's in directitude. 222 

1. Serv. Directitude! what's that? 

3. Serv. But when they shall see, sir, his crest 
up again, and the man in blood, they will out 
of their burrows, like conies after rain, and 
revel all with him. 227 

1. Serv. But when goes this forward? 

3. Serv. To-morrow; to-day; presently; you 
shall have the drum struck up this afternoon. 
'Tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to 
be executed ere they wipe their lips. 232 

2. Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring 
world again. This peace is nothing, but to 
rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad- 
makers. 235 

1. Serv. Let me have war, say I; it exceeds 



peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, 
waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a 
very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, 
insensible; a getter of more bastard children 
than war's a destroyer of men. 241 

2. Serv. 'Tis so: and as war, in some sort, may 
be said to be a ravisher, so it cannot be denied 
but peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 

1. Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one an- 
other. 246 

3. Serv. Reason; because they then less need 
one another. The wars for my money. I 
hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. 
They, are rising, they are rising. 250 

Both. In, in, in, in ! Exeunt. 

[Scene VI. — Rome. A public place.'] 

Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 

Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear 
him; 
His remedies are tame i' the present peace 
And quietness of the people, which before 
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his 

friends 
Blush that the world goes well, who rather 
had, s 

Though they themselves did suffer by't, be- 
hold 
Dissentious numbers pestering streets than 

see 
Our tradesmen singing in their shops and 

going 
About their functions friendly. 
Bru. We stood to't in good time. [Enter Me- 
nenius.~\ Is this Menenius? 10 

Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he: O, he is grown most kind 

of late. 
Both Tri. Hail, sir ! 
Men. Hail to you both ! 

Sic. Your Coriolanus 

Is not much miss'd, but with his friends ; 
The commonwealth doth stand, and so would 

do, 
Were he more angry at it. 15 

Men. All's well; and might have been much 
better, if 
He could have temporiz'd. 
Sic. Where is he, hear you? 

Men. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his 
wife 
Hear nothing from him. 



795 



42 



CORIOLANUS 



[act IV. SC, VI. 



Enter three or four Citizens. 

[C'dizens.l The gods preserve you both! 
Sic. Goo'-den^ our neighbours. 20 

Bru. Goo'-den to you all, goo'-den to you all. 
1. at. Ourselves^ our wives^ and children, on 
our knees. 

Are bound to pray for you both. 
Sic. Live, and thrive ! 

Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours; we wish'd 
Coriolanus 24 

Had lov'd you as we did. 
[Citizens.'] Now the gods keep you! 

Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. 

Exeunt Citizens. 
Sic. This is a happier and more comely time 

Than when these fellows ran about the streets, 

Crying confusion. 
Bru. Caius Marcius was 

A worthy officer i' the war; but insolent, 30 

O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all think- 
ing. 

Self-loving, — 
Sic. And affecting one sole throne. 

Without assistance. 
Men. I think not so. 

Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation. 

If he had gone forth consul, found.it so. 35 
Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome 

Sits safe and still without him. 

Enter an JEdile. 

Md. Worthy tribunes. 

There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, 
Reports, the Volsces with two several powers 
Are enter'd in the Roman territories, 40 

And with the deepest malice of the war 
Destroy what lies before 'em. 

Men. 'Tis Aufidius, 

Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, 
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world, 
Which were insheil'd when Marcius stood for 

Rome, 
And durst not once peep out. 45 

Sic. Come, what talk you 

Of Marcius? 

Bru. Go see this rumourer whipped. 

It cannot be 
The Volsces dare break with us. 

Men. Cannot be ! 

We have record that very well it can. 



55 



And three examples of the like have been 50 
Within my age. But reason with the fellow. 
Before you punish him, where he heard this. 
Lest you shall chance to whip your informa- 
tion 
And beat the messenger who bids beware 
Of what is to be dreaded. 

Sic. Tell not me: 

I know this cannot be. 

Bru. Not possible. 

Enter a Messenger. 



Mess. The nobles in great earnestness are going 

All to the senate-house: some news is come 

That turns their countenances. 
Sic. 'Tis this slave; — 

Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes. His 
raising ! 60 

Nothing but his report. 
Mess. Yes, worthy sir, 

The slave's report is seconded ; and more, 

More fearful, is deliver'd. 
Sic. What more fearful? 

Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths — 

How probable I do not know — that Marcius, 

Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst 
Rome, 66 

And vows revenge as spacious as between 

The young'st and oldest thing. 
Sic. This is most likely ! 

Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may 
wish 

Good Marcius home again. 
Sic. The very trick on't. 70 

Men. This is unlikely; 

He and Aufidius can no more atone 

Than violentest contrariety. 

Enter a second Messenger. 



Sec. Mess. You are sent for to the senate: 
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius 
Associated with Aufidius, rages 
Upon our territories; and have already 
O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire, 

took 
What lay before them. 

Enter Cominius. 



75 



and 



Com'. O, you have made good work ! 



796 



ACT IV. SC. 



VI.] 



CORIOLANUS 



43 



Men. What news? what news? 80 

Com. You have holp to ravish your own daugh- 
ters and 

To melt the city leads upon your pates^ 

To see your wives dishonour'd to your 
noses^ — 
Men. What's the news ? what's the news ? 
Com. Your temples burned in their cement, and 

Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd 

Into an auger's bore. 
Men. Pray now, your news? 87 

You have made fair work, I fear me. — Pray, 



your news 



? 



If Marcius should be joined with Volscians, — 
Com. If! 

He is their god ; he leads them like a thing 90 

Made by some other deity than nature. 

That shapes man better; and they follow him. 

Against us brats, with no less confidence 

Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, 

Or butchers killing flies. 95 

Men. You have made good work. 

You and your apron-men; you that stood so 
much 

Upon the voice of occupation and 

The breath of garlic-eaters ! 
Com. He will shake 

Your Rome about your ears. 
Men. As Hercules 

Did shake down mellow fruit. You have 
made fair work ! 100 

Bru. But is this true, sir? 
Com. Ay; and you'll look pale 

Before you find it other. All the regions 

Do smilingly revolt; and who resist 

Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, 

And perish constant fools. Who is't can 
blame him? 105 

Your enemies and his find something in him. 
Men. We are all undone, unless 

The noble man have mercy. 
Com. Who shall ask it? 

The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the peo- 
ple 

Deserve such pity of him as the wolf no 

Does of the shepherds; for his best friends, 
if they 

Should say *Be good to Rome,' they charg'd 
him even 

As those should do that had deserv'd his hate. 

And therein show'd like enemies. 
Men, 'Tistrue; 



If he were putting to my house the brand 115 
That should consume it, I have not the face 
To say 'Beseech you, cease.' You have made 

fair hands. 
You and your crafts ! you have crafted fair ! 

Com. You have brought 

A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
So incapable of help. 

Both Tri. Say not we brought it. 120 

Men. How ! Was it we ? we lov'd him ; but, 
like beasts 
And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your 

clusters. 
Who did hoot him out o' the city. 

Com. But I fear 

They'll roar him in again. TuUus Aufidius, 
The second name of. men, obeys his points 125 
As if he were his officer. Desperation 
Is all the policy, strength and defence. 
That Rome can make against them. 

Enter a troop of Citizens. 

Men. Here come the clusters. 

And is Aufidius with him? You are they 
That made the air unwholesome, when you 
cast 130 

Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at 
Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming; 
And not a hair upon a soldier's head 
Which will not prove a whip. As many cox- 
combs 
As you threw caps up will he tumble down, 135 
And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter. 
If he could burn us all into one coal, 
We have deserv'd it. 
[Citisens.] Faith, we hear fearful news. 

1. at. For mine own part. 
When I said, banish him, I said, 'twas pity. 140 

2. at. And so did I. 

3. Cit. And so did I; and, to say the truth, 
so did very many of us. That we did, we 
did for the best; and though we willingly 
consented to his banishment, yet it was against 
our will. 146 

Com. Ye're goodly things, you voices ! 
Men. You have made 

Good work, you and your cry ! Shall 's to the 
Capitol? 
Com. O, ay, what else? 

Exeunt [Cominius and Menenius']. 
Sic. Go, masters, get you home; be not dis- 
may 'd. ISO 



797 



44 



CORIOLANUS 



[act IV. SC. VI. 



These are a side that would be glad to have 
This true which they so seem to fear. Go 

home. 
And show no sign of fear. 

1. at. The gods be good to us ! . Come, mas- 
ters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the 
wrong when we banished him. 156 

2. Cit. So did we all. But, come, let's home. 

Exeunt Citizens. 
Bru. I do not like this news. 
Sic, Nor I. 

Bru, Let's to the Capitol. Would half my 
wealth 160 

Would buy this for a lie ! 
Sic. Pray, let us go. 

Exeunt Tribunes. 



[Scene VII. — A camp, at a small distance 
from Rome.] 

Enter Aufidius and his Lieutenant. 

Auf. Do they still fly to the Roman? 

Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft's in him, 

but 
Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, 
Their talk at table, and their thanks at end; 
And you are darken'd in this action, sir, 5 
Even by your own. 
Auf. I cannot help it now. 

Unless, by using means, I lame the foot 
Of our design. He bears himself more 

proudlier. 
Even to my person, than I thought he would 
When first I did embrace him ; yet his nature 
In that's no changeling; and I must excuse n 
What cannot be amended. 
Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, — 

I mean for your particular, — you had not 
Join'd in commission with him; but either 
Had borne the action of yourself, or else 15 
To him had left it solely. 
Auf. I understand thee well; and be thou sure. 
When he shall come to his account, he knows 

not 
What I can urge against him. Although it 

seems. 
And so he thinks, and is no less apparent 20 
To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things 

fairly. 
And shows good husbandry for the Volscian 

state, 



Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon 
As draw his sword ; yet he hath left undone 
That which shall break his neck or hazard 

mine, 25 

Whene'er we come to our account. 
Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry 

Rome? 
Auf. All places yields to him ere he sits down; 
And the nobility of Rome are his: 
The senators and j)atricians love him too. 30 
The tribunes are no soldiers ; and their people 
Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty 
To expel him thence. I think he'll be to 

Rome 
As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it 
By sovereignty of nature. First he was 35 
A noble servant to them; but he could not 
Carry his honours even; whether 'twas pride. 
Which out of daily fortune ever taints 
The happy man; whether defect of judgment. 
To fail in the disposing of those chances 40 
Which he was lord of; or whether nature. 
Not to be other than one thing, not moving 
From the casque to the cushion, but command- 
ing peace 
Even with the same austerity and garb 
As he controU'd the war; but one of these — 45 
As he hath spices of them all, not all. 
For I dare so far free him — made him fear'd. 
So hated, and so banish'd; but he has a merit. 
To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
Lie in the interpretation of the time ; 50 

And power unto itself most commendable 
Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair 
To extol what it hath done. 
One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail; 
Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths 

do fail. 55 

Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is 

thine. 
Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou 

mine. Exeunt. 



ACT FIFTH 

[Scene I. — Rome. A public place.] 

Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, 
•with others. 

Men. No, I'll not go; you hear what he hath 
said 



798 



ACT V. 



SC. I.] 



CORIOLANUS 



45 



Which was sometime his general^ who lov'd 

him 
In a most dear particular. He call'd me 

father ; 
But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd 

him ; 
A mile before his tent fall down, and knee 5 
The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd 
To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. 

Com. He would not seem to know me. 

Men. Do you hear ? 

Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name; 
I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops 10 
That we have bled together. Coriolanus 
He would not answer to; forbade all names; 
He was a kind of nothing, titleless. 
Till he had forg'd himself a name o' the fire 
Of burning Rome. 

Men. Why, so. You have made good work ! 15 
A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, 
To make coals cheap, — a noble memory! 

Com. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon 
When it was less expected; he replied, 
It was a bare petition of a state 20 

To one whom they had punish'd. 

Men. Very well. 

Could he say less ? 

Com. I ofFer'd to awaken his regard 

For's private friends ; his answer to me was. 
He could not stay to pick them in a pile 25 
Of noisome musty chafF. He said 'twas folly. 
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt. 
And still to nose the offence. 

Men. For one poor grain or two ! 

I am one of those; his mother, wife, his child. 
And this brave fellow too, we are the grains. 
You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt 31 
Above the moon ; we must be burnt for you. 

Sic. Nay, pray, be patient; if you refuse your 

aid 

In this so never-needed help, yet do not 

Upbraid's with our distress. But, sure, if 

you 35 

Would be your country's pleader, your good 

tongue. 
More than the instant army we can make. 
Might stop our countryman. 

Men. No, I'll not meddle. 

Sic. Pray you, go to him. 

Men. What should I do ? 

Bru. Only make trial what your love can do 40 
For Rome, towards Marcius. 



Men. Well, and say that Marcius 

Return me, as Cominius is return'd. 
Unheard; what then? 
But as a discontented friend, grief-shot 
With his unkindness? say't be so? 
Sic. Yet your good will 

Must have that thanks from Rome, after the 

measure 46 

As you intended well. 
Men. I'll undertake 't: 

I think he'll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip 
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts 

me. 
He was not taken well; he had not din'd. 50 
The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then 
We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
To give or to forgive; but when we have 

stuff'd 
These pipes and these conveyances of our 

blood "^ 

With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
Than in our priest-like fasts. Therefore I'll 

watch him 56 

Till he be dieted to my request. 
And then I'll set upon him. 
Bru. You know the very road into his kindness. 

And cannot lose your way. 
Men. Good faith, I'll prove him, 60 

Speed how it will. I shall ere long have 

knowledge 
Of my success. Exit. 

Com. He'll never hear him. 

Sic. Not? 

Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
Red as 'twould burn Rome; and his injury 
The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him ; 
'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise;' dismiss'd 

me 66 

Thus, with his speechless hand. What he 

would do. 
He sent in writing after me; what he would 

not. 
Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions. 
So that all hope is vain, 70 

Unless his noble mother, and his wife. 
Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him 
For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's 

hence. 
And with our fair entreaties haste them on. 

Exeunt. 



799 



46 



CORIOLANUS 



[act v. SC. II. 



[Scene II. — Entrance of the Volscian camp he- 
fore Rome. Two Sentinels on guard.] 

Enter Menenius to the Watch or Guard. 

1. Watch. Stay; whence are you? 

2. Watch. Stand, and go back. 
Men. You guard like men; 'tis well; but, by 

your leave, 

I am an officer of state, and come 

To speak with Coriolanus. 
1. Watch. From whence? 

Men. From Rome. 

1. Watch. You may not pass, you must return; 

our general 5 

Will no more hear from thence. 

2. Watch. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with 

fire before 
You'll speak with Coriolanus. 
Men. Good my friends, 

If you have heard your general talk of Rome, 
And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks. 
My name hath touch'd your ears; it is 

Menenius. n 

1. Watch. Be it so; go back; the virtue of your 

name 
Is not here passable. 
Men. I tell thee, fellow. 

Thy general is my lover; I have been 
The book of his good acts, whence men have 

read 15 

His fame unparallel'd, haply amplified; 
For I have ever verified my friends, 
Of whom he's chief, with all the size that 

verity 
Would without lapsing suiFer. Nay, some- 
times. 
Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, 20 

I have tumbled past the throw; and in his 

praise 
Have almost stamp'd the leasing: therefore, 

fellow, 
I must have leave to pass. 22 

1. Watch. Faith, sir, if you had told as many 
lies in his behalf as you have uttered words 
in your own, you should not pass here; no, 
though it were as virtuous to lie as to live 
chastely. Therefore, go back. 28 

Men. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is 
Menenius, always factionary on 'the party of 
your general. 31 

2. Watch. Howsoever you have been his liar, as 
you say you have^ I am one that, telling true 



under him, must say, you cannot pass. There- 
fore, go back. 35 

Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell ? for I would 
not speak with him till after dinner. 

1. Watch. You are a Roman, are you? 

Men. I am, as thy general is. 39 

1. Watch. Then you should hate Rome, as he 
does. Can you, when you have pushed out 
your gates the very defender of them, and, in 
a violent popular ignorance, given your enemy 
your shield, think to front his revenges with 
the easy groans of old women, the virginal 
palms of your daughters, or with the palsied 
intercession of such a decayed dotant as you 
seem to be? Can you think to blow out the 
intended fire your city is ready to flame in, 
with such weak breath as this? No, you are 
deceived; therefore, back to Rome, and pre- 
pare for your execution: you are condemned, 
our general has sworn you out of reprieve and 
pardon. 54 

Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, 
he would use me with estimation. 

1. Watch. Come, my captain knows you not. 

Men. I mean, thy general. 58 

1. Watch. My general cares not for you. Back, 
I say, go; lest I let forth your half-pint of 
blood. Back, — that's the utmost of your hav- 



mg; back! 



Men. Nay, but, fellow, fellow, — 

Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius. 

Cor. What's the matter? 64 

Men. Now, you companion, I'll say an errand 
for you. You shall know now that I am in 
estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack 
guardant cannot office me from my son Corio- 
lanus. Guess, but by my entertainment with 
him, if thou standest not i' the state of hang- 
ing, or of some death more long in spectator- 
ship, and crueller in suffering; behold now 
presently, and swoon for what's to come upon 
thee. [To Cor.'\ The glorious gods sit in 
hourly synod about thy particular prosperity, 
and love thee no worse than thy old father 
Menenius does ! O my son, my son ! thou art 
preparing fire for us; look thee, here's water 
to quench it. I was hardly moved to come 
to thee; but being assured none but myself 
could move thee, I have been blown out of 
your gates with sighs; and conjure thee to 
pardon Rome, and thy petitionary country* 



800 



ACT V. SC. II.] 



CORIOLANUS 



47, 



men. The good gods assuage thy wrath, and 
turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here, — 
this, who, like a block, hath denied my access 
to thee. 85 

Cor. Away ! 
Men. How I away ! 

Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My 
affairs 
Are servanted to others; though I owe 
My revenge properly, my remission lies 90 
In Volscian breasts. That we have been fa- 
miliar, 
Ingrate forgctfulness shall poison, rather 
Than pity note how much. Therefore, be 

gone. 
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than 
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I 
lov'd thee, 95 

Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, 

[^Gives a letter. 
And would have sent it. Another word, Me- 

nenius, 
I will not hear thee speak. This man, Au- 

iidius. 
Was my belov'd in Rome : yet thou behold'st ! 
Auf, You keep a constant temper. 100 

Exeunt [^Coriolanus and Aufidius^. 

1. Watch. Now, sir, is your name Menenius ? 

2. Watch. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power. 
You know the way home again. 

1. Watch. Do you hear how we are shent for 
keeping your greatness back? 105 

2. Watch. What cause, do you think, I have to 
swoon } 

Men. I neither care for the world nor your 
general: for such things as you, I can scarce 
think there's any, ye're so slight. He that 
hath a will to die by himself fears it not from 
another: let your general do his worst. For 
you, be that you are, long; and your misery 
increase with your age ! I say to you, as I 
was said to. Away ! Exit. 

1. Watch. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 115 

2. Watch. The worthy fellow is our general: 
he's the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. 

Exeunt. 

[Scene III. — The tent of Coriolanus.] 

Enter Coriolanus, Aufldius, [and others]. 

Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-mor- 



row 



801 



Set down our host. My partner in this action. 
You must report to the Volscian lords, how 

plainly 
I have borne this business. 
Auf. Only their ends 

You have respected; stopp'd your ears against 
The general suit of Rome; never admitted 6 
A private whisper, no, not with such friends 
That thought them sure of you. 
Cor. This last old man. 

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to 

Rome, 
Lov'd me above the measure of a father; 10 
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge 
Was to send him; for whose old love I have. 
Though I show'd sourly to him, once more 

offer 'd 
The first conditions, which they did refuse 
And cannot now accept; to grace him only 15 
That thought he could do more, a very little 
I have yielded to. Fresh embassies and suits. 
Nor from the state nor private friends, here- 
after 
Will I lend ear to. Ha! what shout is this? 

Shout within. 
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow 20 
In the same time 'tis made? I will not. 

Enter, [in mourning habits,] Virgilia, Volum- 
nia, leading young Marcius, Valeria, and At- 
tendants. 

My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd 

mould 
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her 

hand 
The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affec- 
tion ! 
All bond and privilege of nature, break ! 25 
Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. 
What is that curt'sy worth? of those doves' 

eyes, 
Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and 

am not 
Of stronger earth than others. My mother 

bows. 
As if Olympus to a molehill should 30 

In supplication nod, and my young boy 
Hath an aspect of intercession, which 
Great nature cries 'Deny not.' Let the 

Volsces 
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never 



48 



CORIOLANUS 



[act v. SC. III. 



Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand, 35 
As if a man were author of himself 
And knew no other kin. 

Vir. My lord and husband! 

Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in 
Rome. 

Vir, The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd 
Makes you think so. 

Cor. Like a dull actor now, 40 

I have forgot my part, and I am out. 
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh. 
Forgive my tyranny; but do not say 
For that 'Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss 
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ! 45 
Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that 

kiss 
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip 
Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods 1 I 

prate. 
And the most noble mother of the world 
Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i' the 
earth; Kneels. 50 

Of thy deep duty more impression show 
Than that of common sons. 

Vol. O, stand up blest! 

Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, 
I kneel before thee; and unproperly 
Show duty, as mistaken all this while 55 

Between the child and parent. [Kneels.^ 

Cor. What is this ? 

Your knees to me? to your corrected son.^ 
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous winds 
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun, 60 
Murdering impossibility, to make 
What cannot be, slight work. 

Vol. Thou art my warrior; 

I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady ? 

Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, 

The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle 65 

That's curdled by the frost from purest snow 
And hangs on Dian's temple. Dear Valeria ! 

Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, 
Which by the interpretation of full time 
May show like all yourself. 

Cor. The god of soldiers, 70 

With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 
Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou mayst 

prove 
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars 
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, 
And saving those that eye thee! 



Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 75 

Cor. That's my brave boy ! 

Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself. 

Are suitors to you. 
Cor. I beseech you, peace ; 

Or, if you'd ask, remember this before: 
The thing I have forsworn to grant may i 

never 80 

Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
Again with Rome's mechanics. Tell me not i 
Wherein I seem unnatural; desire not 
To allay my rages and revenges with 85 

Your colder reasons. 
Vol. O, no more, no more ! 

You have said you will not grant us any thing; 
For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
Which you deny already; yet we will ask, 
That, if you fail in our request, the blame 90 
May hang upon your hardness ; therefore hear 
us. 
Cor. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'll 
Hear nought from Rome in private. Your re- 
quest ? 
Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our 
raiment 
And state of bodies would bewray what life 95 
We have led since thy exile. Think with thy- 
self 
How more unfortunate than all living women 
Are we come hither; since that thy sight, 

which should 
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance 

with comforts, 
Constrains them weep and shake with fear and 
sorrow ; 100 

Making the mother, wife and child to see 
The son, the husband and the father tearing 
His country's bowels out. And to poor we 
Thine enmity's most capital; thou barr'st us 
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 105 
That all but we enjoy; for how can we, 
Alas, how can we for our country pray. 
Whereto we are bound, together with thy 

victory. 
Whereto we are bound ? alack, or we must lose 
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy per- 
son, no 
Our comfort in the country. We must find 
An evident calamity, though we had 
Our wish, which side should win; for either 
thou 



802 



ACT V. SC. III.] 



CORIOLANUS 



43 



Must^ as a foreign recreant, be led 
With manacles thorough our streets, or else 115 
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, 
And bear the palm for having bravely shed 
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, 

son, 
I purpose not to wait on fortune till 
These wars determine; if I cannot persuade 

thee 120 

Rather to show a noble grace to both parts 
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
March to assault thy country than to tread — 
Trust to 't, thou shalt not — on thy mother's 

womb. 
That brought thee to this world. 
Vir. Ay, and mine, 125 

That brought you forth this' boy, to keep your 

name 
Living to time. 
Young Mar. A' shall not tread on me ; 

I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll 

fight. 
Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be. 

Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 130 
I have sat too long. [Rising.] 

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 

If it were so that our request did tend 
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 
The Volsces whom you serve, you might con- 
demn us, 
As poisonous of your honour. No ; our suit 135 
Is, that you reconcile them; while the Volsces 
May say 'This mercy we have show'd;' the 

Romans, 
'This we received;' and each in either side 
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry 'Be blest 
For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, 

great son, 140 

The end of war *s uncertain, but this certain. 
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name. 
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses; 
Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was 

noble, 14s 

But with his last attempt he wip'd it out; 
Destroy'd his country, and his name remains 
To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, 

son: 
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, 
To imitate the graces of the gods ; 150 

To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o* the 



air, 



And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not 

speak ? 

Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man 

Still to remember wrongs.^ Daughter, speak 

you; iss 

He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, 

boy; 
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more 
Than can our reasons. There's no man in 

the world 
More bound to *s mother; yet here he lets me 

prate 
Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in 
thy life 160 

Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, 
When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood. 
Has cluck'd thee to the wars and safely home, 
Loaden with honour. Say my request's un- 
just. 
And spurn me back; but if it be not so, 165 
Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague 

thee. 
That thou restrain'st from me the duty which 
To a mother's part belongs. He turns away ! 
Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees. 
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride 
Than pity to our prayers. Down ! an end. 171 
This is the last; so we will home to Rome, 
And die among our neighbours. Nay, be- 
hold 's: 
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have. 
But kneels and holds up hands for fellow- 
ship, 175 
Does reason our petition with more strength 
Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go. 
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; 
His wife is in Corioli and his child 
Like him by chance. Yet give us our des- 
patch : 180 
I am hush'd until our city be afire, 
And then I'll speak a little. 

[He] holds her by the hand, silent. 

Cor. O mother, mother ! 

What have you done? Behold, the heavens 

do ope, 
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
They laugh at. O my mother, mother ! O ! 185 
You have won a happy victory to Rome; 
But, for your son, — believe it, O, believe it. 
Most dangerously you have with him pre- 
vail'd. 



803 



50 



CORIOLANUS 



[act v. SC. III. 



If not most mortal to him. But, let it come. 
Auiidius, though I cannot make true wars, 190 
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Au- 

fidius, 
Were you in my stead, would you have heard 
A mother less ? or granted less, Auiidius } 
Auf. I was mov'd withal. 

Cor. I dare be sworn you were: 

And, sir, it is no little thing to make 195 

Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good 

sir. 
What peace you'll make, advise me; for my 

part, 
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray 

you. 
Stand to me in this cause. O mother ! wife ! 
Auf. [Aside.] 1 am glad thou hast set thy mercy 

and thy honour 200 

At difference in thee; out of that I'll work 
Myself a former fortune. 

[The Ladies make signs to C oriolaniis .'] 
Cor. Ay, by and by ; 

[To Volumnia, Virgilia, SfC.'] 
But we will drink together; and you shall 

bear 
A better witness back than words, which we, 
On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 205 
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
To have a temple built you; all the swords 
In Italy, and her confederate arms, 
Could not have made this peace. Exeunt. 209 



[Scene IV. — Rome. A public place.] 
Enter Menenius and Sicinius. 

the Capitol, yon 



Men. See you yon coign o 

corner-stone ? 
Sic. Why, what of that? 3 

Men. If it be possible for you to displace it 

with your little finger, there is some hope the 

ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may 

prevail with him. But I say there is no hope 

in 't: our throats are sentenced and stay upon 

execution. 
Sic. Is 't possible that so short a time can alter 

the condition of a man? 10 

Men. There is differency between a grub and 

a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. 

This Marcius is grown from man to dragon; 

he has wings ; he's more than a creeping thing. 
Sic. He loved his mother dearly. 15 

804. 



Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers 
his mother now than an eight-year-old horse. 
The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. 
When he walks, he moves like an engine, and 
the ground shrinks before his treading. He 
is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks 
like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He 
sits in his state, as a thing made for Alex- 
ander. What he bids be done is finished with 
his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but 
eternity and a heaven to throne in. 26 

Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. 

Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what 
mercy his mother shall bring from him. 
There is no more mercy in him than there is 
milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city 
find. And all tliis is long of you. 32 

Sic. The gods be good unto us ! 

Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be 
good unto us. When we banished him, we 
respected not them ; and, he returning to break 
our necks, they respect not us. 37 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your 
house ; 
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune 
And hale him up and down, all swearing, if 40 
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home. 
They'll give him death by inches. 

Enter a second Messenger. 

Sic. What's the news ? 

2. Mess. Good news, good news ; the ladies have 
prevail'd. 
The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Marcius 

gone : 
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, 45 
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. 
Sic. Friend, 

Art thou certain this is true? is it most cer- 
tain? 
2. Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire: 
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt 

of it? 

Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown 

tide, 50 

As the recomforted through the gates. Why, 

hark you ! Trumpets; hautboys; drums 

heat; all together. 



ACT V. SC. 



IV.] 



CORIOLANUS 



51 



The trumpets, saekbuts, psalteries and fifes, 
Tabors and cymbals and the shouting Romans, 
Make the sun dance. Hark you ! 

A shout within. 

Men, This is good news: 

I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia 55 
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, 
A city full; of tribunes, such as you, 
A sea and land full. You have pray'd well 

to-day : 
This morning for ten thousand of your throats 
I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they 
joy! ^Sound still, with the shouts.'] 60 

Sic. First, the gods bless you for your tidings; 
next. 
Accept my thankfulnesSo 

2. Mess. Sir, we have all 

Great cause to give great thanks. 

Sic. They are near the city? 

2. Mess. Almost at point to enter. 

Sic. We will meet them. 

And help the joy. Exeunt. 

[Scene V. — The same. A street near the gate.] 

Enter two Senators with [Volumnia, Virgilia, 
Valeria, S^c] passing over the stage, with 
other Lords. 

1. Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome! 
Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, 
And make triumphant fires; strew flowers be- 
fore them; 
Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, 
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; 5 
Cry 'Welcome, ladies, welcome !' 

All. Welcome, ladies. 

Welcome ! A flourish with drums and trum- 
pets. [Exeunt.] 

[Scene VI. — Antium. A public place.] 

Enter Tullus Aufldius, with Attendants. 

Auf. Go tell the lords o' the city I am here: 
Deliver them this paper; having read it, 
Bid them repair to the market-place, where I, 
Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, 
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse 5 
The city ports by this hath enter'd and 
Intends to appear before the people, hoping 
To purge himself with words. Dispatch. 

[Exeunt Attendants.] 



Enter three or four Conspirators of Aufldius' 
faction. 

Most welcome ! 

1. Con. How is it with our general? 

Auf. Even so 10 

As with a man by his own alms empoison'd. 
And with his charity slain. 

2. Con. Most noble sir. 
If you do hold the same intent wherein 

You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you 
Of your great danger. 
Auf. Sir, I cannot tell; 15 

We must proceed as we do find the people. 

3. Con. The people will remain uncertain whilst 
'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of 

either 
Makes the survivor heir of all. 
Auf. I know it; 

And my pretext to strike at him admits 20 
A good construction. I rais'd him, and I 

pawn'd 
Mine honour for his truth; who being so 

heighten'd. 
He water'd his new plants with dews of flat- 
tery. 
Seducing so my friends; and, to this end. 
He bow'd his nature, never known before 25 
But to be rough, unswayable and free. 
3. Con. Sir, his stoutness 

When he did stand for consul, which he lost 
By lack of stooping, — 
Auf. That I would have spoke of; 

Being banish'd for 't, he came unto my hearth ; 
Presented to my knife his throat. I took 

him, 31 

Made him joint-servant with me; gave him 

way 
In all his own desires; nay, let him choose 
Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, 
My best and freshest men, serv'd his design- 

ments 35 

In mine own person; holp to reap the fame 
Which he did end all his, and took some pride 
To do myself this wrong; till, at the last, 
I seem'd his follower, not partner, and 
He wag'd me with his countenance, as if 40 
I had been mercenary, 
1. Con. So he did, my lord. 

The army marvell'd at it, and, in the last, 
When he had carried Rome and that we look'd 
For no less spoil than glory, — 



805 



52 



CORIOLANUS 



[act v. SC. VI. 



Auf. There was it; 

For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon 
him. 45 

At a few drops of women's rheum, which are 
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour 
Of our great action; therefore shall he die, 
And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark! 

Drums and trumpets sound, with great 
shouts of the People. 

1. Con. Your native town you enter 'd like a 

post, 50 

And had no welcomes home: but he returns. 
Splitting the air with noise. 

2. Con. And patient fools. 
Whose children he hath slain, their base 

throats tear 
With giving him glory. 

3. Con. Therefore, at your vantage. 
Ere he express himself, or move the people ss 
With what he would say, let him feel your 

sword. 
Which we will second. When he lies along, 
After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury 
His reasons with his body. 
Auf. Say no more: 

Here come the lords. 6o 

Enter the Lords of the city. 

All Lords. You are most welcome home. 

Auf. I have not deserv'd it. 

But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd 
What I have written to you? 

Lords. We have. 

1. Lord. And grieve to hear 't. 

What faults he made before the last, I think 
Might have found easy fines; but there to 
end 6s 

Where he was to begin and give away 
The benefit of our levies, answering us 
With our own charge, making a treaty where 
There was a yielding, — this admits no excuse. 

Auf. He approaches; you shall hear him. 70 

Enter Coriolanus, marching with drum and col- 
ours; Commoners being with him. 

Cor. Hail, lords ! I am return'd your soldier. 
No more infected with my country's love 
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting 
Under your great command. You are to know 
That prosperously I have attempted and 75 



With bloody passage led your wars even to 
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have 

brought home 
Doth more than counterpoise a full third part 
The charges of the action. We have made 

peace 
With no less honour to the Antiates 80 

Than shame to the Romans: and we here de- 
liver. 
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians. 
Together with the seal o' the senate, what 
We have compounded on. 

Auf. Read it not, noble lords; 

But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree 85 
He hath abus'd your powers. 

Cor. Traitor ! how now ! 

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius ! 

Cor. Marcius ! 

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; dost thou 
think 
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n 

name 
Coriolanus in Corioli? 90 

You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously 
He has betray'd your business, and given up, 
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, 
I say 'your city,' to his wife and mother; 
Breaking his oath and resolution like 95 

A twist of rotten silk, never admitting 
Counsel o' the war, but at his nurse's tears 
He whined and roar'd away your victory. 
That pages blush'd at him and men of heart 
Look'd wondering each at other. 

Cor. Hear'st thou. Mars? 100 

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears ! 

Cor. Ha! 

Auf. No more. 

Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 
Too great for what contains it. Boy! O 

slave ! 
Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever 105 
I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my 

grave lords. 
Must give this cur the lie; and his own no- 
tion — 
Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him; 

that 
Must bear my beating to his grave — shall 

join 
To thrust the lie unto him. 

1. Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. 

Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,s 



806 



ACT V. SC. VI 



.] 



CORIOLANUS 



53 



Stain all your edges on me. Boy! false 

hound ! 
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there. 
That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I 115 

Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli; 
Alone I did it. Boy ! 

Auf. Why, noble lords. 

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, 
Which was your shame, by this unholy brag- 
gart, 
'Fore your own eyes and ears? 

All Consp. Let him die for 't. 120 

All the people. 'Tear him to pieces.' 'Do it 
presently.' 'He killed my son.' 'My daugh- 
ter.' 'He killed my cousin Marcus.' 'He 
killed my father.' 

2. Lord. Peace, hoi no outrage: peace! 125 

The man is noble and his fame folds in 
This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us 
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Au- 

fidius, 
And trouble not the peace. 

Cor. O that I had him. 

With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, 130 

To use my lawful sword ! 

Auf. Insolent villain! 

All Consp. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! 

[The Conspirators'] draw, and kill Corio- 
lanus: Aufldius stands on him. 

Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold! 

Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. 

1. Lord. O Tullus,— 

2. Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour 

will weep. 



3. Lord. Tread not upon him. Masters all, be 
quiet ; 135 

Put up your swords. 
Auf. My lords, when you shall know — as in this 
rage,^ 

Provok'd by him, you cannot — the great dan- 
ger 

Which this man's life did owe you, you'll re- 
joice 

That he is thus cut oiF. Please it your hon- 
ours 140 

To call me to your senate, I'll deliver 

Myself your loyal servant, or endure 

Your heaviest censure. 

1. Lord. Bear from hence his body; 
And mourn you for him: let him be regarded 
As the most noble corse that ever herald 145 
Did follow to his urn. 

2. Lord. His own impatience 
Takes from Auiidius a great part of blame. 
Let's make the best of it. 

Auf. My rage is gone-; 

And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. 
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be 

one. ISO 

Beat thou the drum, that it speak mourn- 

fully; 
Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city 

he 
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one. 
Which to this hour bewail the injury, 
Yet he shall have a noble memory. 155 

Assist. Exeunt, hearing the body of Corio- 

lanus. A dead march sounded. 



FINIS. 



807 



54 



CORIOLANUS 



NOTES 



L 



After I. i. the first Folio keeps up only the di- 
vision into acts. The scene division with directions 
as to place and the list of dramatis personce are the 
work of Rowe (1709) and later editors. In North's 
Plutarch, Corioles is given as the name of the town; 
and this spelling is usual in F. Corioli is justified 
only by the modern sense of historical correctness. 

ACT I 

i. 12 on't, about it. 
16 good, in the business sense. 
16 surfeits on, is wearied of. 

21 object, appearance, spectacle. 

22 particularize, bring out in detail. 

23 suffrance, suffering. 

25 rakes, with a pun on pike, one meaning of which 
is pitchfork. Cf. 'As lean as a rake.' 

27 Caius Marcius, Coriolanus does not receive his 
title until Act II. i. 

28 very dog-, cruel. 

74 impediment, hindering, obstacles. 

78 thither, that is to further excesses. 

95 stale] Theobald; scale F. 

97 fob off, to put off with deceit. 

99 The fable of the belly appears in Plutarch, but 
is probably derived from Camden's Remains pub- 
lished in 1605. 
112 from the lungs, heartily. 
116 receipt, things received. 
122 muniments, furnishings. 
124 'fore me, upon my word. 
130 you'st, provincial for you should. 

141 cranks and offices, winding passages and quar- 
ters of service. 

142 nerves, sinews. 

163 rascal, a lean deer. 

worst in blood, in bad condition. 

164 vantage, better position. 

167 have bale, have the worst of it. 

178 virtue, habit. 

179 make worthy, praise. 
181 affections, desires. 

197 side faction, join parties. 
199 feebling, enfeebling. 

201 ruth, soft-heartedness. 

202 quarry, pile of slain game. 
204 pick, pitch. 

206 lack discretion, 'discretion is the better part 
of valor' ; but these have neither discretion nor valor. 
209 proverbs, such as those which follow in the text. 
215 generosity, nobility. 

217 as, as if. 

218 shouting] Pope; shooting F. 
emulation, envy. 



219 five tribunes, the 'five magistrates' of Plutarch. 
222 unroof 'd] Theobald; unroo'st F. 
224 win upon, get the better of. 
226 fragments, ragged rascals. 
229 vent, get rid of. 
233 to't, to the test. 
243 Lartius] Rowe; Lucius F. 
251 worthy you, you are worthy. 
254 mutiners, mutinous citizens. 
272 giddy censure, unconsidering judgment. 
276 demerits, deserts. 

281 despatch is made, terms are assigned. 
28,2 more than his singularity, besides his usual 
custom of aloofness. 

ii. 4 what, plural. 
9 press'd a power, levied an a^my. 
15 preparation, army ready for action. 

24 take in, subdue. 

28 set down before, besiege, 
remove, raze. 

iii. 16 bound with oak, in token of having saved the 
life of a citizen. 
32 hither, coming hither. 
43 trophy, tablet set up in honor of victory. 

46 contemning] Leo; contenning F. 
54 housekeepers, stayers at home. 

56 fine spot, fine pattern. 
65 countenance, resolution. 

71 mammocked, tore in pieces. 
74 crack, mere boy, forward child. 
76 huswife, gossip, idle woman. 
92 Penelope, who to delay her 
Ulysses' absence from the island 
by day what she unraveled at night 
117 disease, trouble. 

better, by prolepsis; which would be better. 

iv. 12 fielded, set forward in the field. 
15 lesser than a little, less than none. 
17 pound, impound. 

25 more proof, resisting better. 

26 thoughts, expectations. 

47 to the pot, to destruction, a slang phrase. 
51 himself alone, entirely alone. 

53 sensibly, although possessed of feeling. 

57 to Cato's wish, a phrase from Plutarch. Cato's] 
Theobald; Calves F. 

62 remain, stand (noun). 

V. 3 murrain, plague. 

5 movers, broilers, disturbers. 
7 doit, worth a doit, the smallest Dutch coin. 
19 physical, wholesome. 



suitors during 
of Ithaca, spun 



808 



CORIOLANUS 



55 



vi. 3 retire, retreat (noun). 

16 briefly, a moment ago. 

17 confound, waste. 
25 tabor, drum. 

42 inform, speak. 

51 battle, battle-array, army. 

53 vaward, van. 

59 Antiates, Men of Antium. F reads: Antients. 

76 me alone, expect me alone as your protection. 
83 cause will be obeyed, occasion shall require. 

86 ostentation, demonstration without the modern 
connotation. 

vii. 3 centuries, companies. 

viii. 4 fame and envy, envied fame. 

5 budger, one to stir. 
12 bragg'd, progeny, boasted progenitors. Hector 

was the capital of the Trojans from whom the 

Romans claimed descent. 
15 condemned seconds, damned assistance, 

ix. 6 quak'd, frightened. 
7 fusty, ill-smelling. 

31 tent, probe. 

44 soothing, hypocrisy. 

45 parasite, hanger on. 

46 coverture] Steevens; overture F. Let the silk be 
used instead of steel. 

48 debile, weak. 

57 means his proper harm, intends himself harm. 

66 addition, title. 

72 undercrest, wear as a crest. 

77 articulate, arrange the articles of the treaty. 

90 By Jupiter! forgot. This line has no original 
in Plutarch. 

X. 5, 6 condition, (a) terms; (b) character. 

15 potch, thrust. 

16 or, by which either. 

18 suffering stain, being eclipsed. 
20 fane, temple. 

22 embarqements, embargoes, 

25 upon my brother's guard, in my brother's pro- 
tection. 

26 hospitable canon, sacred law of hospitality. 

ACT II 

i. 25 censured, talked about. 
26 the right-hand file, the nobility, patricians. 

32 little thief of occasion, slightest occasion, war- 
rant. 

40 single, simple, silly. 
51 humorous, crotchety. 
56 motion, motive. 

60 wealsmen, statesmen. 

60 Lycurguses. Lycurgus was the founder of the 
Spartan State. 

63 can't] Theobald; can F. 

64 ass, referring to the final syllable of the names. 
68 map of my microcosm, appearance of my char- 
acter. 

70 bisson conspectuities, purblind perceptions, 
bisson] Theobald; beesome F, 



77 legs, bows. 

79 forset, casket. So F; Rowe reads fosset, tap for 
a cask. 

rejourn, adjourn. 
83 mummers, dancers in a masquerade. 
92 bencher, attendant. 
98 botchers, menders. 

101 estimation, estimate. 

102 Deucalion, the Noah of Roman legend. 
104 god-den, good even. 

128 empiricutic, empirical. Galen, the most famous 

physician of antiquity. 
130 horse-drench, drink for a horse. 
166 Tarquin, the last king of Rome. 

177 ner\^, sinewy. 

178 advanc'd, raised. 

179 Stage Direction, sennet, trumpet call indicating 
approach. 

182 follows] Steevens; follows Martius Caius F. 
214 change, variety. 

223 rapture, fit. 

224 chats, talks about, malkin, kitchen girl, mall 
= Matilda. 

225 reachy, filthy, lockram, a kind of coarse linen. 
226-229 Compare Julius Ccesar, I. i. 42. 

226 bulks, projecting counters outside shops. 

227 leads, roofs made of lead, 
hors'd, straddled. 

228 variable complexions, different ranks. 

229 seld-shown, flamens, rarely appearing priests. 

232 damask, blush-red, the color of the damask rose. 

233 nicely-gawded, daintily treated. 

234 pother, turmoil. 

244 upon, on account of. 

250 napless, threadbare. 

257 like, probable. 

264 dispropertied, deprived of value. 

267 the] Hanmer; their F. provand, provender. 

271 touch] Hanmer; teach F. 

272 put upon, put to the test. 

286 have with, you, we will go with you. 

ii. 6 vengeance, used adverbially as an oath. 
15 in their disposition, of their conduct. 
19 waved, would waver. 

23 opposite, opponent. 

24 affect, desire. 

30 bonneted, unbonneted, with cap removed. 

41 determin'd of, come to a decision concerning. 

44 gratify, repay. 

48 well-found, fully proved. 

57 motion toward, behavior before. 

58 yield what passes, grant what is decreed, 
convented, assembled. 

59 treaty, in a general sense proposal. 
64 off, not to the point. 

75 disbench'd, deprived of a seat. 

77 sooth'd, flattered. 

81 monster'd, exaggerated. 

85 one on's] F3; on ones Fi. 

88 valour, the word corresponding to the Latin 

'virtus,' virtue. 
92 made a head for Rome, raised a force to conquer 

Rome. 
95 Amazonian, beardless. 



809 



56 



CORIOLANUS 



100 act the woman, a reference to boys, who took 
the part of women on the Elizabethan stage. 

103 waxed, grew famous. 

105 lurch'd all swords of the g-arland, robbed . . . 
of the prize. In The Silent Woman by Ben Jon- 
son (1609) the same expression occurs (V. i.). 
This fact is held by some to date Coriolanus be- 
fore 1609, since the expression is comparatively 
rare. 

107 speak him home, praise him fully. 

111 stem, front; continuing the metaphor of the 
line above. 

112 took, told, counted. 

115 painted, colored (with a sword). 

116 shunless, unescapable. 

117 struck, a term of astrology shed malign influ- 
ence. 

121 fatigate, fatigued. 

131 misery, miserliness. 

143 pass, avoid. 

144 voices, votes. 

148 form, custom imposed. 
160 require, request. 

iii. 21 auburn. F has Abram, an alternate spelling 
of the time. 
31 block-head, mold for a hat. 

63 virtues, the virtues preached and so given to the 
common people. 
107 be off, be with hat off. 

122 woolvish toge, shaggy garment. F reads: 
Wooluish tongue; Fg woolvish gown. 

132 moe, more. 

146 limitation, time required. 

149 anon, immediately. 
177 but, except. 

192 plebii, members of the Roman plebs. 

204 article, condition. 

213 rectorship, government. 

227 enforce his pride, put his pride forward as an 

objection. 
232 portance, behavior. 
235 fault, blame. 

labor'd, resented. 
251-252 Insertions from the Globe editors. 
257 scaling", weighing. 
260 putting on, instigatioh. 

ACT III 

i. 3 swifter composition, terms more quickly made. 
7 ages, life-time. 

23 prank, dress up. 

24 noble sufferance, endurance of the nobility. 
43 repin'd, grudged. . 

47 sithence, since. 

60 rub, hindrance. 

63 not now. The speech is given in full in Plu- 
tarch. 

70 cockle, the darnel a weed. 

78 measles, leprosy. 

79 tetter, affect with a skin eruption. 
84 choler, anger. 

89 Triton, Neptune's trumpeter. 

90 from the cannon, like a blast blown from a 



cannon. Other editors read: from the canon, op- 
posed to the law. 

91 good] Pope; God F. 

92 reckless, heedless. F reads: wreakless. 

93 hydra, the many-headed monster slain by Her- 
cules. 

95 horn, with reference to Triton's horn. 

98 vail your ignorance, cause your ignorance to 
humble itself. 

104-105 the great'st taste most palates theirs, the 
chief ingredient is of the popular flavor. 

129 motive] Singer; native F. 

131 bisson multitude, bosom-multiplied F. cf. II, 
70, n. 

134 poll, number of persons. 

143 where one] Rowe; whereon F. 

144 gentry, noble birth. 

151 f\indamental part of state, essence of govern- 
ment. 

154 jump a body, risk a body. 

175 innovator, rebel. 

208 or, either. 

213 the rock Tarpeian, from which criminals were 
hurled to death. 

231 naught, ruined. 

236 tent, probe as a surgeon. 

237 [Com.] F^; Corio. F^. 

238 [Cor.] Steevens; Mene. F. 
240 [Men.] om. F. 

248 tag, rabble. 

275 havoc, the cry 'no quarter.' 

286 peremptory, resolute. 

304 clean kam, entirely wrong, crooked. 

305 merely, entirely. 

313 unscann'd, inconsiderate. 
322 bolted, sifted. 

ii. 7 muse, wonder. 

9 woollen vassals, ragged knaves. 
12 ordinance, rank. ^ 
18 let go, let it pass. 
21 thwartings] Theobald; things F. 
29 apt, fitted for it. 
32 herd] Theobald; heart F. 
52 it lies you on, it is encumbent upon you. 
55 roted, learned by rote. 
57 allowance, acknowledgment. 
67 fawn (noun), servile cringe. 
75 bussing, kissing. 
78 stout, proud. 
86 person, personal influence. 

99 unbarb'd sconce, unarmored head, top piece. 
102 plot, plan, model (of his body). 

113 quired, choired, sang. 

114 small, thin. 
121 surcease, cease. 
127 stoutness, pride. 

130 owe, possess. 

132 mountebank, play the clown. 

133 cog, cheat. 

144 invention, plot. 

iii. 1 affects, desires. 
3 envy, malice. 
32 piece, piece of money. 



810 



CORIOLANUS 



57, 



33 bear . . . volume, bear being called knave often 
enough to fill a book. 
36 throng] Theobald; through F. 
43 determine, end. 
55 accents] Theobald; actions F. 

63 contriv'd, plotted. 

64 season'd, quahfied. 

81 capital, involvin'g capital punishment. 

120 cry, pack. 

121 reek, vapor. 

130 but] F; not Capell. 
132 abated, humiliated. 

ACT IV 

i, 4 extremity] Fo; extremities Fj. 
26 fond, foohsh. 
30 fen, marshes; the reference is probably to the 

crocodile. 
33 cautelous, crafty. 

practice, deceit. 
36 exposture, exposure. 
43 advantage, advantageous. 
49 of noble touch, proved noble. 

ii. 16 mankind, human. 
18 foxship, cunning. 
24 Arabia, the desert. 
43 baited, teased like a bear. 

ill. 9 favour, face, appeared, disclosed. 

24 aptness, likelihood. 

49 entertainment, service. 

iv. 22 inter join their issues, let children intermarry. 
23 hate] Capell; have F. 

25 way, opportunity. 

V. 11 in being", for having won the name of. 

14 companions, fellows, contemptuously used. 

41 canopy, Heaven. 
. 47 daws, jackdaws. 

77 memory, reminder. 

91 wreak, vengeance. 

92 maims, losses (of territory). 
97 canker'd, decayed. 

115 clip, embrace. 
126 target, shield. 

131 fisting, grasping. 
137 o'er-beat, overpower. 
142 absolute, perfect. 
157 gave, misgave. 

198 scotched, cut slashes in. 

199 carbonado, slice of meat ready for broiling. 
203 made on, made much of. 

213 sowl, hold by the ears. 

214 Rome gates, a construction similar to 'London 
Bridge.' 

215 polled, bear. 

^22 directitude, a malapropian invention of the 
servants. 

225 blood, good condition. 

226 conies, rabbits. 

237 spritely waking] Globe; sprightly walking F. 

238 vent, pluck, spirits used of hounds in cry. 

239 mulled, drowsy; used of warm spiced wine. 

8 



vi. 2 tame, without effect, i'] om. F. 
7 pestering, overcrowding. 
53 information, truthful informant. 

67 spacious, inclusive. 
72 atone, be reconciled. 

96 apron-men, workingmen. 

97 voice of occupation, labor vote. 

100 fruit; that is, the apples of Hesperides. 
117 fair hands, fine handiwork. 
125 points, trumpet calls, command. 
134 coxcombs, heads. 

vii. 6 own, own soldiers. 
23 husbandry, management. 
34 osprey, the fish-hawk supposed to fascinate the 

fish, by a look. 
35-57 These lines contain the dramatic judgment 

upon the character of Coriolanus. 

43 cushion, seat of civil government. 

46 spices, traces. 

48-49 but . . . utterance, but his single merit, 
valor would be enough to outweigh any vice in 
proper consideration. 

49 virtues] virtue F. 

50 lie in . . . time, must be regarded only from 
the point of view of opportunity. 

52 Self-praise is the surest way of destroying self- 
respect. 
55 falter] Dyce; fouler F. 

ACT V 

i. 3 particular, personal relation. 

16 rack'd, made great efforts. 

44 grief-shot, sorrow stricken. 
60 prove, test. 

63 sit in gold, sit in' state. 

64 injury, sense of wrong. 

ii. 13 passable, usable as a countersign. 

17 verified' set in true and firm position. 

20 subtle ground, smooth field for bowling 

21 The metaphor of bowling is continued. 

22 stamp'd the leasing, coined the lie. 
30 factionary, a partizan. 

47 dotant, dotard. 

58 estimation, high regard. 

68 office, prevent by use of office. 

89 servanted, placed in service. 

90 remission, forgiveness. 
104 shent, rebuke. 

iii. 3 plainly, openly. 
41 out, out of my lines, forgetful. 

48 prate] Pope; pray F. 

51 impression, mark. 

59 fillip, snap with the finger. 
63 holp] Pope; hope F. 

74 flaw, storm. 
82 capitulate, make terms. 
176 reason, advances argumentc 

iv. 1 coign, corner. 
19 engine, machine. 

52 sackbuts, bass trumpet. 
11 



58 



CORIOLANUS 



vi. 37 end, take in the end. 


58 his story told as you would tell it. 


40 waged, paid. 


67-68 answering . . . charge, replying to us with a 


countenance, favor. 


bill. 


45 for which all my injuries shall be used against 


84 compounded, agreed. 


him. 


107 notion, mind. 


46 at, for the price of. 


116 flutter'd] F3; flatter'd Fj. 


rheum, tears. 


128 judicious, judicial. 



50 post, messenger. 



812 



CYMBELINE 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF ''CYMBELINE"— 
Cymbeline is unique among the plays of Shakespeare, 
and, except the four greatest tragedies, there is per- 
haps none of his works which more requires or better 
repays close study. Superficially reminiscent of As 
You Like It in the cave scenes, of Othello in the gen- 
eral nature of the villain's plot, and of Antony and 
Cleopatra in the wide scope that draws into the play 
both the centre and the uttermost limit of the Roman 
empire, Cymbeline is essentially like none of these 
dramas; nor has it much more than a mere stylistic 
kinship with the two other late plays generally 
grouped with it: The Winter's Tale and The Tempest. 
Discussion of the source material of Cymbeline and 
many casual impressions of the play concern them- 
selves chiefly with the wager between Posthumus and 
lachimo in Act I and the trick by which Posthumus 
is deceived in Act. II. This is not the part of the 
work, one may feel certain, which most interested 
Shakespeare, and it should not be given too great 
importance if one would properly value the drama 
as a whole. It may almost be said that the first two 
acts of Cymbeline are anticipatory, like the first act 
of Othello, and that the true interest develops out of 
Shakespeare's almost wholly original treatment of 
Imogen in her distress and his marvelous management 
of the final reconciliation. 

THE CHIEF SOURCE: BOCCACCIO— From the 
ninth story of the second day of Boccaccio's Decam- 
eron Shakespeare got the rough material for the 
Posthumus-Iachimo-Imogen story up to the point 
of lachimo's cheating of Posthumus by false evi- 
dence and the separation of Imogen from Pisanio 
(III. iv.). Boccaccio relates how Bernard Lomellin 
(Posthumus) of Genoa, praising the constancy of his 
wife a little too extravagantly in a company of Ital- 
ian merchants assembled at a Paris inn, was driven 
to wager five thousand florins against one thousand 
upon her ability to withstand the seductions of a 
professed libertine, "a young fellow called Ambrose 
of Piacenza" (lachimo). Three months was set as 
the period of the trial, and Ambrose departed for 
Genoa. Finding the lady inaccessible to his advances, 
he was about to "conclude that he had come thither 



upon a very foolish errand: but meeting with a poor 
woman who frequented the house, to whom the lady 
was very kind, he wrought so far upon her by means 
of a bribe, that he was carried in a chest, made 
according to his own direction, not only into the 
house, but even into the lady's bedchamber; where it 
was to be left for some days for the greater security, 
as if the good woman was going abroad. When night 
came, and the lady, as he supposed, was asleep, he 
opened the chest with certain instruments which he 
had carried with him for that end, and went softly 
into the room, where a light was burning, by which 
he observed carefully the form and situation of the 
chamber, and also the pictures, and everything re- 
markable in it; which he endeavored to keep in his 
memory. Coming then to the bed-side, and seeing 
the lady and a little girl that was in bed with her 
both fast asleep, he found her as beautiful as if she 
had been dressed; but yet he could perceive no sign 
to carry away concerning her unless it was a mole 
upon her left breast: with which being pretty well 
satisfied, and not daring, from the lady's known 
character, to presume farther; after being there the 
greatest part of the night, he took a purse, and also 
a gown with a ring and girdle; all which he put into 
his chest, and went into it again, making it fast as 
before." The chest was later removed, the treach- 
erous old woman paid, and Ambrose "hastened away 
to Paris with these tokens before the limited time. 
There he summoned the merchants together, who 
were present when the wager was laid, declaring to 
Bernard that he had won, having brought the tokens 
which he had promised to produce. First, then, he 
described the chamber and the paintings, and showed 
those things which he said he had received from her- 
self. Bernard owned that the chamber was as he 
had described it; and he remembered also that the 
things which he had brought belonged to his wife; 
but he added that he might have an account of the 
room, as well as procure the other things, from some 
of the servants; therefore, if he could say nothing 
more, this did not seem sufficient to entitle him to 
the wager. When Ambrose replied, 'Truly this ought 
to satisfy you; but since you would have me say 



813 



CYMBELINE 



something more, know then that Madam Zineura 
your wife has a mole upon her left breast.' When 
Bernard heard this, he was struck to the very heart, 
and his countenance changed in such a manner, as to 
convince them, if he had not said another word, that 
Ambrose spoke truth; and after some time he replied, 
'Gentlemen, what Ambrose saj^^s is true; and as I 
own myself to have lost, he may come when he pleases 
and I will pay him.' 

"The money therefore was paid the next day, and 
Bernard set out for Genoa most cruelly incensed 
against his wife; and being come to a country-house 
of his about twenty miles off, he sent a servant whom 
he could trust with a couple of horses and a letter 
to her; wherein he acquainted her with his return, 
and that he would have her come away along with 
the servant; whom he had charged at the same time, 
as soon as he came to a fit place, to put her to death, 
and repair to him. His servant delivered the letter 
to his mistress, who received the news with great 
joy; and the next morning she set forwards with 
him. As they traveled along, talking of divers things 
by the way, they came into a solitary vale surrounded 
with trees, which the servant thought a fit place 
for the execution of his master's orders: therefore, 
drawing a knife out of his pocket, and taking the 
lady by the arm, he said, 'Madam, commend your 
soul to God, for here you must die.' . , . The lady 
wept, and said, 'Alas ! do not murder me, who have 
never injured you, for the sake of another person: 
God is my witness, m^io knoweth all things, that I 
never did anything to deserve this from my husband; 
but, setting that aside, you may, if you please, serve 
God, your master, and myself, in this manner; 
namely, do you take my clothes, leaving me only 
your hat and doublet, and carry them to my lord 
and yours, telling him that you have killed me; and 
I swear, by that life for which I shall be- indebted 
to you, that I will go where neither he, you, nor 
any person in this country shall ever hear more con- 
cerning me.' " The servant consents willingly to this 
suggestion, and Zineura in masculine disguise enters 
the service of a Catalonian gentleman. The rest of 
the story shows no similarity to Shakespeare's ex- 
cept in the fact that ultimately, in very different 
ways, the heroine is restored to her repentant hus- 
band and the villain's guilt exposed. 

KINDRED TALES— It will surprise no one at all 
familiar with medieval fiction that the general fea- 
tures of this narrative — the wager over the con- 
stancy of a faithful wife and the ultimate triumph 
of wronged virtue — should be instanced from all 



parts of Europe. The theme is only a kind of com- 
bination of the old stories of Lucrece and Susanna, 
and the wise critic will hardly try to prove mutual 
dependence between the different forms in which the 
obvious idea has been presented. There appears now 
no reason to assume that Shakespeare knew any ver- 
sion of the story except that of Boccaccio, which he 
must presumably have read either in Italian or in 
French translation, no English rendering of the time 
being recorded. A tale which records somewhat sim- 
ilar incidents concerning English characters of the 
period of the Wars of the Roses cannot be proved 
to have existed earlier than the appearance of a book 
called Westtoard for Smelts in 1()20, ten years after 
the play was written. Three thirteenth century 
French romances, two in verse {Roman de la Violette, 
Roman du Comte de Poitiers) and one in prose (Du 
roi Flore et de la belle Jeanne) ; and a French miracle 
play (Un Miracle de Notre Dame) can hardly have 
come to Shakespeare's knowledge. All the works 
named omit important features of the story which 
Boccaccio's novel shares with Cymheline, and the im- 
probable assumption that they were known to the 
poet would not at all affect the certainty that he 
derived from Boccaccio the particular version of the 
story which he dramatized. 

HOLINSHED— It was an original idea of Shake- 
speare to set the tale in the reign of the British 
King Cymbeline, Kymbeline, or Cunobelinus, whose 
sovereignty is still attested by coins dating from the 
first half century after Christ. In Holinshed's Chron- 
icle the poet found the history of Cymbeline and 
his two sons Guiderius and Arviragus, of whom the 
elder, after his father's death withheld the Roman 
tribute and waged war against the Empire. Except 
this incident, transferred by the dramatist from the 
son's reign to the father's, there was little that 
Shakespeare cared to use save proper names, of which 
Mr. Boswell-Stone (Shakesjjeare's Holinshed) sug- 
gests that thirteen were taken over into the play. 
The most important plot device borrowed from the 
chronicler came, not from the account of Cymbeline, 
but from Holinshed's narrative of the Scottish king 
Kenneth in another part of the book, where Kenneth's 
battle against the Danes is reported to have had pre- 
cisely the same miraculous progress as that in which 
Posthumus, Belarius, and Cymbeline's two sons turn 
the tide against the Romans. 

DATE — "The composition of Cymheline between 
1609 and 1611 is strongly indicated by the character 
of the style and metre, which belong to Shakespeare's 
latest method and associate the play particularly 



814 



INTRODUCTION 



closely with The Winter's Tale. Substantiation of 
this date is found in the manuscript "Book of Plays 
and Notes thereof," which describes dramas witnessed 
by Dr. Simon Forman in 1610 and 1611. Forman 
gives the following summary of the plot of Cymbe- 
line: "Of Cymbeline King of England. Remember 
also the story of Cymbeline, king of England in 
Lucius's time; how Lucius came from Octavius Cae- 
sar for tribute and being denied, [Octavius] after 
sent Lucius with a great army of soldiers, who landed 
at Milford-Haven, and after were vanquished by 
Cymbeline and Lucius taken prisoner, and all by 
means of three outlaws of the which two of them 
were the sons of Cymbeline, stolen from him when 
they were but two years old by an old man whom 
Cymbeline banished, and he kept them as his own 
sons twenty j^ears with him in a cave. And how- 
one of them slew Cloten that was the queen's son, 
going to Milford-Haven to seek the love [i.e., lover] 
of Innogen king's daughter, whom he [Cymbeline] 
had banished also for loving his daughter. And how 
the Italian that came from her love convoyed him- 
self into a chest and said it was a chest of plate 
sent from her love and others to be presented to the 
king. And in the deepest of the night, she being 
asleep, he opened the chest and came forth of it, 
and viewed her in her bed and the marks of her 
body, and took away her bracelet, and after accused 
her of adultery to her love, &c. And in the end 
how he came with the Romans into England, and 
was taken prisoner and after revealed to Innogen, 
who had turned herself into man's apparel and fled 
to meet her love at Milford-Haven, and chanced to 
fall* on the cave in the wood, where her two brothers 
were ; and how by eating a sleeping dram they thought 
she had been dead and laid her in the wood, and the 
body of Cloten by her in her love's apparel that he 
left behind him, and how she was found by Lucius, 
&c." Unfortunately, Forman has neglected to afiix 
to this entry the usual indication of the day on 
which he saw the play alluded to, but the approximate 
period is clear enough from the other entries in the 
book. The Cymbeline notice occurs between a dis- 
cussion of The Winter's Tale, which Forman saw May 
15, 1611, and one of Macbeth dated April 20, 1610. 
It is interesting, incidentally, that in the quoted pas- 
sage Forman calls the heroine of Cymbeline Innogen. 
Under that form the name occurs in Holinshed and 
in the stage direction at the opening of Much Ado 
about Nothing, where Innogen is the wife of Leonato 
as in Cymbeline Imogen is wife of (Posthumus) 
Leonatus. 



TEXT — The text of Cymbeline is very unsatis- 
factory. The only early authority is the 163S Folio 
which gives Cymbeline the last place in the volume 
and incorporates an unusual number of printer's er- 
rors, either because of the haste of the compositors 
or from the natural difficulty in comprehending the 
highly metaphorical and arbitrary syntax of Shake- 
speare's latest manner. The textual obscurity is much 
aggravated by the presence of non-Shakespearean 
lines. Though the bulk of the drama is indubitably 
genuine, there occur several detached passages and 
one entire scene (V. iv.) which seem out of keeping 
with the poet's thought and unworthy of him. 

8TAGE HISTORY^Vndev date of Jan. 1, 1633, 
the record of Sir Henry Herbert, Charles I's Mas- 
ter of the Revels, notes: "Cymbeline was acted at 
Court by the King's Players. Well liked by the 
King." An efi'ort to adapt the play to Restoration 
taste, prepared by Thomas Durfey under the title 
of "The Injured Princess, or the Fatal Wager," pub- 
lished in 1682 "as it was acted at the Theatre-Royal 
by his Majesty's (Charles II's) Servants," is one of 
the most extraordinary of all the seventeenth century 
perversions of Shakespeare. Only six of the original 
names are retained, and not a shred of the original 
character. Posthumus is rechristened Ursaces and 
Imogen Eugenia. Every possible device of brutal 
violence which might appeal to jaded theatrical ap- 
petites is added, and the play degraded to boisterous 
and grotesque melodrama. An Oxford Professor of 
Poetry, William Hawkins, left the original less ir- 
recognizable in his "Cymbeline. A Tragedy altered 
from Shakespeare. As it was performed at the The- 
atre-Royal in Covent-Garden" (1759), but the plot 
is nevertheless regularized and the poetry "improved" 
unmercifully. Another adaptation was made by Da- 
vid Garrick, and yet another in connection with per- 
formances in 1777, when Samuel Reddish acted Post- 
humus. Garrick's Posthumus was "pronounced one 
of his finest performances"; that of John Kemble, 
first presented Nov. 21, 1785, and the Imogen of the 
famous Mrs. Jordan (1762-1816) were likewise "per- 
fect" in the adulatory language of the early nine- 
teenth century. The Garrick version of the play 
was presented by Hallam at Philadelphia, May 25, 
1767, and subsequently with great applause through 
the various colonial towns of America. The Imogen 
of this production, Miss Hallam, so fired the dra- 
matic critic of the Maryland Gazette at a per- 
formance in Annapolis, Aug. 30, 1770, that he ap- 
pended to his prcse eulogy a poem of twelve stanzas, 
beginning: 



815 



CYMBELINE 



"Hail, wondrous maid! I grateful hail 
Thy strange dramatic power; 
To thee 1 owe that Shakespeare's tale 
Has charmed my ears once more." 

In 1823 Edmund Kean played Posthumus at the 
Drury-Lane Theatre and Charles Kembie in 1827 at 
Co vent-Garden, the description of costumes and di- 
vision of roles on both occasions being preserved. 
Kean's son Charles revived the play both in England 
and America, and other notable performances were 
given about the middle of the nineteenth century 
by Macready and the noted Shakespearean revivahst, 
Samuel Phelps. The greatest of all recorded Imogens, 
with only the possible exception of Ellen Terry, was 
Helen Faucit (1817-1898), later Lady Martin, whose 
fame in this part was barely equaled by that of her 
Rosalind in As You Like It. In 1857 Henry Irving, 
not yet arrived at his full fame, played with her in 
the role of Pisanio. After 1872, when Miss Hen- 
rietta Hodson played Imogen at the Queen's Theatre, 
no London performance of Cymbeline seems to have 
been given till 1896 when Sir Henry Irving acted 
lachimo at the Lyceum Theatre to the Posthumus of 
Frank Cooper and the superb Imogen of Ellen Terry. 
So important a revival has not since been seen either 
in England or America. 

CRITICAL OPINION— The magnet which at- 
tracts to Cymbeline the unswerving admiration of 
all sympathetic readers is the character of Imogen. 
"Of all Shakespeare's women," says Hazlitt, "she 
is perhaps the most tender and the most artless," 
and other writers have but echoed the sentiment. 
The most deeply appreciative and original of all the 
extended analyses of her character is found in the 
book "On Some of Shakespeare's Female Characters" 
(1885) by Lady Martin, who as an actress had most 
magnificently identified herself with the part. The 
tendency of the less catholic critics to find in their 
sympathy for Imogen matter for vindictive outcry- 
ings against Posthumus is largely due to defective 



understanding of Elizabethan feeling and of Shake- 
speare's dramatic method. The character of Imogen 
is wholly of Shakespeare's making; the actions, if 
not the character, of Posthumus are hypotheses nec- 
essary to the plot and invented not by the poet but 
by Boccaccio. Undoubtedly the Elizabethans so un- 
derstood them. The distortion in the modern atti- 
tude is well corrected by Sir Walter Raleigh (Shake- 
speare, 1907, p. 140) : "Shakespeare moves in a larger 
scheme of things, where the sun rises on the evil 
and on the good. He finds it easy, therefore, to ac- 
cept his story as a kind of providence, and to abide 
by its surprising awards. Why did he create so 
exquisite a being as Imogen for the jealous and 
paltry Posthumus? He has the precedent of nature, 
which makes many strangely assorted matches; and 
he does not greatly care what we think of Post- 
humus." 

Charm and technical skill, rather than psychological 
intensity or regular workmanship, are the distinctive 
qualities in Cymbeline. The unique impression which 
the drama makes even among the other late works of 
Shakespeare is wonderfully sketched by Hazlitt: 
"Cymbeline is one of the most delightful of Shake- 
speare's historical plays. It may be considered as a 
dramatic romance, in which the most striking parts 
of the story are thrown into the form of a dialogue. 
. . . The reading of this play is like going a journey 
with some uncertain object at the end of it, and in 
which the suspense is kept up and heightened by the 
long intervals between each action. Though the events 
are scattered over such an extent of surface, and 
relate to such a variety of characters, yet the links 
which bind the different interests of the story to- 
gether are never entirely broken. The most strag- 
gling and seemingly casual incidents are contrived in 
I such a manner as to lead at last to the most com- 
j plete development of the catastrophe. The ease and 
; conscious unconcern with which this is effected only 
I makes the skill more wonderful." B. 



816 



THE TRAGEDY OF CYMBELINE 



[Scene: Cymbeline's court in Ancient Britain; Rome; Wales in the vicinity of Milford- 

Haven. 



Cymbeline, king of Britain. 

Clotek, son to the Queen by a former husband. 

PosTHUMus Leokatus, a gentleman, husband to 
Imogen. 

Belarius, a banished lord, disguised under the name 
of Morgan. 

GuiDERius, 1 ^ons to Cymbeline, disguised under the 
I names of Polydore and Cadwal, supposed 
Arviragus, J sons to Morgan. 



Italians. 



Philario, friend to Posthumus, 
Iachimo, friend to Philario, 

ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [Britain. The garden of Cymbe- 
line's palace.'] 

Enter two Gentlemen. 

1. Gent. You do not meet a man but frowns: 

our bloods 
No more obey the heavens than our courtiers 
Still seem as does the king. 

2. Gent. But what's the matter ? 

1. Gent. His daughter^ and the heir of's king- 

dom^ whom 
He purpos'd to his wife's sole son — a widow 5 
That late he married — hath referr'd herself 
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's 

wedded ; 
Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all 
Is outward sorrow ; though I think the king 
Be touch'd at very heart. 

2. Gent. None but the king? 10 



NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS 

Caius Lucius, general of the Roman forces. 

PisANio, servant to Posthumus. 

Corkelius, a physician at the British court. 

Philarmokus, a Roman soothsayer. 

Queen, wife to Cymbeline. 

Imogen, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen. 

Helen, a lady attending on Imogen. 

Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, British 
Lords and Gentlemen, a Frenchman, a Dutchman, 
a Spaniard, Musicians, Captains, Soldiers, Messen- 



gers, Gaolers, and other attendants. Apparitions. 1 



1. Gent. He 
queen, 



that hath lost her too: so is the 



1 
817 



That most desir'd the match; but not a 

courtier. 
Although they wear their faces to the bent 
Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not 
Glad at the thing they scowl at. 
Gent. And why so? 15 

Gent. He that hath miss'd the jDrincess is a 

thing 
Too bad for bad report: and he that hath 

her — 
I mean, that married her, alack, good man! 
And therefore banish'd- — is a creature such 
As, to seek through the regions of the earth 20 
For one his like, there would be something 

failing 
In him that should compare. I do not think 
So fair an outward and such stuff within 
Endows a man but he. 

Gent. You speak him faro 

Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself, 25 
Crush him together rather than unfold 
His measure duly. 

Gent. What's his name and birth? 



CYMBELINE 



[act I. SC. I. 



2. Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: his 
father 
Was called Sicilius, who did join his honour 
Against the Romans with Cassibelan^ 30 

But had his titles by Tenantius whom 
He served with glory and admir'd success, 
So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus; 
And had, besides this gentleman in question, 
Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time 35 
Died with their swords in hand; for which 

their father. 
Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow 
That he quit being, and his gentle lady, 
Big of this gentleman our theme, deceas'd 
As he was born. The king he takes the babe 
To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leona- 
tus, 41 
Breeds him and makes him of his bed-cham- 
ber. 
Puts to him all the learnings that his time 
Could make him the receiver of; which he 

took, 
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd, 45 

And in's spring became a harvest, liv'd in 

court — 
Which rare it is to do — most prais'd, most 

lov'd, 
A sample to the youngest, to the more mature 
A glass that feated them, and to the graver 
A child that guided dotards ; to his mistress, 50 
For whom he now is banish'd, her own price 
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his vir- 
tue; 
By her election may be truly read 
What kind of man he is. 
2. Gent. I honour him 

Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell 
me, 55 

Is she sole child to the king? 

1. Gent. His only child. 
He had two sons: if this be worth your hear- 
ing, 

Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old, 
I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their 

nursery 
Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in 

knowledge 60 

Which way they went. 

2. Gent. How long is this ago? 

1. Gent. Some twenty years. 

2. Gent. That a king's children should be so 

convey'd. 



So slackly guarded, and the search so slow, 64 
That could not trace them! 

1. Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange. 
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at. 
Yet is it true, sir. 

2. Gent. I do well believe you. 

1. Gent. We must forbear: here comes the gen- 
tleman. 
The queen, and princess. Exeunt, 

Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. 

Queen. No, be assur'd you shall not find me, 
daughter, 70 

After the slander of most stepmothers, 
Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but 
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys 
That lock up your restraint. For you, Pos- 
thumus, 
So soon as I can win th' offended king, 75 

I will be known your advocate: marry, yet 
The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good 
You lean'd unto his sentence with what pa- 
tience 
Your wisdom may inform you. 

Post. Please your highness, 

I will from hence to-day. 

Queen. You know the peril. 80 

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
The pangs of barr'd affections, though the 

king 
Hath charg'd you should not speak together. 

Exit.- 

I mo. O 

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant 
Can tickle where she wounds ! My dearest 
husband, 85 

I something fear my father's wrath; but noth- 
ing— 
Always reserv'd my holy duty — what 
His rage can do on me : you must be gone ; 
And I shall here abide the hourly shot 
Of angry eyes, not comforted to live, 90 

But that there is this jewel in the world 
That I may see again. 

Post. My queen ! my mistress ! 

O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause 
To be suspected of more tenderness 
Than doth become a man. I will remain 95 
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight 

troth : 
My residence in Rome at one Philario's, 



818 



ACT I. SC. I.] 



CYMBELINE 



Who to my father was a friend, to me 
Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, 
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you 
send, 100 

Though ink be made of gall. 

Enter Queen. 

Queen. Be brief, I pray you: 

If the king come, I shall incur I know not 
How much of his displeasure. [Aside] Yet 

I'll move him 
To walk this way: I never do him wrong. 
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; 105 
Pays dear for my offences. [Exit.] 

Post. Should we be taking leave 

As long a term as yet we have to live, 
The loathness to depart woyld grow. Adieu ! 

Imo. Nay, stay a little: 

Were you but riding forth to air yourself, no 
Such parting were too petty. Look here, 

love; 
This diamond was my mother's : take it, heart ; 
But keep it till you woo another wife. 
When Imogen is dead. 

Post. How, how ! another ? 

You gentle gods, give me but this I have, 115 
And sear up my embracements from a next 
With bonds of death! [Putting on the ring.] 

Remain, remain thou here 
While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, 

fairest, 
As I my poor self did exchange for you. 
To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles 120 
I still win of you : for my sake wear this ; 
It is a manacle of love ; I'll place it 
Upon this fairest prisoner. 

[Putting a bracelet upon her arm.] 

Imo. O the gods ! 

When shall we see again? 

Enter Cymheline and Lords. 

Post. Alack, the king ! 

Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid ! hence, from my 
sight ! 125 

If after this command thou fraught the court 

With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away! 

Thou'rt poison to my blood. 
Post. The gods protect you ! 

And bless the good remainders of the court! 

I am gone. Exit. 



Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death 

More sharp than this is. 
Cym. O disloyal thing, 131 

That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st 

A year's age on me. 
Imo. I beseech you, sir. 

Harm not yourself with your vexation : 

I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more 
rare 135 

Subdues all pangs, all fears. 
Cym. Past grace? obedience? 

Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past 

grace. 
Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of 

my queen ! 
Imo. O blest, that I might not ! I chose an eagle, 

And did avoid a puttock. 140 

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have 
made my throne 

A seat for baseness. 
Imo. No; I rather added 

A lustre to it. 
Cym. O thou vild one ! 

Imo. Sir, 

It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus: 

You bred him as my playfellow, and he is 145 

A man worth any woman, overbuys me 

Almost the sum he pays. 
Cym. What, art thou mad? 

Imo. Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I 
were 

A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus 

Our neighbour shepherd's son ! 
Cym. Thou foolish thing! 150 

Enter Queen. 

They were again together: you have done 
Not after our command. Away with her. 
And pen her up. 

Queen. Beseech your patience. Peace, 

Dear lady daughter, peace ! Sweet sovereign. 

Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself 

some comfort 155 

Out of your best advice. 

Cym. Nay, let her languish 

A drop of blood a day; and, being aged, 
Die of this folly! Exit [with Lords]. 

Queen. Fie ! you must give way. 

Enter Pisanio. 

Here is your servant. How now, sir ! What 
news? 



819 



8 



CYMBELINE 



[act I. SC. I. 



Pis. My lord your son drew on my master. 
Queen, Ha ! i6o 

No harm^ I trusty is done ? 

Pis. There might have been^ 

But that my master rather play'd than fought 
And had no help of anger : they were parted 
By gentlemen at hand. 

Queen. I am very glad on't. 

Imo. Your son's my father's friend; he takes 
his part. 165 

To draw upon an exile! O brave sir! 
I would they were in Afric both together; 
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 
The goer-back. Why came you from your 
master ? 

Pis. On his command: he would not suffer me 
To bring him to the haven ; left these notes 171 
Of what commands I should be subject to^ 
When 't pleas'd you to employ me. 

Queen. This hath been 

Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour 
He will remain so. 

Pis. I humbly thank your highness. 

Queen. Pray, walk awhile. 

Imo. About some half-hour hence, 

I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least 
Go see my lord aboard : for this time leave me. 

Exeunt. 



Scene II. — \_The same. A public place.l^ 
Enter Cloten a7id two Lords. 

1. Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; 
the violence of action hath made you reek as 
a sacrifice: where air comes out, air comes in: 
there's none abroad so wholesome as that you 
vent. 5 

Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. 
Have I hurt him? 

2. Lord. [Aside] No, 'faith; not so much as his 
patience. 9 

1. Lord. Hurt him! his body's a passable car- 
cass, if he be not hurt: it is a throughfare for 
steel, if it be not hurt. 

2. Lord. [Aside] His steel was in debt; it went 
o' the backside the town. 

Clo. The villain would not stand me. is 

2. Lord. [Aside] No; but he fled forward still, 

toward your face. 
1. Lord. Stand you! You have land enough of 



your own: but he added to your having; gave 
you some ground. , 20 

2. Lord. [Aside] As many inches as you have 
oceans. Puppies ! 

Clo. I would they had not come between us. 

2. Lord. [Aside] So would I, till you had meas- 
ured how long a fool you were upon the 
ground. 26 

Clo. And that she should love this fellow and 
refuse me! 

2. Lord. [Aside] If it be a sin to make a true 
election, she is damned. 30 

1. Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty 
and her brain go not together: she's a good 
sign, but I have seen small reflection of her 
wit. 

2. Lord. [Aside] She shines not upon fools, 
lest the reflection should hurt her. 

Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there 

had been some hurt done ! 
2. Lord. [Aside] I wish not so; unless it had 

been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt. 
Clo. You'll go with us ? 40 

1. Lord. I'll attend your lordship. 
Clo. Nay, come, let's go together. 

2. Lord. Well, my lord. Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [A roo7n in Cymheline's palace.] 
Enter Imogen and Pisanio. 

Imo. I would thou grew'st unto the shores 0' the 
haven. 
And question'dst every sail : if he should write. 
And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost. 
As offer'd mercy is. What was the last 4 

That he spake to thee ? 

Pis. It was his queen, his queen ! 

Imo. Then wav'd his handkerchief? 

Pis. And kiss'd it, madam. 

Imo. Senseless linen ! happier therein than I ! 
And that was all ? 

Pis. No, madam; for so long 

As he could make me with this eye or ear 
Distinguish him from others, he did keep 10 
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief. 
Still waving, as the iits and stirs of's mind 
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on. 
How swift his ship. 

Imo. Thou shouldst have made him 

As little as a crow, or less, ere left 15 

To after-eye him. 



820 



ACT I. SC. III.] 



CYMBELINE 



9 



Pis. Madam^ so I did. 

Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings; 
crack'd them, but 
To look upon him, till the diminution 
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle, 
Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from 20 
The smallness of a gnat to air, and then 
Have turri'd mine eye and wept. But, good 

Pisanio, 
When shall we hear from him? 
Pis. Be assured, madam. 

With his next vantage. 
Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had 25 
Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell him 
How I would think on him at certain hours 
Such thoughts and such, or I could make him 

swear 
The shes of Italy should not betray 
Mine interest and his honour, or have charg'd 
him, 30 

At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at mid- 
night. 
To encounter me with orisons, for then 
I am in heaven for him ; or ere I could 
Give him that parting kiss which I had set 
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my 
father 35 

And like the tyrannous breathing of the north 
Shakes all our buds from growing. 

Enter a Lady. 

Lady. The queen, madam. 

Desires your highness' company. 
Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them 
despatch'd. 

I will attend the queen. 
Pis. Madam, I shall. Exeunt. 40 



Scene IV. — [Rome. Philario's house.'] 

Enter Philario, lacliimo, a Frenchman, a 
Dutchman, and a Spaniard. 

lach. Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain: 
he was then of a crescent note, expected to 
prove so worthy as since he hath been allowed 
the name of; but I could then have looked on 
him without the help of admiration, though 
the catalogue of his endowments had been 
tabled by his side and I to peruse him by 
items. 7 



Phi. You speak of him when he was less fur- 
nished than now he is with that which makes 
him both without and within. 10 

French. I have seen him in France: we had very 
many there could behold the sun with as firm 
eyes as he. 

lach. This matter of marrying his king's daugh- 
ter, wherein he must be weighed rather by 
her value than his own, words him, I doubt 
not, a great deal from the matter. 17 

French. And then his banishment. 

lach. Ay, and the approbation of those that 
weep this lamentable divorce under her colours 
are wonderfully to extend him; be it but to 
fortify her judgement, which else an easy 
battery might lay flat, for taking a beggar 
without less quality. But how comes it he is 
to sojourn with you.^ How creeps acquaint- 
ance } 25 

Phi. His father and I were soldiers together; 
to whom I have been often bound for no less 
than my life. Here comes the Briton: let himi 
be so entertained amongst you as suits, with 
gentlemen of your knowing, to a stranger of 
his quality. 30 

Enter Posthumus. 

I beseech you all, be better known to this gen- 
tleman, whom I commend to you as a noble 
friend of mine: how worthy he is I will leave 
to appear hereafter, rather than story him in 
his own hearing. 35 

French. Sir, we have known together in Or- 
leans. 

Post. Since when I have been debtor to you for 
courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and yet 
pay still. 40 

French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness: I 
was glad I did atone my countryman and 
you; it had been pity you should have been 
put together with so mortal a purpose as then 
each bore, upon importance of so slight and 
trivial a nature. 46 

Post. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young 
traveller; rather shunned to go even with 
what I heard than in my every action to be 
guided by others' experiences: but upon my 
mended judgement — if I offend not to say it 
is mended — my quarrel was not altogether 
slight. 51 

French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement 



821 



10 



CYMBELINE 



[act I. SC, IV. 



of swords^ and by such two that would by all 
likelihood have confounded one the other, or 
have fallen both. 55 

lach. Can we, with manners, ask what was the 
difference ? 

French. Safely, I think: 'twas a contention in 
public, which may, without contradiction, suf- 
fer the report. It was much like an argu- 
ment that fell out last night, where each of 
us fell in praise of our country mistresses; 
this gentleman at that time vouching — and 
upon warrant of bloody affirmation — his to be 
more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant- 
qualified, and less attemptible than any the 
rarest of our ladies in France. 67 

lach. That lady is not now living, or this gen- 
tleman's opinion by this worn out. 

Post. She holds her virtue still and I my mind. 

lach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours 
of Italy. 71 

Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France, 
I would abate her nothing, though I profess 
myself her adorer, not her friend. 74 

lach. As fair and as good — a kind of hand-in- 
hand comparison — had been something too 
fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If 
she went before others I have seen, as that 
diamond of yours outlustres many I have be- 
held, I could not but believe she excelled 
many: but I have not seen the most precious 
diamond that is, nor you the lady. 82 

Post. I praised her as I rated her: so do I my 
stone. 

lach. What do you esteem it at? 

Post. More than the world enjoys. 

lach. Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, 
or she's outprized by a trifle. 88 

Post. You are mistaken: the one may be sold, 
or given, or if there were wealth enough for 
the purchase, or merit for the gift: the other 
is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the 
gods. 

lach. Which the gods have given you? 

Post. Which, by their graces, I will keep. 95 

lach. You may wear her in title yours: but, you 
know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring 
ponds. Your ring may be stolen too: so your 
brace of unprizable estimations ; the one is but 
frail and the other casual; a cunning thief, or 
a that way accomplished courtier, would haz- 
ard the winning both of first and last. 102 

Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished 



a courtier to convince the honour of my mis- 
tress, if, in the holding or loss of that, you 
term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have 
store of thieves; notwithstanding, I fear not 
my ring. 

Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. 109 

Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy 
signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of 
me; we are familiar at first. 

lach. With five times so much conversation, I 
should get ground of your fair mistress, make 
her go back, even to the yielding, had I admit- 
tance and opportunity to friend. 116 

Post. No, no. 

lach. I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my 
estate to your ring; which, in my opinion, 
o'ervalues it something: but I make my wager 
rather against your confidence than her repu- 
tation: and, to bar your offence herein too, I 
durst attempt it against any lady in the world. 

Post. You are a great deal abused in too bold 
a persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain 
what you're worthy of by your attempt. 126' 

lach. W^hat's that? 

Post. A repulse: though your attempt, as you 
call it, deserve more; a punishment too. 129 

Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too 
suddenly ; let it die as it was born, and, I pray 
you, be better acquainted. 

lach. Would I had put my estate and my neigh- 
bour's on the approbation of what I have 
spoke ! 135 

Post. What lady would you choose to assail? 

lach. Yours; whom in constancy you think 
stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand 
ducats to your ring, that, commend me to the 
court where your lady is, with no more advan- 
tage than the opportunity of a second confer- 
ence, and I will bring from thence that honour 
of hers which you imagine so reserved. 143 

Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it: 
my ring I hold dear as my finger; 'tis part 
of it. 

lach. You are afraid, and therein the wiser. 
If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, 
you cannot preserve it from tainting: but I 
see you have some religion in you, that you 
fear. 149 

Post. This is but a custom in your tongue; you 
bear a graver purpose, I hope. 

lach. I am the master of my speeches, and 
would undergo what's spoken, I swear. 153 



822 



ACT I. SC. 



IV.] 



CYMBELINE 



11 



» 



Post. Will you? I shall but lend my diamond 
till your return: let there be covenants drawn 
between 's: my mistress exceeds in goodness 
the hugeness of your unworthy thinking: I 
dare you to this match: here's my ring. 

Phi. I will have it no lay. 159 

lach. By the gods^ it is one. If I bring you 
no sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the 
dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten 
thousand ducats are yours ; so is your diamond 
too: if I come off, and leave her in such 
honour as you have trust in, she your jewel, 
this your jewel, and my gold are yours: pro- 
vided I have your commendation for my more 
free entertainment. 167 

Post. I embrace these conditions; let us have 
articles betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall 
answer : if you make your voyage upon her and 
give me directly to understand you have pre- 
vailed, I am no further your enemy; she is 
not worth our debate : if she remain unseduced, 
you not making it appear otherwise, for your 
ill opinion and the assault you have made to 
her chastity you shall answer me with your 
sword. ■ 176 

lach. Your hand ; a covenant : we will have these 
things set down by lawful counsel, and straight 
away for Britain, lest the bargain should 
catch cold and starve: I will fetch my gold 
and have our two wagers recorded. 181 

Post. Agreed. 

[Exeunt Posthumus and lachimo,'] 

French. Will this hold, think you? 

Phi. Signior lachimo will not from it. Pray, 
let us follow 'em. Exeunt. 



Scene V. — [Britai 



^. A room in Cymbeline's 
palace.'] 



Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. 



Queen. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather 
those flowers; 
Make haste : who has the note of them ? 
First Lady. I, madam. 

Queen. Despatch. Exeunt Ladies. 

Now, master doctor, have you brought those 
drugs ? 
Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they are, 
madam: [Presenting a small box.~\ 5 

But I beseech your grace, without offence^— 

823 



My conscience bids me ask — wherefore you 

have 
Commanded of me these most poisonous com- 
pounds. 
Which are the movers of a languishing death; 
But though slow, deadly? 
Queen, I wonder, doctor, 10 

Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not 

been 
Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me 

how 
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so 
That our great king himself doth woo me oft 
For my confections? Having thus far pro- 
ceeded, — 15 
Unless thou think'st me devilish — is't not meet 
That I did amplify my judgment in 
Other conclusions ? I will try the forces 
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as 
We count not worth the hanging, but none 
human, 20 
To try the vigour of them and apply 
AUayments to their act, and by them gather 
Their several virtues and effects. 
Cor. Your highness 
Shall from this practice but make hard your 

heart: 
Besides, the seeing these effects will be 25 

Both noisome and infectious. 
Queen. O, content thee. 

Enter Pisanio. 

[Aside] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon 

him 
Will I first work: he's for his master. 
And enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio ! 
Doctor, your service for this time is ended; 30 
Take your own way. 
Cor. [Aside] I do suspect you, madam; 

But you shall do no harm. 
Queen. [To Pisanio] Hark thee, a word. 

Cor. [Aside] I do not like her. She doth think 

she has 
Strange lingering poisons: I do know 

spirit. 
And will not trust one of her malice with 
A drug of such damn'd nature. Those 

has 
Will stupify and dull the sense awhile; 
Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats 

and dogs, 



her 



35 

she 



CYMBELINE 



[act I. SC. V. 



Then afterward up higher: but there is 
No danger in what show of death it makes, 40 
More than the locking-up the spirits a time. 
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
With a most false effect; and I the truer. 
So to be false with her. 
Queen. No further service, doctor. 

Until I send for thee. 

Cor. I humbly take my leave. Ea^it. 45 

Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou 

think in time 

She will not quench and let instructions enter 

Where folly now possesses? Do thou work: 

When thou shalt bring me word she loves my 

son, 
I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then 50 
As great as is thy master, greater, for 
His fortunes all lie speechless and his name 
Is at last gasp: return he cannot, nor 
Continue where he is: to shift his being 
Is to exchange one misery with another, 55 
And every day that comes comes to decay 
A day's work in him. What shalt thou ex- 
pect. 
To be depender on a thing that leans, 
Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends. 
So much as but to prop him? [The Queen 
drops the box: Pisanio takes it up.] Thou 
takest up 60 

Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy 

labour : 
It is a thing I made, which hath the king 
Five times redeem'd from death: I do not 

know 
What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee, take 

it; 
It is an earnest of a further good 65 

That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
The case stands with her; do't as from thy- 
self. 
Think what a chance thou changest on, but 

think 
Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son. 
Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the 
king 70 

To any shape of thy preferment such 
As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly. 
That set thee on to this desert, am bound 
To load thy merit richly. Call my women: 
Think on my words. Exit Pisanio. 

A sly and constant knave, 75 
Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master 



And the remembrancer of her to hold 

The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him 

that 
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her 
Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after. 
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd 
To taste of too. 

Enter Pisanio and Ladies. 

So, so: well done, well done: 82 
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses 
Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio; 
Think on my words. 

Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 
Pis. And shall do: 85 

But when to my good lord I prove untrue, 
I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you. 

Exit. 



Scene VI. — [Another room in the palace.] 

Enter Imogen alone. 

Imo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false; 
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady, 
That hath her husband banish'd; — O, that 

husband ! 
My supreme crown of grief! and those re- 
peated 
Vexations of it ! Had I been thief-stol'n, 5 
As my two brothers, happy! but most miser- 
able 
Is the desire that's glorious: blest be those. 
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, 
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? 
Fie! 

Enter Pisanio and lachimo. 

Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome, 10 

Comes from my lord with letters. 
lach. Change you, madam? 

The worthy Leonatus is in safety 

And greets your highness dearly. 

[Presents a letter.] 
Imo. Thanks, good sir: 

You're kindly welcome. 
lach. [Aside] All of her that is out of door 
most rich ! 15 

If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare. 



She is alone th' Arabian bird, and I 



824 



ACT I. SC. VI.] 



CYMBELINE 



13 



I 



Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend ! 
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! 
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; 20 
Rather, directly fly. 

Imo. Reads. 'He is one of the noblest note, to 
whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. 
Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value 
your trust — Leonatus.' 

So far I read aloud: 26 

But even the very middle of my heart 
Is warm'd by the rest^ and takes it thankfully. 
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I 
Have words to bid you, and shall find it so 30 
In all that I can do. 

Tach. Thanks, fairest lady. 

What, are men mad } Hath nature given them 

eyes 
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop 
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 
The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones 35 
Upon the number'd beach? and can we not 
Partition make with spectacled so precious 
'Twixt fair and foul? 

Imo. What makes your admiration? 

Jacli. It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and mon- 
keys 
'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way 
and 40 

Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the 

j udgement. 
For idiots in this case of favour would 
Be wisely definite; nor i' th' appetite; 
Sluttery to such neat excellence oppos'd 
Should make desire vomit emptiness, 45 

Not so allur'd to feed. 

Imo. What is the matter, trow? 

lack. The cloyed will, 

That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub 
Both fill'd and running, ravening first the 

lamb. 
Longs after for the garbage. 

Imo. What, dear sir, 50 

Thus raps you? Are you well? 

Inch. Thanks, madam; well. \^To Pisanio^ Be- 
seech you, sir, desire 
My man's abode where I did leave him: he 
Is strange and peevish. 

Pis. I was going, sir, 

To give him welcome. Eo'it. 55 

Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, be- 
seech you? 

lack. Well, madam. 



Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is. 
lack. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger 
there 
So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd 60 
The Briton reveller. • 
Imo. When he was here. 

He did incline to sadness, and oft-times 
Not knowing why. 
lack. I never saw him sad. 

There is a Frenchman his companion, one 
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much 
loves 65 

A Gallian girl at home ; he furnaces 
The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly 

Briton — 
Your lord, I mean — laughs from's free lungs, 

cries 'O, 
Can my sides hold, to think that man, who 

knows 
By history, report, or his own proof, 70 

What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
But must be, will's free hours languish for 
Assured bondage?' 
Imo. Will my lord say so? 

lack. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with 
laughter : 
It is a recreation to be by 75 

And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, 

heavens know. 
Some men are much to blame. 
Imo. Not he, I hope. 

lack. Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards 
him might 
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis 

much ; 
In you, which I account his beyond all tal- 
ents, 80 
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 
To pity too. 
Imo. What do you pity, sir ? 
lack. Two creatures heartily. 
Imo. Am I one, sir ? 
You look on me: what wrack discern you in 

me 
Deserves your pity? 
lack. Lamentable ! What, 85 

To hide me from the radiant sun and solace 
I' the dungeon by a snufl"? 
Imo. I pray you, sir. 

Deliver with more openness your answers 
To my demands. Why do you pity me? 
lach. That others do — 90 



82^ 



14> 



CYMBELINE 



[act I. SC. VI. 



I was about to say — enjoy your But 

It is an office of the gods to venge it. 
Not mine to speak on't. 
I mo. You do seem to know 

Something of me, or what concerns me: pray 

you,— 
Since doubting things go ill often hurts more 
Than to be sure they do ; for certainties 96 
Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing. 
The remedy then born — discover to me 
What both you spur and stop. 
lach. Had I this cheek 

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose 

touch, 100 

Whose every touch, would force the feeler's 

soul 
To the oath of loyalty; this object, which 
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, 
Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then, 
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs los 
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with 

hands 
Made hard with hourly falsehood — falsehood, 

as 
With labour; then by-peeping in an eye 
Base and illustrious as the smoky light 
That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit no 
That all the plagues of hell should at one time 
Encounter such revolt. 
Imo. My lord, I fear. 

Has forgot Britain. 
lack. And himself. Not I, 

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce 
The beggary of his change; but 'tis your 

graces 115 

That from my mutest conscience to my tongue 

Charms this report out. 

Imo. Let me hear no more. 

lack. O dearest soul ! your cause doth strike my 

heart 
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery, 120 

Would make the great'st king double, — to be 

partner'd 
With tomboys hir'd with that self exhibition 
Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd 

ventures 
That play with all infirmities for gold 
Which rottenness can lend nature ! such boil'd 

stuff 125 

As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd; 
Or she that bore you was no queen, and you 



Recoil from your great stock. 

Imo. Reveng'd ! 

How should I be reveng'd? If this be true, — 
As I have such a heart that both mine ears 130 
Must not in haste abuse — if it be true. 
How should I be reveng'd? 

lach. Should he make me 

Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets. 
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps. 
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge 
it. 135 

I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure. 
More noble than that runagate to your bed. 
And will continue fast to your affection. 
Still close as sure. 

Imo. What, ho, Pisanio ! 

lach. Let me my service tender on your lips. 140 

Imo. Away ! I do condemn mine ears that have 
So long attended thee. If thou wert honour- 
able. 
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, 

not * 

For such an end thou seek'st, — as base as 

strange. 
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far 145 
From thy report as thou from honour, and 
Solicit'st here a lady that disdains 
Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio ! 
The king my father shall be made acquainted 
Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit, 150 

A saucy stranger in his court to mart 
As in a Romish stew and to expound 
His beastly mind to us, he hath a court 
He little cares for and a daughter who 
He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio ! 155 

lach. O happy Leonatus ! I may say: 
The credit that thy lady hath of thee 
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect good- 
ness 
Her assur'd credit. Blessed live you long ! 
A lady to the worthiest sir that ever 160 

Country call'd his ! and you his mistress, only 
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your 

pardon. 
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance 
Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your lord. 
That which he is, new o'er: and he is one 165 
The truest manner'd ; such a holy witch 
That he enchants societies into him; 
Half all men's hearts are his. 

Imo. You make amends. 

lach. He sits 'mongst men like a descended god: 



826 



ACT I. SC. VI.] 



CYMBELINE 



15 



He hath a kind of honour sets him off, 170 

More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry^ 
Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd 
To try your taking of a false report; which 

hath 
Honour'd with confirmation your great judge- 
ment 
In the election of a sir so rare, 175 

Which you know cannot err: the love I bear 

him 
Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made 

you. 
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your par- 
don. 

Imo. All's well, sir: take my power i' the court 
for yours. 

lack. Mj humble thanks. I had almost forgot 
T' entreat your grace but in a small request. 
And yet of moment too, for it concerns 182 
Your lord; myself and other noble friends 
Are partners in the business. 

Imo. Pi'ay, what is't? 

lack. Some dozen Romans of us and your lord — 
The best feather of our wing — have mingled 
sums 186 

To buy a present for the emperor; 
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done 
In France: 'tis plate of rare device; and jew- 
els 
Of rich and exquisite form; their values great; 
And I am something curious, being strange, 191 
To have them in safe stowage: may it please 

you 
To take them in protection? 

Imo. Willingly ; 

And pawn mine honour for their safety: since 
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep 
them 195 

In my bedchamber. 

lack. They are in a trunk, 

Attended by my men: I will make bold 
To send them to you, only for this night; 
I must aboard to-morrow. 

Imo. O, no, no. 

lach. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word 
By lengthening my return. From Gallia 201 
I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise 
To see your grace. 

Imo. I thank you for your pains : 

But not away to-morrow ! 

lach. O, I must, madam: 

Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please 



To greet your lord with writing, do't to- 
night : 206 

I have outstood my time; which is material 

To the tender of our present. 
Imo. I will write. 

Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept. 

And truly yielded, you. You're very wel- 
come. Exeunt, 210 



ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — [Britain. Before Cymheline's 
palace.'] 

« 
Enter Cloten and two Lords. 

Clo. Was there ever man had such luck ! when 
I kissed the jack, upon an up-cast to be hit 
away ! I had a hundred pound on't : and 
then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up 
for swearing; as if I borrowed mine oaths of 
him and might not spend them at my pleas- 
ure. 6 

1. Lord. What got he by that? You have broke 
his pate with your bowl. 

2. Lord. [Aside] If his wit had been like him 
that broke it, it would have run all out. 10 

Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, 
it is not for any standers-by to curtail his 
oaths, ha? 

2. Lord. No, my lord; [Aside] nor crop the 
ears of them. 15 

Clo. Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction? 
Would he had been one of my rank ! 

2. Lord. [Aside] To have smelt like a fool. 

Clo. I am not vexed more at any thing in the 
earth: a pox on't! I had rather not be so 
noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, 
because of the queen my mother: every Jack- 
slave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I must 
go up and down like a cock that nobody can 
match. 24 

2. Lord. [Aside] You are cock and capon too; 
and you crow, cock, with your comb on. 

Clo. Sayest thou? 

2. Lord. It is not fit your lordship should un- 
dertake every companion that you give offence 
to. 30 

Clo. No, I know that: but it is fit I should com- 
mit offence to my inferiors. 

2. Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. 



827 



16 



CYMBELINE 



[act II. SC. I. 



Clo. Why, so I say. 

1. Lord. Did you hear of a stranger that's come 
to court to-night? 36 

Clo. A stranger, and I not know on't! 

2. Lord. [Aside] He's a strange fellow himself, 
and knows it not. 

1. Lord. There's an Italian come; and, 'tis 
thought, one of Leonatus' friends. 41 

Clo. Leonatus ! a banished rascal ; and he's an- 
other, whatsoever he be. Who told you of 
this stranger .f* 

1. Lord. One of your lordship's pages. 45 
Clo. Is it fit I went to look upon him ? is there 

no derogation in't.^ 

2. Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. 

Clo. Not easily, I think. 49 

2. Lord. [Aside] You are a fool granted; there- 
fore your issues, being foolish, do not dero- 
gate. 
Clo. Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have 
lost to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him. 
Come, go. 55 

2. Lord. I'll attend your lordship. 

[Eaieunt Cloten and First Lord.] 
That such a crafty devil as is his mother 
Should yield the world this ass ! a woman that 
Bears all down with her brain; and this her 

son 
Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart, 60 
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess. 
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest, 
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd, 
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer 
More hateful than the foul expulsion is 65 
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act 
Of the divorce he'ld make ! The heavens hold 

firm 
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak'd 
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst 

stand, 
T' enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great 

land! Exit. 70 



Scene II. — [Imogen's bedchamber: a trunk in 
one corner of it.] 

Imogen in her bed, [reading ;] and a Lady. 

Imo. Who's there? my woman Helen? 

Lady. Please you, madam. 

Imo. What hour is it? 



Lady. Almost midnight, madam. 

Imo. I have read three hours then: mine eyes 
are weak: 
Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed: 
Take not away the taper, leave it burning; 5 
And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock, 
I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me 
wholly. [Exit Lady.] 

To your protection I commend me, gods. 
From fairies and the tempters of the night 
Guard me, beseech ye. 10 

Sleeps. lachimo [comes] from the trunk, 
lach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd 
sense 
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus * 
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd 
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, 
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed, fresh 

lily. IS 

And whiter than the sheets ! That I might 

touch ! 
But kiss ; one kiss ! Rubies unparagon'd, 
How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing 

that 
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the 

taper 
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her 

lids, 20 

To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 
Under these windows, white and azure lac'd 
With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my 

design. 
To note the chamber: I will write all down: 
Such and such pictures; there the window; 

such 25 

Th' adornment of her bed; the arras; figures^ 
Why, such and such ; and the contents o' the 

story. 
Ah, but some natural notes about her body. 
Above ten thousand meaner moveables 
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory. 30 
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her ! 
And be her sense but as a monument. 
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come ofi": 
[Taking off her bracelet.] 
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard! 
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, 35 
As strongly as the conscience does within, 
To the madding of her lord. On her left 

breast 
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher, 



828 



ACT II. SC. 



II.] 



CYMBELINE 



17 



Stronger than ever law could make: this se- 
cret 40 

Will force him think I have pick'd the lock 
and ta'en 

The treasure of her honour. No more. To 
what end? 

Why should I write this down^ that's riveted. 

Screw'd to my memory .f* She hath been read- 
ing late 

The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd 
down 45 

Where Philomel gave up. I have enough: 

To the trunk again^ and shut the spring of it. 

Swift., swift, you dragons of the night, that 
dawning 

May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear; 

Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 50 

Clock strikes. 

One, two, three : time, time ! 

Exit [into the trunk^. 

Scene III. — [An ante-chamber adjoining Imo- 
gen's apartments. ~\ 

Enter Cloten and Lords. 

1. Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man 
in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up 
ace. 

Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 4 

1. Lord. But not every man patient after the 
noble temper of your lordship. You are most 
hot and furious when you win. 

Clo. Winning will put any man into courage. 
If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should 
have gold enough. It's almost morning, is't 
not ? 10 

1. Lord. Day, my lord. 

Clo. I would this music would come: I am ad- 
vised to give her music o' mornings ; they say 
it will penetrate. 14 

Enter Musicians. 

Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with 
your fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: 
if none will do, let her remain; but I'll never 
give o'er. First, a very excellent good-con- 
ceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, 
with admirable rich words to it: and then 
let her consider. 20 



Song, 

'Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 

And Phoebus 'gins arise. 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On chalic'd flowers that lies; 
And winking Mary-buds begin zs 

To ope, their golden eyes : 
With every thing that pretty is. 

My lady sweet, arise: 

Arise, arise.' 30 

Clo. So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I 
will consider your music the better: if it do 
not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs 
and calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved 
eunuch to boot, can never amend. 35 

[Exeunt Musicians.^ 

Enter Cymheline and Queen. 

2. Lord. Here comes the king. 

Clo. I am glad I was up so late; for that's the 
reason I was up so early: he cannot choose 
but take this service I have done fatherl}^ — ■ 
Good morrow to your majesty and to my 
gracious mother. 41 

Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern 
daughter ? 
Will she not forth? 

Clo. I have assailed her with musics, but she 
vouchsafes no notice. 45 

Cym. The exile of her minion is too new; 
She hath not yet forgot him: some more time 
Must wear the print of his remembrance out. 
And then she's yours. 

Queen. You are most bound to the king, 

Who lets go by no vantages that may so 

Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself 
To orderly soliciting, and be friended 
With aptness of the season; make denials 
Increase your services ; so seem as if 
You were inspir'd to do those duties which 55 
You tender to her; that you in all obey her. 
Save when command to your dismission tends. 
And therein you are senseless. 

Clo. Senseless ! not so. 

[Enter a Messenger.'] 

Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; 

The one is Caius Lucius. 
Cym. A worthy fellow, 60 



829 



18 



CYMBELINE 



[act II. SC. III. 



Albeit he comes on angry purpose now ; 

But that's no fault of his : we must receive 

him 
According to the honour of his sender; 
And towards himself^ his goodness forespent 

on us. 
We must extend our notice. Our dear son, 65 
When you have given good morning to your 

mistress, 
Attend the queen and us; we shall have need 
T' employ you towards this Roman. Come, 

our queen. Exeunt [all hut Cloten]. 

Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not. 

Let her lie still and dream. [^Knochs^ By 

your leave, ho ! 70 

I know her women are about her: what 
If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold 
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and 

makes 
Diana's rangers false themselves, jdeld up 
Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 

'tis gold 75 

Which makes the true man kill'd and saves 

the thief; 
Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: 

what 
Can it not do and undo? I will make 
One of her women lawyer to me, for 
I yet not understand the case myself. 80 

By your leave. Knocks. 

Enter a Lady. 

Lady. Who's there that knocks? 

Clo. A gentleman. 

Lady. No more? 

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 

Lady. That's more 

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, 

Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's 
pleasure ? 85 

Clo. Your lady's person: is she ready? 
Lady. Ay, 

To keep her chamber. 
Clo. There is gold for you; 

Sell me your good report. 
Lady. How! my good name? or to report of 
you 

What I shall think is good ? — The princess ! 90 

Enter Imogen. 

Clo. Good morrow, fairest sister, your sweet 
hand. [Ea;it Lady.] 



Imo. Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much 

pains 
For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I 

give 
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks 
And scarce can spare them. 
Clo. Still, I swear I love you. 95 

Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with 

me: 
If you swear still, your recompense is still 
That I regard it not. 
Clo. This is no answer. 

Imo. But that you shall not say I yield being 

silent, 
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 

'faith, 100 

I shall unfold equal discourtesy 
To your best kindness: one of your great 

knowing 
Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 
Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my 

sin: 
I will not. 
/mo. Fools are not mad folks. 
Clo. Do you call me fool? 105 

Imo. As I am mad, I do: 

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; 
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir. 
You put me to forget a lady's manners, no 
By being so verbal: and learn now, for all. 
That I, which know my heart, do here pro- 
nounce. 
By the very truth of it, I care not for you. 
And am so near the lack of charity 
(T' accuse myself) I hate you; which I had 

rather 115 

You felt than make't my boast. 

Clo. You sin against 

Obedience, which you owe your father. For 

The contract you pretend with that base 

wretch. 
One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes. 
With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, 

none : 120 

And though it be allow'd in meaner par- 
ties — 
Yet who than he more mean? — to knit their 

souls. 
On whom there is no more dependency 
But brats and beggary, in self-figur'd knot; 
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement 

by- 125 



830 



ACT II. SC. III.] 



CYMBELINE 



19 



The consequence o' the crown^ and must not 

foil 
The precious note of it with a base slave, 
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
A pantler, not so eminent. 
Imo. Profane fellow ! 

Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more 130 
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base 
To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough. 
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made 
Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd 
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and 
hated 135 

For being preferr'd so well. 
Clo. The south-fog rot him ! 

Imo. He never can meet more mischance than 
come 
To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest gar- 
ment. 
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer 
In my respect than all the hairs above thee, 140 
Were they all made such men. How now, 
Pisanio ! 

Enter Pisanio. 

Clo. 'His garment !' Now the devil — 

Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee pres- 
ently — 

Clo. 'His garment!' 

Imo. I am sprited with a fool, 

Frighted, and anger'd worse: go bid my 

woman 145 

Search for a jewel that too casually 

Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's: 

shrew me. 
If I would lose it for a revenue 
Of any king's in Europe. I do think 
I saw't this morning: confident I am 150 

Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it: 
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord 
That I kiss aught but he. 

Pis. 'Twill not be lost. 

Imo. I hope so: go and search, 

\^Exit Pisanio.~\ 

Clo. You have abus'd me: 

'His meanest garment !' 

Imo. Ay, I said so, sir: 155 

If you will make't an action, call witness to't. 

Clo. I will inform your father. 

Imo. Your mother too: 

She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope. 



But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir. 

To the worst of discontent. Exit. 

Clo. I'll be reveng'd: 160 

'His meanest garment !' Well. Exit, 



Scene IV. — [^Rome. Philario's house.'] 
Enter Posthumus and Philario. 

Post. Fear it not, sir: I would I were so sure 
To win the king as I am bold her honour 
Will remain hers. 

Phi. What means do you make to him? 

Post. Not any, but abide the change of time. 
Quake in the present winter's state and wish 5 
That warmer days would come: in these 

fear'd hopes, 
I barely gratify your love; they failing, 
I must die much your debtor. 

Phi. Your very goodness and your company 
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king 10 
Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius 
Will do's commission throughly: and I think 
He'll grant the tribute, send th' arrearages. 
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
Is yet fresh in their grief. 

Post, I do believe, 15 

Statist though I am none, nor like to be. 
That this will prove a war; and you shall 

hear 
The legions now in Gallia sooner landed 
In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings 
Of any penny tribute paid. Our country- 
men 20 
Are men more order'd than when Julius 

Caesar 
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their 

courage 
Worthy his frowning at: their discipline, 
Now mingled with their courages, will make 

known 
To their approvers they are people such 25 
That mend upon the world. 

Enter lachimo. 

Phi. See ! lachimo ! 

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by 
land; 

And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails. 

To make your vessel nimble. 
Phi. Welcome, sir. 



831 



20 



CYMBELINE 



[act II. SC. IV. 



Post. I hope the briefness of your answer made 
The speediness of your return. 

lach. Your lady 31 

Is one of the fairest that I have lookM upon. 

Post. And there withal the best; or let her 
beauty 
Look through a casement to allure false hearts 
And be false with them. 

lach. Here are letters for you. 35 

Post. Their tenour good, I trust. 

lacJi. 'Tis very like. 

Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court 
When you were there? 

lach. He was expected then, 

But not approach'd. 

Post. All is well yet. 

Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't 
not 40 

Too dull for your good wearing? 

lach. If I had lost it, 

I should have lost the worth of it in gold. 
I'll make a journey twice as far, t' enjoy 
A second night of such sweet shortness which 
Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won. 45 

Post. The stone's too hard to come by. 

lach. Not a whit, 

Your lady being so easy. 

Post. Make not, sir, 

Your loss your sport: I hope you know that 

we 
Must not continue friends. 

lach. Good sir, we must. 

If you keep covenant. Had I not brought 50 
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant 
We were to question further: but I now 
Profess myself the winner of her honour. 
Together with your ring; and not the wronger 
Of her or you, having proceeded but 55 

By both your wills. 

Post. If you can make't apparent 

That you have tasted her in bed, my hand 
And ring is yours ; if not, the foul opinion 
You had of her pure honour gains or loses 
Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves 
both 60 

To who shall find them. 

lach. Sir, my circumstances. 

Being so near the truth as I will make them. 
Must first induce you to believe: whose 

strength 
I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not. 



You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall 
find 6s 

You need it not. 

Post. Proceed. 

lach. First, her bedchamber, 

(Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess 
Had that was well worth watching) it was 

hang'd 
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story 
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, 70 
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for 
The press of boats or pride: a piece of work 
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd 
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, 75 
Since the true life on't was — 

Post. This is true; 

And this you might have heard of here, by 

me. 
Or by some other. 

lach. More particulars 

Must justify my knowledge. 

Post. So they must. 

Or do your honour injury, 

lach. The chimney 80 

Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece 
Chaste Dian bathing: never saw I figures 
So likely to report themselves: the cutter 
Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her. 
Motion and breath left out. 

Post. This is a thing 85 

Which you might from relation likewise reap. 
Being, as it is, much spoke of. 

lach. The roof o' the chamber 

With golden cherubins is fretted: her andirons 
(I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids 
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 90 
Depending on their brands. 

Post. This is her honour! 

Let it be granted you have seen all this — and 

praise 
Be given to your remembrance — the descrip- 
tion 
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves 
The wager you have laid. 

lach. Then, if you can, 95 

[Showing the bracelet. '\ 
Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel ; see ! 
And now 'tis up again : it must be married 
To that your diamond; I'll keep them. 

Post. Jove ! 



832 



ACT II. SC. 



IV.] 



CYMBELINE 



21 



Once more let me behold it. Is it that 
Which I left with her? 
lacho Sir (I thank her) that. loo 

She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet; 
Her pretty action did outsell her gift. 
And yet enrich'd it too: she gave it me, and 

said 
She priz'd it once. 
Post. May be she pluck'd it off 

To send it me. 
lach. She writes so to you, doth she? los 

Post. O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this 
too; \^Gives the ring.^ 

It is a basilisk unto mine eye. 
Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour 
Where there is beauty; truth, where sem- 
blance; love. 
Where there's another man: the vows of 
women no 

Of no more bondage be to where they are 

made. 
Than they are to their virtues; which is noth- 
ing. 
O, above measure false ! 
Phi. Have patience, sir. 

And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won: 
It may be probable she lost it; or 115 

Who knows if one of her women, being cor- 
rupted. 
Hath stol'n it from her? 
Post. Very true ; 

And so, I hope, he came by't. Back my ring: 

Render to me some corporal sign about her. 

More evident than this ; for this was stolen. 120 

lach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. 

Post. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he 

swears. 

'Tis true: — nay, keep the ring — 'tis true: I am 

sure 
She would not lose it: her attendants are 
All sworn and honourable: — they induc'd to 
steal it ! 125 

And by a stranger! — No, he hath enjoy'd her: 
The cognizance of her incontinency 
Is this: she hath bought the name of whore 

thus dearly. 
There, take thy hire ; and all the fiends of hell 
Divide themselves between you ! 
Phi. Sir, be patient: 130 

This is not strong enough to be believ'd 
Of one persuaded well of. 



Post. Never talk on't; 

She hath been colted by him. 
lach. If you seek 

For further satisfying, under her breast — 

Worthy the pressing — lies a mole, right proud 

Of that most delicate lodging: by my life, 136 

I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger 

To feed again, though full. . You do remem- 
ber 

This stain upon her? 
Post. Ay, and it doth confirm 

Another stain, as big as hell can hold, 140 

Were there no more but it. 
lach. Will you hear more? 

Post. Spare your arithmetic: nevejr count the 
turns ; 

Once, and a million ! 
lach. I'll be sworn — 

Post. No swearing. 

If you will swear you have not done't, you lie; 

And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny 145 

Thou 'st made me cuckold. 
lach. I'll deny nothing. 

Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb- 
meal ! 

I will go there and do't, i' the court, before 

Her father. I'll do something — Exit. 

Phi. Quite besides 

The government of patience ! You have won. 

Let's follow him, and pervert the present 
wrath 151 

He hath against himself. 
lach. With all my heart. Exeunt. 



[Scene V. — The same.'] 

Enter Posthumus. 

Post. Is there no way for men to be but women 
Must be half-workers? We are all bastards; 
And that most venerable man which I 
Did call my father, was I know not where 
When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his 
tools 5 

Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd 
The Dian of that time: so doth my wife 
The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, venge- 
ance ! 
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd 
And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with 10 
A pudency so rosy the sweet view on't 



832 



22 



CYMBELINE 



[act II. SC. V. 



Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I 

thought her 
As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O^ all the 

devils ! 
This yellow lachimo, in an hour^ — was't 

not?— 
Or less, — at first? — perchance he spoke not, 

but, 15 

Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one. 
Cried 'O !' and mounted; found no opposition 
But what he look'd for should oppose and 

she 
Should from encounter guard. Could I find 

out 
The woman's part in me! For there's no 

motion 20 

That tends to vice in man, but I affirm 
It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it, 
The woman's ; flattering, hers ; deceiving, hers ; 
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, 

hers ; 
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, dis- 
dain, 25 
Nice longing, slanders, mutability. 
All faults that [have a] name, nay, that hell 

knows. 
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all; 
For even to vice 

They are not constant, but are changing still 
One vice, but of a minute old, for one 31 

Not half so old as that. I'll write against 

them. 
Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater skill 
In a true hate, to pray they have their will: 
The very devils cannot plague them better. 35 

Exit. 



ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — [Britain. A hall in Cymheline's 
palace.^ 

Enter in state, Cymheline, Queen, Cloten, and 
Lords at one door, and at another, Caius 
Lucius and Attendants. 

Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar 

with us? 
Luc. When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance 

yet 
Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and 

tongues 



Be theme and hearing ever, was in this 

Britain 
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, — s. 
Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less 
Than in his feats deserving it — for him 
And his succession granted Rome a tribute. 
Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee 

lately 
Is left untender'd. 
Queen. And, to kill the marvel, 10 

Shall be so ever. 
Clo. There be many Caesars, 

Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
A world by itself ; and we will nothing pay 
For wearing our own noses. 
Queen. That opportunity 

Which then they had to take from 's, to re- 
sume 15 
We have again. Remember, sir, my liege. 
The kings your ancestors, together with 
The natural bravery of your isle, which stands 
As Neptune's park, ribb'd and paled in 
With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters, 20 
With sands that will not bear your enemies' 

boats. 
But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of 

conquest 
Caesar made here; but made not here his brag 
Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame.' With 

shame — 
The first that ever touch'd him — he was car- 
ried _ 25 
From off our coast, twice beaten ; and his ship- 
ping — 
Poor ignorant baubles ! — on our terrible seas, 
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, 

crack'd 
As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof 
The famed Cassibelan, who was once at 
point — 30 

O giglot fortune! — to master Caesar's sword. 
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright 
And Britons strut with courage. 
Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: 
our kingdom is stronger than it was at that 
time; and, as I said, there is no moe such 
Caesars: other of them may have crook'd 
noses, but to owe such straight arms, none. 
Cym. Son, let your mother end. ^ 39 

Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as 
hard as Cassibelan: I do not say I am one; 
but I have a hand. Why tribute ? why should 
834 



ACT III. SC. I.] 



CYMBELINE 



23 



we pay tribute? If Caesar can hide the sun 
from us with a blanket^ or put the moon in 
his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; 
else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now. 46 

Cym. You must know. 

Till the injurious Romans did extort 

This tribute from us, we were free: Caesar's 

ambition. 
Which swell'd so much that it did almost 
stretch 50 

The sides o' the world, against all colour here 
Did put the yoke upon 's ; which to shake off 
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
Ourselves to bco 

Clo. We do. 

Cym. Say, then, to Caesar, 

Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which 55 
Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of 

Caesar 
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and 

franchise 
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, 
Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius 

made our laws. 
Who was the first of Britain which did put 60 
His brows within a golden crown and call'd 
Himself a king. 

Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, 

That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar — 
Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than 
Thyself domestic officers — thine enemy. 65 
Receive it from me, then: war and confusion 
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: 

look 
For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied, 
I thank thee for myself. 

Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. 

Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent 70 
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour; 
Which he to seek of me again, perforce. 
Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect 
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for 
Their liberties are now in arms ; a precedent 75 
Which not to read would show the Britons 

cold. 
So Caesar shall not find them. 

Luc. Let proof speak. 

Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make 
pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if 
you seek us afterwards in other terms, you 
shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you 
beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in 



the adventure, our crows shall fare the bet- 
ter for you; and there's an end. 
Luc. So, sir. 85 

Cym. I know your master's pleasure and he 
mine: 
All the remain is 'Welcome!' Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [^Another room in the palace.^ 

Ente-r Pisanio, reading of a letter. 

Pis. How! of adultery.^ Wherefore write you 
not 
What monster 's her accuser ? Leonatus ! 

master ! what a strange infection 

Is fall'n into thy ear ! What false Italian, 
As poisonous-tongu'd as handed, hath pre- 
vail'd 5 

On thy too ready hearing ? Disloyal ! No : 
She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes. 
More goddess-like than wife-like, such as- 
saults 
As would take in some virtue. O my master ! 
Thy mind to her is now as low as were 10 

Thy fortunes. How ! that I should murther 

her? 
Upon the love and truth and vows which I 
Have made to thy command ? I, her ? her 

blood? 
If it be so to do good service, never 
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, 
That I should seem to lack humanity 16 

So much as this fact comes to? \^Reading^ 

'Do'ti.the letter 
That I have sent her, by her own command 
Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd pa- 
per ! 
Black as the ink that's on thee ! Senseless 
bauble, 20 

Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st 
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. 

Enter Imogen. 

1 am ignorant in what I am commanded. 
Imo. How now, Pisanio ! 

Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. 25 
Imo. Who ? thy lord ? that is my lord, Leonatus ! 
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer 
That knew the stars as I his characters; 
He'ld lay the future open. You good gods. 
Let what is here contain'd relish of love^ 30 



835 



24 



CYMBELINE 



[act III. sc. lu 



Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not 
That we two are asunder; let that grieve him: 
Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of 

them. 
For it doth physic love: of his content. 
All but in that ! Good wax, thy leave. Blest 
be 35 

You bees that make these locks of counsel. 

Lovers 
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike: 
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet 
You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, 
gods ! 39 

[Reads] 'Justice, and your father's wrath, 
should he take me in his dominion, could not 
be so cruel to me, as you, O the dearest of 
creatures, would even renew me with your 
eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at 
Milford-Haven: what your own love will out 
of this advise you, follow. So he wishes you 
all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, 
and your, increasing in love, 

Leonatus Posthumus.' 
O, for a horse with wings ! Hear'st thou, 
Pisanio ? 50 

He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me 
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs 
May plod it in a week, why may not I 
Glide thither in a day ? Then, true Pisanio, — 
Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who 
long'st, — 55 

O, let me bate, — but not like me — yet long'st, 
But in a fainter kind: — O, not like me; 
For mine's beyond beyond — say, and speak 

thick; 
Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hear- 
ing, ^ ^ 59 
To the smothering of the sense — how far it is 
To this same blessed Milford: and by the way 
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as 
T' inherit such a haven: but first of all. 
How we may steal from hence, and for the 

gap 
That we shall make in time, from our hence- 
going 65 
And our return, to excuse: but first, how get 

hence : 
Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? 
We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak. 
How many score of miles may we well ride 
'Twixt hour and hour? 
Pis. One score 'twixt sun and sun. 



Madam, 's enough for you: [Aside] and too 
much too. 71 

Imo. Why, one that rode to's execution, man. 

Could never go so slow: I have heard of rid- 
ing wagers. 

Where horses have been nimbler than the 
sands 

That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is 
foolery : 75 

Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say 

She'll home to her father: and provide me 
presently 

A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit 

A franklin's housewife. 
Pis, Madam, you're best consider. 

Imo. I see before me, man: nor here, nor here. 

Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them, 81 

That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee ; 

Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say; 

Accessible is none but Milford way. Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [Wales: a mountainous country 
with a cave.] 

Enter, from the cave, Belarius, Guiderius, and 
Arviragus. 

Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such 
Whose roof's as low as ours ! Stoop, boys ; 

this gate 
Instructs you how t' adore the heavens and 

bows you 
To a morning's holy office: the gates of mon- 

archs 
Are arch'd so high that giants may j et through 
And keep their impious turbans on, without 6 
Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair 

heaven ! 
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so 

hardly 
As prouder livers do. 
Gui. Hail, heaven! 

Arv. Hail, heaven! 

Bel. Now for our mountain sport: up to yond 

hill; 
Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. 

Consider, 
When you above perceive me like a crow. 
That it is place which lessens and sets off: 
And you may then revolve what tales I have 

told you 
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war. 15 



836 



ACT III. SC. III.] 



CYMBELINE 



25 



This service is not service, so being done, 
But being so allow'd: to apprehend thus, 
Draws us a profit from all things we see; 
And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
The sharded beetle in a safer hold 20 

Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life 
Is nobler than attending for a check. 
Richer than doing nothing for a bauble. 
Prouder than rustling in unpaid- for silk; 
Such gain the cap of him that makes *em fine. 
Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours. 
Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor un- 

fledg'd, 27 

Have never wing'd from view 0' the nest, nor 

know not 
What air's from home. Haply this life is 

best. 
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you 30 

That have a sharper known; well correspond- 
ing 
With your stiff age: but unto us it is 
A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed; 
A prison for a debtor, that not dares 
To stride a limit. 
Arv. What should we speak of 35 

When we are old as you.^ when we shall hear 
The rain and wind beat dark December, how, 
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
The freezing hours away? We have seen 

nothing; 
We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey, 40 
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat; 
Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage 
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird. 
And sing our bondage freely. 
Bel. How you speak ! 

Did you but know the city's usuries 45 

And felt them knowingly ; the art o' the court, 
As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb 
Is certain falling, or so slippery that 
The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the 

war, 
A pain that only seems to seek out danger 50 
I' the name .of fame and honour; which dies i' 

the search. 
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph 
As record of fair act; nay, many times. 
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse. 
Must court'sy at the censure: — O boys, this 

story 55 

The world may read in me : my body's mark'd 
With Roman swords, and my report was once | 



First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd 

me. 
And when a soldier was the theme, my name 
Was not far off: then was I as a tree 60 

Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one 

night, 
A storm or robbery, call it what you will. 
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my 

leaves. 
And left me bare to weather. 
Gui. Uncertain favour ! 

Bel. My fault being nothing — as I have told 

you oft — 65 

But that two villains, whose false oaths pre- 

vail'd 
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbe- 
line 
I was confederate with the Romans: so 
Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty 

years 
This rock and these demesnes have been my 

world ; 70 

Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, paid 
More pious debts to heaven than in all 
The fore-end of my time. But up to the 

mountains ! 
This is not hunters' language: he that strikes 
The venison first shall be the lord o' the 

feast ; 75 

To him the other two shall minister ; 
And we will fear no poison, which attends 
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in 

the valleys. 

Exeunt [Guiderius and Awiragus]. 
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! 
These boys know little they are sons to the 

king ; 80 

Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. 
They think they are mine ; and though train'd 

up thus meanly 
I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts 

do hit 
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them 
In simple and low things to prince it much 85 
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, 
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who 
The king his father call'd Guiderius, — Jove ! 
When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell 
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly 

out 90 

Into my story: say 'Thus mine enemy fell. 
And thus I set my foot on's neck;' even then 



837 



26 



CYMBELINE 



[act III. SC. III. 



The princely blood flows in his cheeky he 

sweats^ 
Strains his young nerves and puts himself in 

posture 
That acts my words. The younger brother^ 

Cadwal, 95 

Once Arviragus, in as like a figure, 
Strikes life into my speech and shows much 

more 
His own conceiving. — Hark, the game is 

rous'd ! — 
O Cymbeline ! heaven and my conscience knows 
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon, 100 
At three and two years old, I stole these 

babes ; 
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for 

their mother, 
And every day do honour to her grave: 105 
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd. 
They take for natural father. The game is 

up. Exit. 



Scene IV. — [Country near Milford-Haven.] 
Enter Pisanio and Imogen. 

Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, 

the place 
Was near at hand: ne'er long'd my mother so 
To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio ! 

man! 
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind, 
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore 

breaks that sigh 5 

From th' inward of thee? One, but painted 

thus. 
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
Beyond self-explication: put thyself 
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness 
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the 

matter? 10 

Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with 
A look untender? I ft be summer news. 
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st 
But keep that countenance still. My hus- 
band's hand ! 
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him. 
And he's at some hard point. Speak, man: 

thy tongue 16 

May take off some extremity, which to read 



Would be even mortal to me. 
Pis, Please you, read; 

And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
The most disdain'd of fortune. 20 

Imo. reads. 'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played 
the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies 
whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out 
of weak surmises, but from proof as strong as 
my grief and as certain as I expect my re- 
venge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act for 
me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach 
of hers. Let thine own hands take away her 
life: I shall give thee opportunity at Milford- 
Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose: 
where, if thou fear to strike and to make me 
certain it is done, thou art the pander to her 
dishonour and equally to me disloyaL' 33 

Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? the 

paper 
Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander. 
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose 

tongue 36 

Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose 

breath 
Rides on the posting winds and doth belie 
All corners of the world: kings, queens and 

states. 
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
This viperous slander enters. What cheer, 

madam ? 41 

Imo. False to his bed! What is it to be false? 
To lie in watch there and to think on him? 
To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if sleep charge 

nature. 
To break it with a fearful dream of him 45 
And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed, 

is it? 
Pis. Alas, good lady! 

Imo. I false ! Thy conscience witness : lachimo. 
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency ; 
Thou then look'dst like a villain; now me- 

thinks 50 

Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of 

Italy 
Whose mother was her painting, "hath betray'd 

him: 
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion; 
And, for I am richer than to hang by the 

walls, 
I must be ripp'd: — to pieces with me! — O, 55 
Men's vows are women's traitors ! All good 

seeming. 



838 



ACT III. SC. IV.] 



CYMBELINE 



27 



By thy revolt^ O husband, shall be thought 

Put on for villainy; not born where't grows, 

But worn a bait for ladies. 

Pis. Good madam, hear me. 

Imo. True honest men being heard, like false 

^neas, 60 

Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's 

weeping 
Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity 
From most true wretchedness: so thou. Post- 
humus, 
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men; 
Goodly and gallant shall be false and per- 
jur'd 65 

From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou 

honest : 
Do thou thy master's bidding : when thou see'st 

him, 
A little witness my obedience : look ! 
I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit 
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart: 70 
Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief: 
Thy master is not there, who was indeed 
The riches of it: do his bidding; strike. 
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause; 
But now thou seem'st a coward. 
Pis. Hence, vile instrument ! 75 

Thou shalt not damn my hand. 
Imo. W'^hy, I must die; 

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
No servant of thy master's. Against self- 
slaughter 
There is a prohibition so divine 
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's 
my heart. 80 

Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no de- 
fence ; 
Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? 
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, 
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, 
Corrupters of my faith ! you shall no more 85 
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor 

fools 
Believe false teachers: though those that are 

betray'd 
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
Stands in worse case of woe. 
And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up 90 
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father 
And make me put into contempt the suits 
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find 
It is no act of coihmon passage, but 



A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself 95 
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her 
That now thou tirest on, how thy memory 
Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, de- 
spatch : 
The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy 

knife ? 
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding. 
When I desire it too. 
Pis. O gracious lady, loi 

Since I receiv'd command to do this business 
I have not slept one wink. 



Imo. 



Do't, and to bed then. 



Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls [blind] first. 

Imo. Wherefore then 

Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd 
So many miles with a pretence? this place? 106 
Mine action and thine own? our horses' la- 
bour ? 
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court. 
For my being absent? whereunto I never 
Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far. 
To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand, 
Th' elected deer before thee? 

Pis. But to win time 112 

To lose so bad employment; in the which 
I have consider'd of a course. Good lady, 
Hear me with patience. 

Imo. Talk thy tongue weary; speak: 

I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear. 

Therein false struck, can take no greater 

wound, 117 

Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. 

Pis. Then, madam, 

I thought you would not back again. 

Imo. Most like; 

Bringing me here to kill me. 

Pis. Not so, neither: 120 

But if I were as wise as honest, then 
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be 
But that my master is abus'd: 
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, 
Hath done you both this cursed injury. 125 

Imo. Some Roman courtezan. 

Pis. No, on my life. 

I'll give but notice you are dead and send him 
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded 
I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court. 
And that will well confirm it. 

Imo. Why, good fellow, 130 

What shall I do the while? where bide? how 
live ? 



839 



28 



CYMBELINE 



[act III. SC. IV. 



Or in my life what comfort, when I am 
Dead to my husband.^ 

Pis. If you'll back to the court — 

Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado 

With that harsh, noble, simple nothing, 135 
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me 
As fearful as a siege. 

Pis. If not at court, 

Then not in Britain must you bide. 

Imo. Where then? 

Hath Britain all the sun that shines.^ Day, 

night. 
Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's 
volume 140 

Our Britain seems as of it, but not in't; 
In a great pool a swan's nest : prithee, think 
There's livers out of Britain. 

Pis. I am most glad 

You think of other place. Th' ambassador, 
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven 145 
To-morrow : now, if you could wear a mind 
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise 
That which, t' appear itself, must not yet be 
But by self-danger, you should tread a course 
Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, near 150 
The residence of Posthumus; so nigh at least 
That though his actions were not visible, yet 
Report should render him hourly to your ear 
As truly as he moves. 

Imo. O, for such means ! 

Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, 155 
I would adventure. 

Pis. Well, then, here's the point: 

You must forget to be a woman; change 
Command into obedience: fear and niceness — 
The handmaids of all women^ or, more truly, 
Woman it pretty self — into a waggish cour- 
age; 
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and 161 
As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must 
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek. 
Exposing it — but, O, the harder heart ! 
Alack, no remedy ! — ^to the greedy touch 165 
Of common-kissing Titan, and forget 
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein 
You made great Juno angry. 

Imo. Nay, be brief: 

I see into thy end, and am almost 
A man already. 

Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 170 

Fore-thinking this, I have already fit — 
'Tis in my cloak-bag — doublet, hat, hose, all 



That answer to them: would you in their serv- 
ing. 
And with what imitation you can borrow 
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble 
Lucius 175 

Present yourself, desire his service, tell him 
Wherein you're happy, — which you'll make 

him know, 
If that his head have ear in music, — doubt- 
less 
With j oy he will embrace you, for he's honour- 
able 
And doubling that, most holy. Your means 
abroad, 180 

You have me, rich; and I will never fail 
Beginning nor supplyment. 
Imo. Thou art all the comfort 

The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away: 
There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even 
All that good time will give us: this attempt 
I am soldier to, and will abide it with 186 

A prince's courage. Away, I prithee. 
Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short fare- 
well. 
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 
Your carriage from the court. My noble mis- 
tress, 190 
Here is a box ; I had it from the queen : 
What's in't is precious ; if you are sick at sea. 
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this 
Will drive away distemper. To some shade. 
And fit you to your manhood. May the gods 
Direct you to the best ! 
Imo. Amen: I thank thee. Exeunt. 196 



Scene V. — [A room in Cymheline's palace. 'I 

Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and 
Lords, 

Cym. Thus far; and so farewell. 

Luc. Thanks, royal sir. 

My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence; 

And am right sorry that I must report ye 

My master's enemy. 
Cym. Our subjects, sir, 

Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself 5 

To show less sovereignty than they, must 
needs 

Appear unkinglike. 
Luc. So, sir: I desire of you 



840 



ACT III. SC. v.] 



CYMBELINE 



29 



A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven. 
Madam_, all joy befall your grace! 

Queen. And you! 

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that 
office ; 10 

The due of honour in no point omit. 
So farewell, noble Lucius. 

Luc. Your hand, my lord. 

Clo. Receive it friendly; but from this time 
forth 
I wear it as your enemy. 

Luc. Sir, the event 

Is yet to name the winner: fare you well. 15 

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my 
lords. 
Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness ! 

Exit Lucius, S^c. 

Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours 
us 
That we have given him cause. 

Clo. 'Tis all the better; 

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 20 

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor 
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely 
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readi- 
ness: 
The powers that he already hath in Gallia 
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he 
moves 25 

His war for Britain. 

Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business ; 

But must be look'd to speedily and strongly. 

Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus 
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle 

queen, 
Where is our daughter? She hath not ap- 
pear'd 30 

Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd 
The duty of the day: she looks us like 
A thing more made of malice than of duty : 
We have noted it. Call her before us; for 
We have been too slight in sufferance. 35 

[Exeunt Messengers.'] 

Queen. Royal sir, 

Since th* exile of Posthumus, most retir'd 
Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my lord, 
'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty. 
Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady 
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes 40 
And strokes death to her. 



Enter a Messenger. 



Cym. Where is she, sir? How 

Can her contempt be answer'd? 

Mess. Please you, sir, 

Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no 

answer 
That will be given to the loudest noise we 
make. 

Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, 45 
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close. 
Whereto constrained by her infirmity. 
She should that duty leave unpaid to you. 
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this 
She wish'd me to make known; but our great 
court 50 

Made me to blame in memory. 

Cym. Her doors lock'd? 

Not seen of late ? Grant, heavens^ that which 

I fear 
Prove false ! • Exit. 

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. 

Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 
I have not seen these two days. 55 

Queen. Go, look after. Exit Cloten. 

Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus ! 
He hath a drug of mine ; I pray his absence 
Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes 
It is a thing most precious. But for her. 
Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath 
seiz'd her, 60 

Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's 

flown 
To her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is 
To death or to dishonour; and my end 
Can make good use of either: she being down, 
I have the placing of the British crown. 65 

Enter Cloten. 

How now, my son ! 
Clo. 'Tis certain she is fled. 

Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none 
Dare come about him. 
Queen. [Aside'] All the better : may 

This night forestall him of the coming day ! 

Exit Queen. 
Clo. I love and hate her: for she's fair and 
royal, 70 

And that she hath all courtly parts more ex- 
quisite 
Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one 
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, 
Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but 



841 



so 



CYMBELINE 



[act III. SC. V. 



Disdaining me and throwing favours on 75 
The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment 
That what's else rare is chok'd; and in that 

point 
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, 
To be reveng'd upon her. For when fools 
Shall— 

Enter Pisanio. 

Who is there? What, are you packing, 
sirrah ? 80 

Come hither : ah, you precious pander ! Vil- 
lain, 

Where is thy lady ? In a word ; or else 

Thou art straightway with the fiends. 
Pis. O, good my lord ! 

Clo. Where is thy lady ? or, by Jupiter, — 

I will not ask again. Close villain, 85 

I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip 

Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus ? 

From whose so many weights of baseness can- 
not 

A dram of worth be drawn. 
Pis. Alas, my lord. 

How can she be with him? When was she 
miss'd? 90 

He is in Rome. 
Clo. Where is she, sir ? Come nearer ; 

No further halting: satisfy me home 

What is become of her. 
Pis. O, my all-worthy lord ! 
Clo. All-worthy villain ! 

Discover where thy mistress is at once, 95 

At the next word: no more of 'worthy lord!' 

Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 

Thy condemnation and thy death. 
Pis. Then, sir. 

This paper is the history of my knowledge 99 

Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter.^ 
Clo. Let's see't. I will pursue her 

Even to Augustus' throne. 
Pis. [Aside'] Or this, or perish. 

She's far enough; and what he learns by this 

May prove his travel, not her danger. 
Clo. Hum ! 

Pis. [Aside] I'll write to my lord she's dead. 
O Imogen, 

Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again ! 105 
Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true? 
Pis. Sir, as I think. 
Qlo» It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, 



if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me 
true service, undergo those employments 
wherein I should have cause to use thee with 
a serious industry, that is, what villainy soe'er 
I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly, 
I would think thee an honest man: thou 
shouldst neither want my means for thy re- 
lief nor my voice for thy preferment. 116 

Pis. Well, my good lord. 

Clo. Wilt thou serve me ? for since patiently and 
constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune 
of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in 
the course of gratitude, but be a diligent fol- 
lower of mine. Wilt thou serve me ? 122 

Pis. Sir, I will. 

Clo. Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast 
any of thy late master's garments in thy pos- 
session? 126 

Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same 
suit he wore when he took leave of my lady 
and mistress. 129 

Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that 
suit hither: let it be thy first service; go. 

Pis. I shall, my lord. Exit. 

Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven ! — I forgot to 
ask him one thing; I'll remember't anon: — 
even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill 
thee. I would these garments were come. 
She said upon a time — the bitterness of it I 
now belch from my heart — that she held the 
very garment of Posthumus in more respect 
than my noble and natural person, together 
with the adornment of my qualities. With 
that suit upon my back, will I ravish her: 
first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she 
see my valour, which will then be a torment to 
her contempt. He on the ground, my speech 
of insultment ended on his dead body, and 
when my lust hath dined, — ^^which, as I say, to 
vex her I will execute in the clothes that she 
so praised, — to the court I'll knock her back, 
foot her home again. She hath despised me 
rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge. 

Enter Pisanio [with the clothes]. 

Be those the garments? 151 

Pis. Ay, my noble lord. 

Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford- 
Haven ? 

Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 155 

Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is 



842 



ACT III. SC. v.] 



CYMBELINE 



31 



the second thing that I have commanded thee : 
the third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary 
mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true 
preferment shall tender itself to thee. My 
revenge is novi^ at Milford: would I had wings 
to follow it! Come, and be true. Exit. 

Pis. Thou bid'st me to my loss: for true to thee 
Were to prove false, which I will never be. 
To him that is most true. To Milford go, 165 
And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, 

flow. 
You heavenly blessings, on her ! This fool's 

speed 
Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed! 

Exit. 

Scene VI. — [Wales. Before the cave of 
Belarius.^ 

Enter Imogen alone [in hoy's clothes^. 

Into. I see a man's life is a tedious one: 

I have tir'd myself, and for two nights to- 
gether 
Have made the ground my bed. I should be 

sick. 
But that my resolution helps me. Milford, 
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd 

thee, 5 

Thou wast within a ken : O Jove ! I think 
Foundations fly the wretched ; such, I mean. 
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars 

told me 
I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie. 
That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis 10 
A punishment or trial ? Yes ; no wonder. 
When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in 

fulness 
Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood 
Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear 

lord! 
Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think 

on thee, 15 

My hunger's gone; but even before, I was 
At point to sink for food. But what is this ? 
Here is a path to't: 'tis some savage hold: 
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet 

famine. 
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant. 
Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness 

ever 21 

Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here? 



If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage. 
Take or lend. Ho! No answer.^ Then I'll 

enter. 
Best draw my sword ; and if mine enemy 25 
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look 

on't. 
Such a foe, good heavens! Exit [to the cave']. 

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Bel. You, Polydore, have proved best woodman 
and 
Are master of the feast: Cadwal and I 
Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our 
match : 30 

The sweat of industry would dry and die, 
But for the end it works to. Come; our 

stomachs 
Will make what's homely savoury: weariness 
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth 
Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be 
here, 35 

Poor house, that keep'st thyself! 
Gui. I am throughly weary. 

Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appe- 
tite. 
Gui. There is cold meat i' the cave ; we'll browse 
on that. 
Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. 
Bel. [Looking into the cave'] Stay; come not in. 
But that it eats our victuals, I should think 41 
Here were a fairy. 
Gui. What's the matter, sir ? 

Bel. By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not. 

An earthly paragon ! Behold divineness 

No elder than a boy ! 45 

Enter Imogen. 

Imo. Good masters, harm me not: 

Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought 
To have begg'd or bought what I have took: 

good troth, 
I have stol'n nought, nor would not, though I 

had found 
Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here's money for 
my meat: 50 

I would have left it on the board so soon 
As I had made my meal, and parted 
With prayers for the provider. 

Gui. Money, youth? 

Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt! 
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those 55 

Who worship dirty gods. 



843 



32 



CYMBELINE 



[act III. SC. VI. 



Imo, I see you're angry: 

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
Have died had I not made it. 
Bel Whither bound? 

Imo. To Milford-Haven. 

Bel. What's your name? 60 

Imo. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who 
Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford; 
To whom being going, almost spent with hun- 
ger, 
I am fall'n in this offence. 
Bel. Prithee, fair youth, 

Think us no churls, nor measure our good 
minds 65 

By this rude place we live in. Well encoun- 

ter'd ! 
'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer 
Ere you depart; and thanks to stay and eat 

it. 
Boys, bid him welcome. 
Gui. AVere you a woman, youth, 

I should woo hard but be your groom. In 
honesty, 70 

I bid for you as I'ld buy. 
Arv. I'll make't my comfort 

He is a man; I'll love him as my brother: 
And such a welcome as I'ld give to him 
After long absence, such is yours : most wel- 
come ! 
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 
Imo. ' 'Mongst friends, 

If brothers. [Aside] Would it had been so, 
that they 76 

Had been my father's sons ! then had my 

prize 
Been less, and so more equal ballasting 
To thee, Posthumus. 
Bel. He wrings at some distress. 

Gui. Would I could f ree't ! 
Arv. Or I, whate'er it be, 80 

What pain it cost, what danger. Gods ! 
Bel. Hark, boys. 

[Whispering.'] 
Imo. Great men, 

That had a court no bigger than this cave, 
That did attend themselves and had the vir- 
tue 
Which their own conscience seal'd them — lay- 
ing by 85 
That nothing- gift of differing multitudes — 
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, 
gods! 



I'ld change my sex to be companion with 

them. 
Since Leonatus 's false. 
Bel. It shall be so. 

Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, 

come in: 90 

Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have 

supp'd, 
We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story. 
So far as thou wilt speak it. 
Gui. Pi'aj, draw near. 

AriJ. The night to the owl and morn to the lark 

less welcome. 
Imo. Thanks, sir. 
Arv. I pray, draw near. Exeunt. 

Scene VII. — [Rome. A public place.] 

Enter two Roman Senators and Tribunes. 

First Sen. This is the tenour of the emperor's 
writ: 
That since the common men are now in action 
'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians, 
And that the legions now in Gallia are 
Full weak to undertake our wars against 5 
The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite 
The gentry to this business. He creates 
Lucius proconsul : and to you the tribunes. 
For this immediate levy, he commends 
His absolute commission. Long live Caesar ! 10 

1. Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces? 

2. Sen. Ay. 
i. Tri. Remaining now in Gallia? 

1, Sen. With those legions 

Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy 
Must be suppliant: the words of your com- 
mission 
Will tie you to the numbers and the time 15 
Of their despatch. 
1, Tri. We will discharge our duty. 

Exeunt. 



ACT FOURTH 

Scene I. — [Wales: near the cave of Belarius.] 

Enter Cloten alone. 

Clo. I am near to the place where they should 
meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How 
fit his garments serve me! Why should his 



844 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



CYMBELINE 



mistress, who was made by him that made the 
tailor, not be fit too ? the rather — saving rever- 
ence of the word — for 'tis said a woman's fit- 
ness comes by fits. Therein I must play the 
workman. I dare speak it to myself — for it 
is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to 
confer in his own chamber — I mean, the lines 
of my body are as well drawn as his; no less 
young, more strong, not beneath him in for- 
tunes, beyond him in the advantage of the 
time, above him in birth, alike conversant in 
general services, and more remarkable in sin- 
gle oppositions: yet this imperseverant thing- 
loves him in my despite. What mortality is ! 
Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing 
upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour be 
oiF; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut 
to pieces before thy face: and all this done, 
spurn her home to her father; who may haply 
be a little angry for my so rough usage; but 
my mother, having power of his testiness, shall 
turn all into my commendations. My horse is 
tied up safe: out, sword, and to a sore pur- 
pose! Fortune, put them into my hand! 
This is the very description of their meeting- 
place; and the fellow dares not deceive me. 



Scene II. — [Before the cave of Belarius.] 

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, and 
Imogen, from the cave. 

Bel. [To Imogen'] You are not well: remain 
here in the cave; 
We'll come to you after hunting. 
Arv. [To Imogen] Brother, stay here: 

Are we not brothers? 
Imo. So man and man should be; 

But clay and clay differs in dignity. 
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. 5 
Gui. Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him. 
Imo. So sick I am not, yet I am not well; 
But not so citizen a wanton as 
To seem to die ere sick: so please you, leave 

me; 
Stick to your journal course: the breach of 
custom 10 

Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by 

me 
Cannot amend me; society is no comfort 



To one not sociable: I am not very sick. 

Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me 
here: 

I'll rob none but myself; and let me die, 15 

Stealing so poorly. 
Gui. I love thee; I have spoke it: 

How much the quantity, the weight as much. 

As I do love my father. 
Bel. What ! how ! how ! 

Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me 

In my good brother's fault : I know not why 20 

I love this youth; and I have heard you say. 

Love's reason's without reason: the bier at 
door. 

And a demand who is't shall die, I 'Id say 

'My father, not this youth.' 
Bel. [Aside] O noble strain! 

worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness ! 25 
Cowards father cowards and base things sire 

base: 
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and 

grace. 
I'm not their father; yet who this should be, 
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me. 
'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn. 
Arv. Brother, farewell. 30 

Imo. I wish ye sport. 

Arv. You health. So please you, sir. 

Imo. [Aside] These are kind creatures. Gods, 
what lies I have heard ! 
Our courtiers say all's savage but at court: 
Experience, O, thou disprov'st report! 
Th' imperious seas breeds monsters, for the 
dish 35 

Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. 

1 am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, 

I'll now taste of thy drug. [Swallows some.] 
Gui. I could not stir him: 

He said he was gentle, but unfortunate ; 

Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. 40 

Arv. Thus did he answer me: yet said, here- 
after 

I might know more. 
Bel. To the field, to the field! 

We'll leave you for this time: go in and rest. 
Arv. We'll not be long away. 
Bel. Pray; be not sick, 

For you must be our housewife. 
Imo. Well or ill, 45 

I am bound to you. 
Bel. And shalt be ever. 

[Exit Imogen, to the cave.] 



845 



CYMBELINE 



[act IV. SC. II. 



This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears he 
hath had 

Good ancestors. 
Arv. How angel-like he sings! 

Gui. But his neat cookery ! he cut our roots 

In characters, 

And sauc'd our broths, as Juno had been sick 

And he her dieter. 
Arv. Nobly he yokes 51 

A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh 

Was that it was, for not being such a smile ; 

The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly 

From so divine a temple, to commix 55 

With winds that sailors rail at. 
Gui. I do note 

That grief and patience, rooted in him both. 

Mingle their spurs together. 
Arv. Grow, patience! 

And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine 

His perishing root with the increasing vine ! 60 
Bel, It is great morning. Come, away ! — Who's 
there } 

Enter Cloten. 

Clo. I cannot find those runagates ; that villain 

Hath mock'd me. I am faint. 
Bel. 'Those runagates !' 

Means he not us? I partly know him: 'tis 

Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some 
ambush. 65 

I saw him not these many years, and yet 

I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: 
hence ! 
Gui. He is but one: you and my brother search 

What companies are near: pray you, away; 

Let me alone with him. 

[Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus.'] 
Clo. Soft ! What are you 70 

That fly me thus.^ some villain mountaineers.^ 

I have heard of such. What slave art thou ? 
Gui. A thing 

More slavish did I ne'er than answering 

A slave without a knock. 
Clo. Thou art a robber, 

A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief. 75 
Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? Have 
not I 

An arm as big as thine? a heart as big? 

Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not 

My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art. 

Why I should yield to thee? 



Clo. Thou villain base, 80 

Know'st me not by my clothes ? 
Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal. 

Who is thy grandfather : he made those clothes. 

Which, as it seems, make thee. 
Clo. Thou precious varlet, 

My tailor made them not. 
Gui. Hence, then, and thank 

The man that gave them thee. Thou art 
some fool; 85 

I am loath to beat thee. 
Clo. Thou injurious thief, 

Hear but my name, and tremble. 
Gui. What's thy name? 

Clo. Cloten, thou villain. 
Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, 

I cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, or Adder, 
Spider, 90 

'Twould move me sooner. 
Clo. To thy further fear. 

Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know 

I am son to the queen. 
Gui. I am sorry for't; not seeming 

So worthy as thy birth. 
Clo. Art not af eard ? 

Gui. Those that I reverence those I fear, the 
wise: 95 

At fools I laugh, not fear them. 
Clo. Die the death: 

When I have slain thee with my proper hand, 

I'll follow those that even now fled hence. 

And on the gates of Lud's-town set your 
heads: 

Yield, rustic mountaineer. 100 

Fight and exeunt. 

Enter Belarius and Arviragus. 

Bel. No companies abroad? 

A rv. None in the world : you did mistake him^ 

sure. 
Bel. I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him. 
But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of 

favour 
Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice. 
And burst of speaking, were as his: I am ab- 
solute 106 
'Twas very Cloten. 
Arv. In this place we left them: 
I wish my brother make good time with him. 
You say he is so fell. 
Bel. Being scarce made up. 



846 



ACT IV. SC. II.] 



CYMBELINE 



55 



I 



I meaii;, to man, he had not apprehension no 
Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgement 
Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy 
brother. 

Enter Guiderius [with Cloten's head]. 

Gui. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse; 
There was no money in't: not Hercules 
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had 

none: 115 

Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne 
My head as I do his. 
Bel. What hast thou done ? 

Gui. I am perfect what: cut oiF one Cloten's 

head. 
Son to the queen, after his own report; 
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore 
With his own single hand he'ld take us in, 121 
Displace our heads where — thank the gods ! — 

they grow. 
And set them on Lud's-town. 
Bel. We are all undone. 

Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, 
But that he swore to take, our lives .f* The 

law 125 

Protects not us: then why should we be ten- 
der 
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, 
Play judge and executioner all himself. 
For we do fear the law? What company 
Discover you abroad? 
Bel. No single soul 130 

Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason 
He must have some attendants. Though his 

humour 
Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that 
From one bad thing to worse ; not frenzy, not 
Absolute madness could so far have rav'd 135 
To bring him here alone ; although perhaps 
It may be heard at court that such as we 
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time 
May make some stronger head; the which he 

hearing — 
As it is like him — might break out, and swear 
He'ld fetch us in ; yet is't not probable 141 

To come alone, either he so undertaking. 
Or they so suiFering: then on good ground we 

fear. 
If we do fear this body hath a tail 
More perilous than the head. 
Arv, Let ordinance 145 



Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er. 
My brother hath done well. 
Bel. I had no mind 

To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness 
Did make my way long forth. 
Gui. With his own sword, 

Which he did wave against my throat, I have 
ta'en 150 

His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek 
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea. 
And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten : 
That's all I reck. Exit. 

Bel. I fear 'twill be reveng'd: 

Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! 
though valour 155 

Becomes thee well enough. 
Arv. Would I had done't. 

So the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore, 
I love thee brotherly, but envy much 
Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would re- 
venges. 
That possible strength might meet, would seek 
us through 160 

And put us to our answer. 
Bel. Well, 'tis done: 

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for dan- 
ger 
Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our 

rock; 
You and Fidele play the cooks : I'll stay 
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him 165 
To dinner presently. 
Arv. Poor sick Fidele! 

I'll willingly to him: to gain his colour 
I'ld let a parish of such Clotens blood. 
And praise myself for charity. Ea;it. 

Bel. O thou goddess. 

Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou bla- 
zon'st 170 

In these two princely boys ! They are as gen- 
tle 
As zephyrs blowing below the violet, 
Not wagging his sweet head ; and yet as rough, 
Their royal blood enchaf 'd, as the rud'st wind. 
That by the top doth take the mountain pine, 
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis won- 
der 176 
That an invisible instinct should frame them 
To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught. 
Civility not seen from other, valour 
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange 



847 



S6 



CYMBELINE 



[act IV. SC. II, 



What Cloten's being here to us portends, 182 
Or what his death will bring us. 

Enter Guiderius. 

Gui. Where's my brother? 

I have sent Cloten's clotpoU down the stream, 
In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage 
For his return. Solemn music. 

Bel. My ingenuous instrument! 

Hark, Polydore, it sounds ! But what occa- 
sion 187 
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark! 

Gui. Is he at home? 

Bel. He went hence even now. 

Gui. What does he mean? since death of my 
dear'st mother 190 

It did not speak before. All solemn things 
Should answer solemn accidents. The mat- 
ter? 
Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys 
Is jollity for apes and grief for boys. 
Is Cadwal mad? 

Enter Arviragus, with Imogen, [a*] dead, hear- 
ing her in his arms. 

Bel. Look, here he comes, 195 

And brings the dire occasion in his arms 

Of what we blame him for. 
Arv. The bird is dead 

That we have made so much on. I had rather 

Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to 
sixty. 

To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch. 

Than have seen this. 
Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily ! 201 

My brother wears thee not the one half so 
well 

As when thou grew'st thyself. 
Bel. O melancholy ! 

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find 

The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish 
crare 205 

Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed 
thing ! 

Jove knows what man thou mightst have 
made; but I, 

Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy. 

How found you him? 
Arv. Stark, as you see: 

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber. 



Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at ; his right 
cheek an 

Reposing on a cushion. 
Gui. Where ? 

Arv. O' the floor | 

His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, 
and put 

My clouted brogues from off" my feet, whose 
rudeness 214 

Answer'd my steps too loud. 
Gui. Why, he but sleeps : 

If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; 

With female fairies will his tomb be haunted. 

And worms will not come to thee. 
Arv. With fairest flowers 

Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, 

I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not 
lack 220 

The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, 
nor 

The azur'd harebell, like thy veins, no, nor 

The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, 

Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock 
would. 

With charitable bill, — O bill, sore-shaming 225 

Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie 

Without a monument ! — bring thee all this ; 

Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are 
none. 

To winter-ground thy corse. 
Gui. Prithee, have done; 

And do not play in wench-like words with that 

Which is so serious. Let us bury him, 231 

And not protract with admiration what 

Is now due debt. To the grave! 
Arv. Say, where shall's lay him? 

Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 
Arv. Be'tso: 

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 

Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the 
ground, 22,6 

As once our mother; use like note and words. 

Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 
Gui. Cadwal, 

I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with 
thee ; 240 

For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse 

Than priests and fanes that lie. 
Arv. We'll speak it, then. 

Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for 
Cloten 

Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys; 



848 



ACT IV. SC. 



II.] 



CYMBELINE 



37 



And though he came our enemy, remember 245 
He was paid for that: though mean and 

mighty, rotting 
Together, have one dust, yet reverence. 
That angel of the world, doth make distinc- 
tion 
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was 

princely ; 
And though you took his life, as being our foe, 
IL Yet bury him as a prince. 

Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. 251 

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax', 
When neither are alive. 
Arv. If you'll go fetch him, 

We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, be- 
gin. [Exit Belarius.^ 
Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the 
east ; 255 
My father hath a reason for't. 
Arv. 'Tis true. 
Gui. Come on then, and remove him. 
Ai'v. So. Begin. 

Song. 

Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,- 
Nor the furious winter's rages; 
Thou thy worldly task hast done, 260 

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : 
Golden lads and girls all must. 
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great; 

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 265 
Care no more to clothe and eat ; 

To thee the reed is as the oak : 
The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
All follow this, and come to dust. 

Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, 270 
Arv. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone; 
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash; 
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: 
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 275 

Gui. No exorciser harm thee ! 
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! 
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee! 
Boi^. Quiet consummation have; 280 

And renowned be thv grave ! 



Enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten. 



Gui. We have done our obsequies : come, lay him 

down. 
Bel. Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, 

more: 
The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the 

night 
Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their 

faces. 28s 

You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so 
These herblets shall, which we upon you 

strew. 
Come on, away: apart upon our knees. 
The ground that gave them first has them 

again : 
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 
Exeunt. Imogen awakes. 
Imo. Yes, sir, to Milf ord-Haven ; which is the 

way } — 291 

I thank you. — By yond bush.^ — Pray, how far 

thither ? 
'Ods pittikins I can it be six mile yet ? — 
I have gone all night. 'Faith, I'll lie down 

and sleep. 
But, soft ! no bedfellow ! — O gods and god- 
desses ! 29s 
[^Seeing the body of Cloten. 
These flowers are like the pleasures of the 

world ; 
This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I 

dream ; 
For so I thought I was a cave-keeper. 
And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so; 
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at noth- 
ing, 300 
Which the brain makes of fumes: our very 

eyes 
Are sometimes like our judgements, blind. 

Good faith, 
I tremble still with fear: but if there be 
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity 
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! 305 
The dream's here still: even when I wake, 

it is 
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt. 
A headless man ! The garments of Post- 
humus ! 
I know the shape of's leg: this is his hand; 
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh; 310 
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial 

face — 
Murther in heaven ? — How ! — 'Tis gone. Pi- 

sanio, 



849 



38 



CYMBELINE 



[act IV. SC. II. 



All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, 
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Clo- 

ten, 315 

Hast here cut off my lord. To write and 

read 
Be henceforth treacherous ! Damn'd Pisanio 
Hath with his forged letters, — damn'd Pi- 
sanio — 
From this most bravest vessel of the world 
Struck the main-top ! O Posthumus ! alas, 320 
Where is thy head ? where's that ? Ay me ! 

where's that? 
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart. 
And left this head on. How should this be? 

Pisanio? 
'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them 
Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, 

pregnant ! 325 

The drug he gave me, which he said was 

precious 
And cordial to me, have I not found it 
Murderous to the senses? That confirms it 

home: 
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's : O ! 
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, 
That we the horrider may seem to those 331 
Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my 

lord! 

[Falls on the body.'] 

JEnter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer. 

Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, 

After your will, have cross'd the sea, attend- 
ing 

You here at Milford-Haven with your ships: 

They are in readiness. 
Luc. But what from Rome? 336 

Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners 

And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits. 

That promise noble service: and they come 

Under the conduct of bold lachimo, 340 

Sienna's brother. 
Luc. When expect you them? 

Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind. 
Luc. This forwardness 

Makes our hopes fair. Command our pres- 
ent numbers 

Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to't. Now^ 
sir, 

What have you dream'd of late of this war's 



purpose 



345 



Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a 
vision — 

I fast and pray'd for their intelligence^ — thus: 

I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd 

From the spongy south to this part of the 
west. 

There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which por- 
tends — 350 

Unless my sins abuse my divination — 

Success to the Roman host. 
Luc. Dream often so. 

And never false. Soft, ho ! what trunk is 
here 

Without his top ? The ruin speaks that some- 
time 

It was a worthy building. How! a page! 35s 

Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead 
rather ; 

For nature doth abhor to make his bed 

With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. 

Let's see the boy's face. 
Cap. He's alive, my lord. 

Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body. Young 
one, 360 

Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems 

They crave to be demanded. Who is this 

Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow ? Or who was 
he 

That, otherwise than noble nature did. 

Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy 
interest 365 

In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is 
it? 

What art thou? 
Imo. I am nothing: or if not. 

Nothing to be were better. This was my 
master, 

A very valiant Briton and a good, 

That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas ! 

There is no more such masters: I may wan- 
der 371 

From east to Occident, cry out for service. 

Try many, all good, serve truly, never 

Find such another master. 
Luc. 'Lack, good youth! 

Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining 
than 375 

Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good 
friend. 
Imo. Richard du Champ. [Aside] If I do lie 
and do 

No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope 



850 



ACT IV. SC. II.] 



CYMBELINE 



They'll pardon it. — Say you^ sir? 
Luc. Thy name? 

Imo, Fidele, sir. 

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same: 
Thy name well fits thy faith^ thy faith thy 

name. 381 

Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not 

say 
Thou shalt be so well master'd, but^ be surC;, 
No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's let- 
ters, 
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner 385 
Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with 

me. 
Imo. I'll follow, sir But first, and't please 

the gods, 
I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep 
As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when 
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' 

strew'd his grave, 390 

And on it said a century of prayers. 
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh; 
And leaving so his service, follow you, 
So please you entertain me. 
Luc. Ay, good youth; 

And rather father thee than master thee. 395 
My friends. 

The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us 
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can. 
And make him with our pikes and partisans 
A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is pre- 

ferr'd 400 

By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd 
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine 

eyes : 
Some falls are means the happier to arise. 

Exeunt. 



Scene III. — \_A room in Cymbeline*s palace.] 

Enter Cymheline, Lords, and Pisanio. 

Cym. Again ; and bring me word how 'tis with 
her. [Exit Lord.] 

A fever with the absence of her son, 

A madness, of which her life's in danger. 
Heavens, 

How deeply you at once do touch me ! Imo- 
gen, 

The great part of my comfort, gone; my 
queen 5 

Upon a desperate bed, and in a time 



When fearful wars point at me; her son gone. 
So needful for this present: it strikes me, 

past 
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow. 
Who needs must know of her departure and 10 
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from 

thee 
By a sharp torture. 
Pis. Sir, my life is yours; 

I humbly set it at your will ; but, for my mis- 
tress, 
I nothing know where she remains, why gone. 
Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your 
highness, 15 

Hold me your loyal servant. 
Lord. Good my liege. 

The day that she was missing he was here: 
I dare be bound he's true and shall perform 
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Clo- 

ten. 
There wants no diligence in seeking him, 20 
And will, no doubt, be found. 
Cym. The time is troublesome. 

[To Pisanio] We'll slip you for a season; but 
our jealousy 
Does yet depend. 
Lord. So please your majesty. 

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn. 
Are landed on your coast, with a supply 25 
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. 
Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and 
queen ! 
I am amaz'd with matter. 
Lord. Good my liege. 

Your preparation can affront no less 
Than what you hear of: come more, for more 
you're ready: 30 

The want is but to put those powers in mo- 
tion 
That long to move. 
Cym. I thank you. Let's withdraw; 

And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear 

not 
What can from Italy annoy us; but 
We grieve at chances here. Away ! 35 

Exeunt [all hut Pisanio]. 
Pis. I heard no letter from my master since 
I wrote him Imogen was slain: 'tis strange: 
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did prom- 
ise 
To yield me often tidings; neither know I 
What is betid to Cloten; but remain 40 



851 



40 



CYMBELINE 



[act IV. SC. III. 



Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must 
work. 

Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to 
be true. 

These present wars shall find I love my coun- 
try, 

Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in 
them. 

All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd: 

Fortune brings in some boats that are not 
steer'd. Exit. 46 

Scene IV. — [Wales: before the cave of 
Belarius.^ 

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Gui. The noise is round about us. 
Bel. Let us from it. 

Arv~ What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock 
it 

From action and adventure? 
Gui. Nay, what hope 

Have we in hiding us.^^ This way, the Ro- 
mans 

Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us 5 

For barbarous and unnatural revolts 

During their use, and slay us after. 
Bel. Sons, 

We'll higher to the mountains; there secure 
us. 

To the king's party there's no going: new- 
ness 

Of Cloten's death — we being not known, not 
muster'd 10 

Among the bands — may drive us to a render 

Where we have liv'd, and so extort from 's 
that 

Which we have done, whose answer would be 
death 

Drawn on with torture. 
Gui. This is, sir, a doubt 

In such a time nothing becoming you, 15 

Nor satisfying us. 
Arv. It is not likely 

That when they hear the Roman horses neigh. 

Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their 
eyes 

And ears so cloy'd importantly as now. 

That they will waste their time upon our 
note, 20 

To know from whence we are. 



Bel 



O, I am known 



Of many in the army: many years. 

Though Cloten then but young, you see, not 

wore him 
From my remembrance. And, besides, the 

king 
Hath not deserv'd my service nor your loves ; 
Who find in my exile the want of breeding, 26 
The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless 
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd. 
But to be still hot summer's tanlings and 
The shrinking slaves of winter. 

Gui. Than be so 30 

Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army: 
I and my brother are not known; yourself 
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown. 
Cannot be question'd. 

Arv. By this sun that shines, 

I'll thither: what thing is it that I never 35 
Did see man die ! scarce ever look'd on blood. 
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and 

venison ! 
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had 
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel 
Nor iron on his heel! I am asham'd 40 

To look upon the holy sun, to have 
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining 
So long a poor unknown. 

Gui. By heavens, I'll go: 

If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, 
I'll take the better care, but if you will not, 45 
The hazard therefore due fall on me by 
The hands of Romans ! 

Arv. So say I: amen. 

Bel. No reason I, since of your lives you set 
So slight a valuation, should reserve 
My crack'd one to more care. Have with 
you, boys ! 50 

If in your country wars you chance to die. 
That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie: 
Lead, lead. [Aside] The time seems long; 

their blood thinks scorn. 
Till it fly out and show them princes born. 

Exeuntc 

ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — [Britain. The Roman camp.] 

Enter Posthumus, alone [with a bloody handker- 
chief] . 

Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I 
wish'd 



852 



ACT V. SC. 



I.] 



CYMBELINE 



41 



I 



Thou sliouldst be colour'd thus. You married 

ones, 
If each of you should take this course, how 

many 
Must murther wives much better than them- 
selves 
For wrying but a little ! O Pisanio ! 5 

Every good servant does not all commands: 
No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you 
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, 

I never 
Had liv'd to put on this: so had you saved 
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck 10 
Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. 

But, alack. 
You snatch some hence for little faults ; that's 

love. 
To have them fall no more: you some permit 
To second ills with ills, each elder worse, 
And make them dreaded, to the doers' thrift. 
But Imogen is your own: do your best wills, 16 
And make me blest to obey! I am brought 

hither 
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight 
Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough 
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress ; 
peace ! 20 

I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good 

heavens, 
Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me 
Of these Italian weeds and suit myself 
As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight 
Against the part I come with; so I'll die 25 
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life 
Is every breath a death; and thus, unknown. 
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men 

know 
More valour in me than my habits show. 30 
Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me! 
To shame the guise o' the world, I will be- 
gin 
The fashion, less without and more within. 

Exit. 



Scene II. — [Field of battle between the British 
and Roman camps.^ 

Enter Lucius, lachimo, and the Roman Army 
at one door; and the Britain Army at another; 
Leonatus Posthumus following, like a poor 



soldier. They march over and go out. Then 
enter again, in skirmish, lachimo and Post- 
humus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth lachimo, 
and then leaves him, 

lach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom 
Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady. 
The princess of this country, and the air on't 
Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl, 
A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me 5 
In my prof ession .^^ Knighthoods and hon- 
ours, borne 
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. 
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before 
This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds 
Is that we scarce are men and you are gods. 10 

Ejcit. 

The battle continues; the Britons fly; Cymbe- 
line is taken. Then enter, to his rescue. Be-* 
larius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Bel. Stand, standi We have th' advantage of 
the ground: 
The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but 
The villainy of our fears. 

."^' > Stand, stand, and fight! 

Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: 
they rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then 
enter Lucius, lachimo, and Imogen, 

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thy- 
self; 
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's 
such 15 

As war were hoodwink'd. 
lach, 'Tis their fresh supplies. 

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes 
Let's reinforce, or fly. Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [Another part of the field.'] 

Enter Posthumus and a Britain Lord. 

Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the 

stand ? 
Post. I did: 

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. 
Lord. I did. 

Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost^ 



853 



42 



CYMBELINE 



[act v. SC. IIIc 



But that the heavens fought: the king him- 
self 
Of his wings destitute^ the army broken, 5 
And but tlie backs of Britons seen, all flying 
Through a strait lane ; the enemy full-hearted, 
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having 

work 

More plentif'ul than tools to do't, struck down 

Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some 

falling 10 

Merely through fear; that the strait pass was 

damm'd 
With dead men hurt behind, and cowards liv- 
ing 
To die with lengthen'd shame. 
Lord. Where was this lane? 

Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd 
with turf; 
Which gave advantage to an ancient sol- 
dier, 15 
An honest one, I warrant; who deserved 
So long a breeding as his white beard came 

to, 
In doing this for's country: athwart the lane. 
He, with two striplings — lads more like to 

run 
The country base than to commit such slaugh- 
ter ; 20 
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer 
Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame, — 
Made good the passage; cried to those that 

fled, 
'Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men: 
To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. 
Stand; 25 

Or we are Romans and will give you that 
Like beasts which jo\x shun beastly, and may 

save, 
But to look back in frown: stand, stand.' 

These three. 
Three thousand confident, in act as many — 
For three performers are the file when all 30 
The rest do nothing — with this word 'Stand, 

stand,' 
Accommodated by the place, more charming 
With their own nobleness, which could have 

turn'd 
A distaff" to a lance, gilded pale looks, 
Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some, 
turn'd coward 35 

But by example — O, a sin in war, 
Damn'd in the first beginners ! — gan to look 



The way that they did, and to grin like 

lions 
Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began 
A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon 40 

A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly 
Chickens, the way which they stoop 'd eagles; 

slaves, 
The strides they victors made: and now our 

cowards, 
Like fragments in hard voyages, became 
The life o' the need: having found the back- 
door open 45 
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they 

wound ! 
Some slain before; some dying; some their 

friends 
O'er-borne i' the former wave: ten, chas'd by 

one. 
Are now each one the slaughter-man of 

twenty : 
Those that would die or ere resist are grown 
The mortal bugs o' the field. 
Lord. This was strange chance: 

A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys. 
Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made 
Rather to wonder at the things you hear 
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, 55 
And vent it for a mockery? Here is one: 
'Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, 
Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.' 
Lord, Nay, be not angry, sir. 
Post. 'Lack, to what end? 

Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his 

friend ; 60 

For if he'll do as he is made to do, 
I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too. 
You have put me into rhyme. 
Lord. Farewell; you're angry. 

Post. Still going? [^Exit Lord.'] This is a 

lord! O noble misery. 
To be i' the field, and ask Vhat news?' of 

me ! 65 

To-day how many would have given their 

honours 
To have sav'd their carcases ! took heel to 

do't. 
And yet died too! I, in mine own woe 

charm'd. 
Could not find death where I did hear him 

groan, 
Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly 

monster, 70 



854 



ACT V. SC. Ill 



•] 



CYMBELINE 



43 



'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft 

beds. 
Sweet words; or hath more ministers than 

we 
That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I 

will find him: 
For being now a favourer to the Briton, 
No more a Briton, I have resum'd again 75 
The part I came in: fight I will no more, 
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall 
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaugh- 
ter is 
Here made by the Roman; great the answer 

be 
Britons must take. For me, mj ransom's 
death; 80 

On either side I come to spend my breath; 
Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again. 
But end it by some means for Imogen. 

Enter two [British] Captains and Soldiers. 

1. Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is 

taken. 
'Tis thought the old man and his sons were 
angels. 85 

2. Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit. 
That gave the affront with them. 

1. Cap. So 'tis reported: 
But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's 

there } 
Post. A Roman, 

Who had not now been drooping here, if sec- 
onds 90 
Had answer'd him. 

2. Cap. Lay hands on him; a dog! 
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell 
What crows have peck'd them here. He 

brags his service 
As if he were of note: bring him to the king. 
Enter Cymheline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arvira- 
gus, Pisanio, [Soldiers,"] and Roman Cap- 
tives. The Captains present Posthumus to 
Cymheline, who delivers him over to a Gaoler 
[then exeunt omnes]. 

Scene IV. — [A British prison."] 

Enter Posthumus and two Gaolers. 

1. Gaol. You shall not now be stol'n, you have 
locks upon you; 
So graze as you find pasture. 



2. Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. 

[Exeunt Gaolers.] 
Post. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a 

way, 
I think, to liberty: yet am I better 
Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had 

rather 5 

Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd 
By the sure physician, death, who is the key 
T' unbar these locks. My conscience, thou 

art fetter'd 
More than my shanks and wrists: you good 

gods, give me 
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, 10 
Then, free for ever ! Is't enough I am sorry } 
So children temporal fathers do appease; 
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I re- 
pent } 
I cannot do it better than in gyves, 
Desir'd more than constrain'd: to satisfy, 13 
If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take 
No stricter render of me than my all. 
I know you are more clement than vild men. 
Who of their broken debtors take a third, 
A sixth, a tenth, letting th,em thrive again 20 
On their abatement: that's not my desire: 
For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though 
'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it: 
'Tween man and man they weigh not every 

stamp ; 
Though light, take pieces for the figure's 

sake : 25 

You rather mine, being yours: and so, great 

powers. 
If you will take this audit, take this life, 
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! 
I'll speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps.] 

Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, 
Sicilius Leonatus, father to Posthumus, an 
old man, attired like a warrior; leading in 
his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and 
mother to Posthumus, with music before them: 
then, after other music, follows the two young 
Leonati, brothers to Posthumus, with wounds 
as they died in the wars. They circle Post- 
humus round, as he lies sleeping. 



Sici. 



'No more, thou thunder-master, show 
Thy spite on mortal flies: 31 

With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, 
That thy adulteries 
Rates and revenges. 



855 



44 



CYMBELINE 



[act v. SC. IV. 



Moth, 



Sici. 



1. Bro. 



Moth. 



Sici. 



I Bi 



1. Bj 



Hath my poor boy done aught but 
well, 35 

Whose face I never saw? 
I died whilst in the womb he stay'd 

Attending nature's law: 
Whose father then, as men report 

Thou orphans' father art, 40 

Thou shouldst have been, and shielded 
him 

From this earth-vexing smart. 

Xucina lent not me her aid. 
But took me in my throes; 

That from me was Posthumus ript, 45 
Came crying 'mongst his foes, 
A thing of pity! 

'Great nature, like his ancestry. 

Moulded the stuff so fair. 
That he deserv'd the praise 0' the 
world, 50 

As great Sicilius' heir. 

'When once he was mature for man. 

In Britain where was he 
That could stand up his parallel; 

Or fruitful object be 55 

In eye of Imogen, that best 

Could deem his dignity? 



'With 



wherefore was he 



60 



65 



marriage 
mock'd. 
To be exil'd, and thrown 
From Leonati seat, and cast 
From her his dearest one. 
Sweet Imogen? 

'Why did you suffer lachimo, 

Slight thing of Italy, 
To taint his nobler heart and brain 

With needless jealousy; 
And to become the geek and scorn 

O' th' other's villainy? 

'For this from stiller seats we came. 
Our parents and us twain, 70 

That striking in our country's cause 
Fell bravely and were slain, 

Our fealty and Tenantius' right 
With honour to maintain. 



'Like hardiment Posthumus hath 
To Cymbeline perform'd : 

Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, 
Why hast thou thus adjourn'd 



75 



Sici. 



Moth. 



Sici. 



The graces for his merits due. 

Being all to dolours turn'd? 80 

'Thy crystal window ope; look out; 

No longer exercise 
Upon a valiant race thy harsh 

And potent injuries. 

'Since, Jupiter, our son is good, 8s 
Take oiF his miseries. 



'Peep through thy marble mansion; 
help; 

Or we poor ghosts will cry 
To the shining synod of the rest 

Against thy deity. 90 

Both Bro. 'Help, Jupiter ; or we appeal. 
And from thy justice fly.' 

Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sit- 
ting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. 
The Ghosts fall on their knees. 

Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low. 
Offend our hearing ; hush ! How dare you 
ghosts 
Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know, 95 

Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts? 
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest 
Upon your never-withering banks of flow- 
ers: 
Be not with mortal accidents opprest; 

No care of yours it is ; you know 'tis ours. 
Whom best I love I cross ; to make my gift, loi 
The more delay'd, delighted. Be content; 
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift: 
His comforts thrive, his trials well are 
spent. 
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in 105 
Our temple was he married. Rise, and 
fade. 
He shall be lord of lady Imogen, 

And happier much by his affliction made. 
This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein 

Our pleasure his full fortune doth con- 
fine: 110 
And so, away: no further with your din 
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. 
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. 

Ascends. 
Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath 
Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle 115 
Stoop'd, as to foot us: his ascension is 



856 



ACT V. SC. IV.] 



CYMBELINE 



45 



More sweet than our blest fields: his royal 

bird 
Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak^ 
As when his god is pleas'd. 
All, Thanks, Jupiter! 

Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is en- 
ter'd 120 

His radiant roof. Away ! and, to be blest, 
Let us with care perform his great behest. 

[The Ghostsl^ vanish. 
Post. [Waking] Sleep, thou hast been a grand- 
sire, and begot 
A father to me; and thou hast created 
A mother and two brothers : but, O scorn ! 125 
Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were 

born: 
And so I am awake. Poor wretches that de- 
pend 
On greatness' favour dream as I have done. 
Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve: 
Many dream not to find, neither deserve, 130 
And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I, 
That have this golden chance and know not 

why. 
What fairies haunt this ground.^ A book? 

O rare one ! 
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment 
Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects 135 
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers. 
As good as promise. 
Reads. 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to him- 
self unknown, without seeking find, and be 
embraced by a piece of tender air; and when 
from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, 
which, being dead many years, shall after re- 
vive, be jointed to the old stock and freshly 
grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, 
Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and 
plenty.' 145 

'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as mad- 
men 
Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing; 
Or senseless speaking or a speaking such 
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is. 
The action of my life is like it, which 150 

I'll keep, if but for sympathy. 

Enter Gaoler. 

Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death? 
Post. Over-roasted rather; ready long ago. 
Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir: if you be ready 
for that, you are well cooked. 156 



Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spec- 
tators, the dish pays the shot. 

Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the 
comfort is, you shall be called to no more pay- 
ments, fear no more tavern-bills; which are 
often the sadness of parting, as the procur- 
ing of mirth: you come in faint for want of 
meat, depart reeling with too much drink; 
sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry 
that you are paid too much; purse and brain 
both empty; the brain the heavier for being 
too light, the purse too light, being drawn of 
heaviness: of this contradiction you shall now 
be quit. O, the charity of a penny cord ! it 
sums up thousands in a trice: you have no 
true debitor and creditor but it; of what's 
past, is, and to come, the discharge: your 
neck, sir, is pen, book and counters; so the 
acquittance follows. 174 

Post. I am merrier to die than thou art to 
live. 

Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the 
tooth-ache: but a man that were to sleep your 
sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I 
think he would change places with his officer; 
for, look you, sir, you know not which way 
you shall go. 182 

Post. Yes, indeed do I, fellow. 

Gaol. Your death has eyes in 's head then ; I 
have not seen him so pictured: you must 
either be directed by some that take upon 
them to know, or to take upon yourself that 
which I am sure you do not know, or jump 
the after inquiry on your own peril: and how 
you shall speed in your journey's end, I think 
you'll never return to tell one. 191 

Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want 
eyes to direct them the way I am going, but 
such as wink and will not use them. 194 

Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man 
should have the best use of eyes to see the 
way of blindness ! I am sure hanging's the 
way of winking. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your pris- 
oner to the king. 200 

Post. Thou bring'st good news; I am called to 
be made free. 

Gaol. I'll be hang'd then. 

Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; 
no bolts for the dead. 



20s 



857 



46 



CYMBELINE 



[act v. SC. IV. 



[Exeunt all but the Gaoler.] 
Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows and 
beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. 
Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves 
desire to live, for all he be a Roman: and 
there be some of them too that die against 
their wills; so should I, if I were one. I 
would we were all of one mind, and one mind 
good; O, there were desolation of gaolers and 
gallowses ! I speak against my present 
profit, but my wish hath a preferment in 't. 

Ejiit. 



Scene V. — [Cymheline's tent.'] 

Enter Cymheline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arvira- 
gus, Pisanio, and Lords, 



Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have 
made 
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart 
That the poor soldier that so richly fought. 
Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked 

breast 
Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be 
found : 5 

He shall be happy that can find him, if 
Our grace can make him so. 
Bel. I never saw 

Such noble fury in so poor a thing; 
Such precious deeds in one that promis'd 

nought 
But beggary and poor looks. 
Cym. No tidings of him? 10 

Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead 
and living. 
But no trace of him. 
Cym. To my grief, I am 

The heir of his reward; [To Belarius, Gui- 
derius, and Arviragus] which I will add 
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, 
By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the 
time 15 

To ask of whence you are. Report it. 
Bel. Sir, 

In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen: 
Further to boast were neither true nor mod- 
est. 
Unless I add, we are honest. 
Cym. Bow your knees. 

Arise my knights o' the battle: I create you 20 

858 



Companions to our person and will fit you 
With dignities becoming your estates. 

Enter Cornelius and Ladies. 

There's business in these faces. Why so 

sadly 
Greet you our victory? you look like Ro- 
mans, 
And not o' the court of Britain. 

Cor. Hail, great king! 25 

To sour your happiness, I must report 
The queen is dead. 

Cym. Who worse than a physician 

Would this report become? But I consider, 
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death 
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she? 30 

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life. 
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd 
I will report, so please you: these her women 
Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks 35 
Were present when she finished. 

Cym. Prithee, say. 

Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you, 
only 
Affected greatness got by you, not you: 
Married your royalty, was wife to your place ; 
Abhorr'd your person. 

Cym. She alone knew this; 40 

And, but she spoke it dying, I would not 
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. 

Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to 
love 
With such integrity, she did confess 
Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, 45 
But that her flight prevented it, she had 
Ta'en off by poison. 

Cym. O most delicate fiend ! 

Who is't can read a woman? Is there more? 

Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess 
she had 
For you a mortal mineral; which, being took. 
Should by the minute feed on life and linger- 
ing SI 
By inches waste you: in which time she pur- 

pos'd. 
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to 
O'ercome you with her show, and in time, 
When she had fitted you with her craft, to 
work 55 

Her son into th' adoption of the crown: 



ACT V. SC. v.] 



CYMBELINE 



47 



f 



But, failing of her end by his strange absence, 
Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite 
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented 
The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so 60 
Despairing died. 
Cym. Heard you all this, her women? 

Lady. We did, so please your highness. 
Cym, Mine eyes 

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; 
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my 

heart. 
That thought her like her seeming; it had 
been vicious 65 

To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daugh- 
ter ! 
That it was folly in me, thou mayst say. 
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend 
all! 

Enter Lucius, lactiimo, [the Soothsayer,'] and 
other Roman Prisoners [guarded; Posthumus] 
Leonatus behind, and Imogen, 

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that 
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the 

loss 70 

Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have 

made suit 
That their good souls may be appeas'd with 

slaughter 
Of you their captives, which ourself have 

granted : 
So think of your estate. 
Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day 75 
Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, 
We should not, when the blood was cool, have 

threaten'd 
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the 



Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 

May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth 80 

A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer: 

Augustus lives to think on't: and so much 

For my peculiar care. This one thing only 

I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born. 

Let him be ransom'd. Never master had 85 

A page so kind, so duteous, diligent. 

So tender over his occasions, true, 

So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join 

With my request, which I'll make bold your 

highness 
Cannot deny ; he hath done no Briton harm, 90 



Though he have serv'd a Roman: save him, 

sir. 
And spare no blood beside. 
Cym, I have surely seen him: 

His favour is familiar to me. Boy, 
Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace. 
And art mine own. I know not why, where- 
fore, 95 
To say 'live, boy:' ne'er thank thy master; 

live: 
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, 
Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it; 
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner. 
The noblest ta'en. 
Imo. I humbly thank your highness. 100 

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad; 

And yet I know thou wilt. 
Imo. No, no: alack. 

There's other work in hand: I see a thing 
Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, 
Must shuffle for itself. 
Luc. The boy disdains me, 105 

He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their 

joys 
That place them on the truth of girls and 

boys. 
Why stands he so perpiex'd? 
Cym, What wouldst thou, boy? 

I love thee more and more: think more and 

more 
What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st 
on? speak, no 

Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy 
friend ? 
Imo, He is a Roman; no more kin t'o me 

Than I to your highness; who, being born 

your vassal. 
Am something nearer. 
Cym. Wherefore eyest him so? 

Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please 

To give me hearing. 
Cym, Ay, with all my heart, 116 

And lend my best attention. What's thy 
name? 
Imo, Fidele, sir. 

Cym. Thou'rt my good youth, my page; 

I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak 
freely. 
[Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart.] 
Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? 
Arv. One sand another 120 

Not more resembles; that sweet rosy lad 



859 



48 



CYMBELINE 



[act v. sc. v. 



Who died, and was Fidele. What think you? 
Gui. The same dead thing alive. 
Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; 
forbear ; 
Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure 
He would have spoke to us. 
Gui. But we saw him dead. 126 

Bel. Be silent; let's see further. 
Pis. [Aside'] It is my mistress: 

Since she is living, let the time run on 
To good or bad. 
Cym. Come, stand thou by our side ; 

Make thy demand aloud. [To lachimo] Sir, 
step you forth; 130 

Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; 
Or, by our greatness and the grace of it. 
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall 
Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, 
speak to him. 
Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may 
render 135 

Of whom he had this ring. 
Post. [Aside] What's that to him? 

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say 

How came it yours? 
lach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that 

Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. 
Cym. How! me? 140 

Jack. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that 
Which torments me to conceal. By villainy 
I got this ring: 'twas Leonatus' jewel; 
Whom thou didst banish; and — which more 

may grieve thee. 
As it doth me — a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 145 

'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear 
more, my lord? 
Cym. All that belongs to this. 
lach. That paragon, thy daughter, — 

For whom my heart drops blood, and my 

false spirits 

Quail to remember^ — Give me leave; I 

faint. 

Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy 

strength : 150 

I had rather thou shouldst live while nature 

will 
Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and 
speak. 
lack. Upon a time, — unhappy was the clock 
That struck the hour! — it was in Rome, — ac- 
cuist 



The mansion where! — 'twas at a feast, — O, 
would 155 

Our viands had been poison'd, or at least 
Those which I heav'd to head ! — the good 

Posthumus — 
What should I say? he was too good to be 
Where ill men were; and was the best of all 
Amongst the rarest of good ones, — sitting 
sadly, 160 

Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 
For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast 
Of him that best could speak, for feature, 

laming 
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Mi- 
nerva, 
Postures beyond brief nature, for condition, 
A shop of all the qualities that man 166 

Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiv- 
ing, 
Fairness which strikes the eye — 
Cym. I stand on fire: 

Come to the matter. 
lach. All too soon I shall. 

Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This 
Posthumus, 170 

Most like a noble lord in love and one 
That had a royal lover, took his hint; 
And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, — 

therein 
He was as calm as virtue — he began 
His mistress' picture; which by his tongue 
being made, " 175 

And then a mind put in't, either our brags 
Were crack'd of kitchen-trulls, or his descrip- 
tion 
Prov'd us unspeaking sots. 
Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. 

lach. Your daughter's chastity — there it begins. 
He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, 180 
And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch. 
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with 

him 
Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore 
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain 
In suit the place of's bed and win this ring 185 
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight^ 
No lesser of her honour confident 
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; 
And would so, had it been a carbuncle 
Of Phoebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it 
Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain 



860 



ACT V. SC. v.] 



CYMBELINE 



49 



Post I in this design: well may you, sir, 192 
Remember me at court; where I was taught 
Of your chaste daughter the wide diiFerence 
'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus 
quench'd 195 

Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 
'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
Most vildly ; for my vantage, excellent : 
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd, 
That I return'd with simular proof enough 200 
To make the noble Leonatus mad. 
By wounding his belief in her renown 
With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes 
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her brace- 
let,— 

cunning, how I got it ! — nay, some marks 205 
Of secret on her person, that he could not 
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 

1 having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon — 
Methinks, I see him now — 

Post. [Advancingl Ay, so thou dost, 

Italian fiend ! Ay me, most credulous fool, 210 
Egregious murtherer, thief, any thing 
That's due to all the villains past, in being. 
To come ! O, give me cord, or knife, or poi- 
son. 
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send 

out 
For torturers ingenious: it is I 215 

That all th' abhorred things o' th' earth amend 
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, 
That kill'd thy daughter: — villain-like, I lie — • 
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, 
A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple 220 
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself. 
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, 

set 
The dogs 0' the street to bay me: every vil- 
lain 
Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus ; and 
Be villainy less than 'twas ! O Imogen ! 225 
My queen, my life, my wife ! O Imogen, 
Imogen, Imogen ! 
Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear — 

Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scorn- 
ful page. 
There lie thy part. [Striking her: 
Pis. O, gentlemen 

Mine and your mistress ! O, my 

humus ! 231 

You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help 



she falls.] 
help! 
lord Post- 



Mine honour'd lady ! 

Ci/m. Does the world go round? 

Post. How come these staggers on me? 

Pis. Wake, my mistress ! 

Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike 
me 234 

To death with mortal joy. 

Pis. How fares my mistress? 

Imo. O, get thee from my sight; 

Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, 

hence ! 
Breathe not where princes are. 

Cym. The tune of Imogen! 

Pis. Lady, 

The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if 240 
That box I gave you was not thought by me 
A precious thing: I had it from the queen. 

Cym. New matter still? 

Imo. It poison'd me. 

Cor. O gods ! 

I left but one thing which the queen confess'd, 
Which must approve thee honest: 'If Pisanio 
Have' said she *given his mistress that con- 
fection 246 
Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd 
As I would serve a rat.* 

Cym. What's this, Cornelius? 

Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me 
To temper poisons for her, still pretending 250 
The satisfaction of her knowledge only 
In killing creatures vild, as cats and dogs. 
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose 
Was of more danger, did compound for her 
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would 
cease 255 

The present power of life, but in short time 
All offices of nature should again 
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it? 

Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead. 

Bel. My boys. 

There was our error. 

Gui. This is, sure, Fidele. 260 

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady 
from you? 
Think that you are upon a rock; and now 
Throw me again. [Embracing him.'] 

Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul. 

Till the tree die ! 

Cym: How now, my flesh, my child! 

What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? 
Wilt thou not speak to me? 



861 



50 



CYMBELINE 



[act v. sc. v. 



Imo. [Kneeling'] Your blessings sir. 266 

Bel. [To Guiderius and Arviragus] Though 
you did love this youth, I blame ye not; 

You had a motive for't. 
Cym. My tears that fall 

Prove holy water on thee ! Imogen, 

Thy mother's dead. 
Imo. I am sorry for't, my lord. 270 

Cym. O, she was naught; and long of her it was 

That we meet here so strangely: but her son 

Is gone, we know not how nor where. 
Pis. My lord, 

Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord 
Cloten, 

Upon my lady's missing, came to me 275 

With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, 
and swore. 

If I discover'd not which way she was gone, 

It was my instant death. By accident, 

I had a feigned letter of my master's 

Then in my pocket; which directed him 280 

To seek her on the mountains near to Mil- 
ford ; 

Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments. 

Which he enforc'd from me, away he posts 

With unchaste purpose and with oath to vio- 
late 

My lady's honour: what became of him 285 

I further know not. 
Gui. Let me end the story: 

I slew him there. 
Cym. Marry, the gods forfend ! 

I would not thy good deeds should from my 
lips 

Pluck a hard sentence: prithee, valiant youth, 

Deny't again. 
Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it. 290 

Cym. He was a prince. 
Gui. A most incivil one: the wrongs he did me 

Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke 
me 

With language that would make me spurn the 
sea. 

If it could so roar to me : I cut ofF's head ; 295 

And am right glad he is not standing here 

To tell this tale of mine. 
Cym. I am sorry for thee: 

By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and 
must 

Endure our law: thou'rt dead. 
Imo. That headless man 

I thought had been my lord. 



Cym. Bind the oiFender, 300 

And take him from our presence. 
Bel. Stay, sir king: 

This man is better than the man he slew. 

As well descended as thyself; and hath 

More of thee merited than a band of Clotens 

Had ever scar for. [To the Guard] Let his 
arms alone; 305 

They were not born for bondage. 
Cym. Why, old soldier. 

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, 

By tasting of our wrath? How of descent 

As good as we.^ 
Arv. In that he spake too far. 

Cym. And thou shalt die for't. 
Bel. We will die all three: 310 

But I will prove that two on's are as good 

As I have given out him. My sons, I must. 

For mine own part, unfold a dangerous 
speech, 

Though, haply, well for you. 
Arv. Your danger's ours. 

Gui. And our good his. 
Bel. Have at it then, by leave. 

Thou hadst, great king, a subj ect who 316 

Was call'd Belarius. 
Cym. What of him? he is 

A banish'd traitor. 
Bel. He it is that hath 

Assumed this age; indeed a banish'd man; 

I know not how a traitor. 
Cym. Take him hence: 320 

The whole world shall not save him. 
Bel. Not too hot: 

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons ; 

And let it be confiscate all, so soon 

As I have receiv'd it. 
Cym. Nursing of my sons ! 

Bel. I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee: 

Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons; 326 

Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir, 

These two young gentlemen, that call me 
father 

And think they are my sons, are none of 
mine; 

They are the issue of your loins, my liege, 330 

And blood of your begetting. 
Cym. How ! my issue ! 

Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Mor- 
gan, 

Am that Belarius whom you sometime ban- 
ish'd : 



SQ2 



ACT V. SC. v.] 



CYMBELINE 



51 



Your pleasure was my mere offence, my pun- 
ishment 
Itself, and all my treason; that I sufFer'd 33s 
Was all the harm I did. These gentle 

princes — 
For such and so they are — these twenty years 
Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I 
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as 
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Eu- 
riphile, 340 

Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these 

children 
Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't. 
Having receiv'd the punishment before, 
For that which I did then: beaten for loy- 
alty 
Excited me to treason: their dear loss, 345 
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd 
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious 

sir. 
Here are your sons again; and I must lose 
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world. 
The benediction of these covering heavens 350 
Fall on their heads like dew ! for they are 

worthy 
To inlay heaven with stars. 
Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st. 

The service that you three have done is more 
Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my chil- 
dren : 
If these be they, I know not how to wish 355 
A pair of worthier sons. 
Bel. Be pleas'd awhile. 

This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, 
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Gui- 

derius : 
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, 
Your younger princely son; he, sir, was 
lapp'd 360 

In a most curious mantle, wrought by the 

hand 
Of his queen mother, which for more proba- 
tion 
I can with ease produce. 
Cym. Guiderius had 

Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; 
It was a mark of wonder. 
Bel. This is he; 365 

Who hath upon him still that natural stamp: 
It was wise nature's end in the donation. 
To be his evidence now. 
Cym, O, what, am I 



A mother to the birth of three } Ne'er 

mother 
Rejoic'd deliverance more. Blest pray you 
be, 370 

That, after this strange starting from your 

orbs. 
You may reign in them now ! O Imogen, 
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. 
Imo. No, my lord; 

I have got two worlds by't. O my gentle 

brothers. 
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter 
But I am truest speaker: you call'd me 

brother, 376 

When I was but your sister; I you brothers. 
When ye were so indeed. 
Cym. Did you e'er meet .^ 

Arv. Ay, my good lord. 

Gui. And at first meeting lov'd; 

Continued so, until we thought he died. 380 

Cor, By the queen's dram she swallow'd. 

Cym. O rare instinct! 

When shall I hear all through? This fierce 

abridgement 
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which 
Distinction should be rioh in. Where? how 

liv'd you? 
And when came you to serve our Roman cap- 
tive ? 385 
How parted with your brothers ? how first met 

them ? 
Why fled you from the court? and whither? 

These, 
And your three motives to the battle, with 
I know n,ot how much more, should be de- 
manded ; 
And all the other by-dependencies, 390 

From chance to chance: but nor the time nor 

place 
Will serve our long inter'gatories. See, 
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen, 
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her 

eye 
On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting 
Each object with a joy: the counterchange 396 
Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground. 
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. 
[To Belarius~\ Thou art my brother; so we'll 

hold thee ever. 
Imo. You are my father too, and did relieve 

me, 400 

To see this gracious season. 



863 



52 



CYMBELINE 



[act v. sc. v« 



Cym. AH o'erjoy'd. 

Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too^ 
For they shall taste our comfort. 

Imo. My good master, 

I will yet do you service. 

Luc. Happy be you ! * 

Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought^ 
He would have well becom'd this place, and 
grac'd 406 

The thankings of a king. 

Post. I am, sir. 

The soldier that did company these three 
In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for 
The purpose I then follow'd. That I was 
he, 410 

Speak, lachimo: I had you down and might 
Have made you finish. 

lach. [Kneeling] I am down again: 

But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee. 
As then your force did. Take that life, be- 
seech you. 
Which I so often owe : but your ring first ; 415 
And here the bracelet of the truest princess 
That ever swore her faith. 

Post. Kneel not to me: 

The power that I have on you is to spare 

you; 
The malice towards you to forgive you: live, 
And deal with others better. 

Cym. Nobly doom'd! 420 

We'll learn our f reeness of a son-in-law ; 
Pardon's the word to all. 

Arv. You holp us, sir. 

As you did mean indeed to be our brother; 
Joy'd are we that you are. 

Post. Your servant, princes. Good my lord of 

Rome, 425 

Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, me- 

thought 
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd, 
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows 
Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found 
This label on my bosom; whose containing 430 
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can 
Make no collection of it: let him show 
His skill in the construction. 

Luc. Philarmonus ! 

Sooth. Here, my good lord. 

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. 

Sooth, reads. 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to 
himself unknown, without seeking find, and 
be embraced by a piece of tender air; and 



when from a stately cedar shall be lopped 
branches, which, being dead many years, shall 
after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and 
freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his 
miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in 
peace and plenty.' 442 

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; 
The fit and apt construction of thy name. 
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much. 445 
[To Cymbeline] The piece of tender air, thy 

virtuous daughter. 
Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer' 
We term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine 
Is this most constant wife; who, even now. 
Answering the letter of the oracle, 450 

Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about 
With this most tender air. 

Cym. This hath some seeming. 

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, 

Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches 

point 
Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n. 
For many years thought dead, are now re- 
viv'd, 456 

To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue 
Promises Britain peace and plenty. 

Cym. Well; 

My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius, 
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar, 460 
And to the Roman empire; promising 
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which 
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen; 
Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and 

hers. 
Have laid most heavy hand. 465 

Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune 
The harmony of this peace. The vision 
Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke 
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant 
Is full accomplish'd ; for the Roman eagle, 470 
From south to west on wing soaring aloft, 
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun 
So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely 

eagle, 
Th' imperial Caesar, should again unite 
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, 475 
Which shines here in the west. 

Cym. Laud we the gods; 

And let our crooked smokes climb to their 

nostrils 
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace 
To all our subjects. Set we forward; let 



864 



ACT 



V. sc. v.] 



CYMBELINE 



53 



A Roman and a British ensign wave 480 

Friendly together: so through Lud's-town 

march : 
And in the temple of great Jupiter 



Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts. 
Set on there ! Never was a war did cease^, 
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a 
peace. Exeunt. 485 



FINIS. 



NOTES 



The first attempt to indicate the scene of action 
and the names of the characters was made by Rowe 
(1709). 

ACT I 

1. 24 a man but he, any man except him, 
speak him far, go far in his praise. 
25 extend, praise, glorify. 

30 Cassibelan, younger brother and successor of 
King Lud, said twice to have defeated Julius Caesar 
in battle. 

31 Tenantius, father of Cymbeline and nephew to 
Cassibelan, whom he succeeded as king of Britain. 

33 sur-addition, added title. 

49 feated, made 'feat,' trim or proper. 

69 S. D. Enter the Queen,' etc. F starts a new scene 
here. 
116 sear up, dry up. 
124 see, see each other, meet. 
126 fraught, load (verb). 

129 the good remainders, the good ones who remain. 
140 puttock, kite, a mean bird of prey. 
143 vild, vile. 

146 overbuys, pays in excess of the fair price. 
149 neat-herd's, cow-herd's. 

ii. 3 where air comes out, air comes in. Cloten's 
open pores which 'reek' so copiously will also let 
in the less wholesome outside air and produce cold. 

11 throughfare, thoroughfare, highway. 

13, 14 went 0' the backside the town, took a round- 
about, aimless course, missing Posthumus's body 
altogether. The progress of Cloten's sword is com- 
pared to that of a debtor, avoiding all natural ob- 
jective points. 

iii. 4 As offer'd mercy, a paper as precious as that 
which contains pardon for a condemned criminal. 
9 this] Theobald; his F. 

15 ere left, before you ceased. 

16 after-eye, look after. 
24 vantage, opportunity. 

29 shes, ladies. Shakespeare frequently uses this 

pronoun as a substantive. 
36 the north, the north wind. 



iv. 2 of a crescent note, of a growing reputation, not 
yet arrived at his full prestige. 



16 words him, causes him to be described. 

17 from the matter, at variance with the truth. 
21 extend. See note on I. i. 25. 

34 story him, tell his story. 

36 known together, been acquainted. 

42 atone, reconcile. 

45 importance, affair, circumstance. 

62 our country mistresses, our mistresses in our 
various native countries. This adjectival use of 
'country' is frequent in Shakespeare and his con- 
temporaries. 

73 abate her nothing, give up no part of her praise. 

77 Britain] Johnson; Britanie F. 'Brittany' was 
commonly used as a poetic form of 'Britain.' 

80 could not but] Malone; could not F. 

90 or if, either if, this 'or' being correlative with 

'or' in the next line, 
104 convince, overcome. 

107 fear not, fear not for, am not anxious about. 
134 approbation, proof, test. 
159 no lay, no wager. 
180 catch cold and starve. The usual sense of 

'starve' in Shakespeare's time was to die of cold, 

not hunger. 

V. 68 what a chance thou changest on, upon what 
chance of fortune thou changest thy allegiance 
(from Posthumus to the queen). Rowe and many 
later editors alter 'changest' to 'chancest.' 

78 hand-fast, marriage contract, confirmed by join- 
ing of hands; alluding probably to the 'pre-con- 
tract' or preliminary informal marriage. 

80 liegers, ambassadors, envoys representing one's 
interests at a foreign court. 

vi. 7 desire] Fj; desires Fj. The word is probably to 
be taken in the sense of unsatisfied desire, discon- 
tent. Staunton transposes the words but most mis- 
erable . . . glorious to a position after comfort in 
Kne 9. 

9 seasons comfort. It is not Certain which word is 
the verb here and which the noun. Probably 'sea- 
sons' is the former and means 'adds spice to.' 
15 out of door, exposed to observation, visible. 
17 alone th' Arabian bird, the phoenix, of which 
two specimens were supposed never to exist at the 
same time. 

35 twinn'd, twin-like, indistinguishable. 

36 nuinber'd, numerous. 



865 



54 



CYMBELINE 



38 admiration, wonder. 

40 shes. See note on I. ill. 29. chatter this way, 
flock this way chattering in admiration. 

42 favour, appearance, looks. 

47 trow, I wonder. The pronoun is omitted. 

49 ravening-, consuming greedily. 

51 raps, transports, aifects with rapture, 

52, 53 desire My man's abode, ask my man to re- 
main. 

66 furnaces, belches forth like a furnace. 

80 his beyond all talents, his greatest talent (treas- 
ure) of all. 

85 Deserves, which deserves; the relative is omitted. 

86 To hide me. 'Me' is here the ethical dative, 
merely emphasizing lachimo's surprise at the repre- 
hensible conduct of Posthumus. 

87 a snuff, a smoky candle. 

107 Made hard with hourly falsehood, hardened by 
being used every hour to ratify false contracts 
(that is, by the formality of the hand-shake). 

108 by-peeping-, sidelong glancing. 

109 illustrious, unlustrous, dim. 

121 Would, which would. See note on line 85. 

122 self, same; exhibition, income, allowance. 
134 variable ramps, various wantons. 

139 close as sure, as secret as I am trustworthy. 

147 Solicit'st] F2; Solicits F^. 

151 mart, trade, traffic (verb). 

169 descended] F2; defended F^. 

200 short my word, do less than my promise. 

ACT II 

i. 2 kissed the jack . . . upcast, technical terms in 

the game of bowls. 

4 take me up, rebuke me. 
16 g-ive] F2; gave F^. 
26 you crow, cock, with your comb on, that is, you 

are a coxcomb (Hudson). The professional fool 

wore a comb like a cock's. 
51 your issues, what issues from you, your thoughts 

and actions. 

ii. 12 Our Tarquin, that is, the Roman Tarquin; 
lachimo is his fellow-countryman. 

13 the rushes, the Elizabethan substitute for car- 
pet. As far as Tarquin is concerned the word is 
an anachronism. 

14 Cytherea, probably an exclamation, 'O Venus !' 
18 How dearly they do't, that is, kiss each other. 

'They' refers to the 'rubies unparagon'd,' Imogen's 

ruby lips. 
23 tinct, color. 
26 arras, wall-hangings. 
38 cinque-spotted, with five spots. 

lii. 3 ace, the lowest throw at dice. 
21 Song-. This is perhaps the finest example in 
English literature of the conventional auhade, a 
morning song addressed by a lover to his lady. 
24 chalic'd flowers, flowers with deep bowls, lies 
is one of Shakespeare's frequent present plurals 
in -s, the antecedent of that being springs in the 
preceding line. 

25 Mary-buds, marigold buds. 
34 unpaved, stoneless. 



52 soliciting] Collier; solicity Fi; solicits Fg. 
59 So like you, if it please you. 
64 forespent, formerly bestowed. 
86 ready, dressed; 'unready' is similarly used in the 
sense of undressed. 
Ill verbal. It is not certain whether this word is 
used of Cloten, i.e., 'verbose, talkative,' or of 
Imogen herself, i.e., 'plain-spoken.' 
123 no more dependency, nothing more that he can 

off'er. 
129 pantler, pantry-servant. 
134 Comparative for your virtues, in proportion to 

your merits. 
143 presently, at once. 

iv. 6 f ear'd hopes, anxious hopes, hopes of which the 
realization is doubtful. F reads 'hope,' a misprint. 
Instead of 'fear'd' editors have unnecessarily pro- 
posed 'sear'd' and *sere.' 
16 statist, statesman. 

25 their approvers, those who prove or test them. 

26 That mend, as improve. 
41 had] Collier; have F. 

70 Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, etc. 

A reminiscence of Antony and Cleopatra II. ii. 191- 

2^23. In Imogen's time the incident was a recent 

happening. 
73, 74 did strive In workmanship and value, there 

was doubt whether the exquisite workmanship or 

the inherent value of the materials were the more 

precious. 
83 to report themselves, to make themselves famous 

in report. 
107 a basilisk, a fabulous reptil'e supposed to have 

the power of killing what it looked upon. 
127 cognizance, token. 
132 Of one persuaded well of, of one of whom one 

has a favorable opinion. 
147 limb-meal, limb from limb; compare 'piecemeal.' 

V. F indicates no new scene here, and none was 
probably intended by the author. 
16 a German one] Rowe; a larmen on F. German 
boars are still famous game. 

26 nice, wanton. Shakespeare generally uses the 
word in an uncomplimentary sense, and never with 
the meaning most common to-day. 

27 that [have a] name. The bracketed words were 
added by Dyce. 

ACT IH 

i. 4 theme and hearing, subject for narrators and 
listeners. 

31 giglpt, harlot, inconstant. According to the 
legend Cassibelan did capture Caesar's sword, which 
had become fastened in the Briton's shield. 

32 Lud's town, London, said to derive its name from 
Lud, Cymbeline's grandfather. 

38 owe, possess. 

51 against all colour, without any pretext. 

54 Clo. We do] Collier. F omits 'Clo.' and thus adds 
the following words to Cymbeline's speech, which 
is not interrupted in this line. 

73 keep at utterance, keep ready for public circu- 
lation or display (referring to the *honour' which 



866 



CYMBELINE 



55 



Cymbeline has 'gather d'). The metaphor is from 
a merchant gathering up a stock of goods which 
he then 'utters' or distributes to the public. This 
interpretation, suggested by Ingieby, seems much 
better than the one commonly received, that 'at ut- 
terance' stands simply for 'to the uttermost.' 
perfect, certain. 
87 all the remain, all the rest; a striking instance 
of Shakespeare's tendency to make substantives out 
of verbs. 

ii. 2 monster 's her accuser] Capell; monsters her ac- 
cuse F. The emendation has been almost univer- 
sally accepted, but it is not absolutely certain that 
F is wrong. 
9 take in, capture; a military word. 

17 fact, deed, Latin factum; nearly always used of 
an evil deed. 

21 feodary, accomplice, used, of course, of the let- 
ter which Pisanio is about to deliver to Imogen. 

35 All but in that, except only in that; namely, grief 
over his separation from Imogen. 

36 locks of counsel, beeswax, with which letters 
were sealed. Counsel has the sense of 'secret.' 

38 forfeiters, those who forfeit their bonds and may 
therefore be cast in prison by virtue of the sealed 
document. 

39 tables, Meriting tablets. 

43 would even renew me with your eyes, the mere 
sight of your eyes would have more power to re- 
store me than would all your father's cruelty to do 
me harm. 

45 Milford-Haven, a sea-port in the south-western 
peninsula of Wales, near Pembroke. 

56 bate, abate, deduct. 

59 bores of hearing, ears. 

79 you're best, you were best, it would be best that 
you should. 

80 nor here, nor here. These words are probably 
accompanied with gestures indicating what is to 
right and left respectively. 

81 what ensues, what is behind. Imogen means that 
everything to right, to left, and behind her is hazy. 
She sees only the course which lies immediately 
ahead. 

ill. 5 jet, strut. 

20 sharded, having imperfect, scaly wings. 

23 bauble] Rowe; Babe F; bribe Hanmer. 

33 travelling a-bed, like travel whose scope is lim- 
ited by the extent of the imaginative patient's bed. 

35 To stride a limit, to overstride or pass a set 
boundary. Debtors were safe only within certain 
prescribed districts, and they required no other 
check than their fears of arrest to keep them from 
venturing farther. 

83 wherein they bow] Warburton; whereon the 
Bowe F. 

iv. 9 haviour, behavior. 

37 worms of Nile, asps; perhaps another reminis- 
cence of Antony and Cleopatra. See note on II. iv. 
70. 

52 "Whose mother was her painting, who owes her 



very existence to her paint; that is, would be noth- 
ing at all without it. 

62 scandal, bring into disrepute. 

64 lay the leaven on, taint, sour; a metaphor from 
the making of bread. 

81 afore't] Rowe; afoot F. 

83 scriptures, writings, letters (with a play on the 
sense. Holy Scripture). 

96 be disedg'd, lose the edge of thy passion. 

97 tirest on, preyest on, like a voracious hawk. 

104 blind. This word, which seems certainly re- 
quired, was inserted by Hanmer. 

112 elected, selected. 

118 tent, probe, search. 

124 singular, unrivaled, unique. 

143 livers, living men. See III, iii. 9. 

150 full of view, with good prospects. 

158 niceness, coyness. 

160 it, its. 

166 common-kissing Titan, the sun, which kisses in- 
discriminately all it shines on. See 1 Henry IV 
II. iv. 133. 

177 happy, skilful. 

179 embrace, receive, welcome. 

V. 9 Queen. And you. F omits 'Queen,' thus giving 
the following words to Lucius. It is possible that 
this is correct and that And you is the Roman's 
contemptuous farewell to Cloten. 

17 the Severn, the old boundary of Wales. 

44 loudest noise] Rowe; loud of noise F. 

80 packing, plotting, cheating. 

85 Close, secretive. See note on I. vi. 139. 
100 S. D. Presenting a letter. The letter appears to 
be the same that Pisanio had previously given to 
Imogen. See III. ii. 40, etc. 

vi. 7 Foundations, that which is most firmly fixed. 
As Imogen uses the word, she thinks of the other 
meaning, 'charitable foundations,' and alludes to it 
in the next line. 

27 Such a foe, send me such a foe! 

27 S. D. Imogen retires into the rear stage, which 
represents the cave, as Belarius and the others en- 
ter the outer stage. 

34 resty, sluggish, inactive. 

36 throughly, thoroughly. 

70 your groom, i.e., bridegroom. 

71 I bid for you as I'ld buy, I am sincere in the 
appreciation I express; a metaphor from bidding 
at auction. 

ACT IV 

i. 16 imperseverant, unperceiving. The word is con- 
nected with 'perceive,' not 'persevere.' 

ii. 8 citizen, city-bred, effeminate, wanton, spoiled 
child. 
10 journal, diurnal. 

26,27 These lines have been rejected by Pope and 
other critics as not by Shakespeare. So with lines 
34-36, 52-66 (as if . , . rail at), and 59, 60. There 



867 



56 



CYMBELINE 



is the strongest internal reason for suspicion in each 
case. 

29 Doth miracle itself, becomes a miracle, lov'd, 
who is loved; the word agrees with this in the pre- 
ceding line. 

97 my proper, my own. 
104 lines of favour, marks of feature. 

106 absolute, positive. 

107 very Cloten, Cloten himself. 
118 perfect, certain. 

121 take us in. See note on III. ii. 9. 

129 For, because. 

149 my way long' forth, i.e., my way forth (from 
the cave) long or tedious. 

160 That possible strength might meet, against 
which our strength might by any possibility contend, 
through, thoroughly. 

170 how] Pope; thou F. 

184 clotpoU, thick head. 

186 my ingenuous instrument, probably an ^Eolian 
harp. 'Ingenuous' is often used for 'ingenious' in 
Elizabethan English. 

193, 194 Triumphs . . . boys. This trivial couplet is 
probably a spurious addition. 

205 crare] Sympson; care F. 'Crare' means a small 
trading vessel. 

207 but I, but I know. 

224 the ruddock, the robin. 

229 To winter-ground, conjectured to mean to pro- 
tect a plant in winter by a covering of straw. 
'Winter-guard' and 'winter-gown' are among the nu- 
merous suggested emendations. 

271 thunder-stone, thunder-bolt. 

275 Consign to, sign the same contract with. 

293 'Ods pittikins, a disguised oath from 'God's pity.' 

300 bolt, arrow. 

310 His foot Mercurial. Mercury, messenger of the 
gods, had a winged heel. 

315 Irregulous, unruly, lawless. 

325 pregnant, obvious. This is from the old French 
preignant, pressing, cogent, and is a different word 
from the more common 'pregnant' from Latin 
frcegnans. 

337 the confiners, those dwelling within the confines 
(of Italy). 

387 and't, if it. 

391 a century, a hundred. 

iv. 5 or . . . or, either ... or. 
11 render, confession. 

29 summer's tanlings, the tanned (sun-burnt) fa- 
vorites of summer. 
33 o'ergrown, covered with beard. 
51 your country wars. See note on I. iv. 63. 

ACT V 

i. 5 wrying, turning awry, deviating. 

14, 15 Two difficult lines, elder seems to mean 
'later,' as in 'elder years'; them refers to ills, 
which are dreaded by the general public and thus 
become the means of profit (thrift) to the doers. 

15 dreaded] Theobald; dread it F. If the reading 
of F is retained, it is barely possible to make a 



kind of sense by taking them to refer to some 
(line 13) and it to their evil course of life in gen- 
eral. 

ii. IG As, as if. hoodwink'd, blindfolded. 
17 or . . . or. See note on IV. iv. 5. 

iii. 5 wings (of the army). 

7 strait, narrow. 
19, 20 to run The country base, to play a boys' 

game similar to 'prisoner's base.' 
22 cas'd, covered with a mask. 

42 stoop'd] Rowe; stopt F. 'Stoop' is the technical 
expression in falconry for the swoop of a hawk. 

42, 43 slaves, The strides, etc., like slaves they re- 
traced the strides which they had made as victors. 

51 mortal bugs, death-dealing terrors. 

74-76 For being . . . part I came in, since death 
now favors the British side, I, no longer a Briton, 
have resumed my Roman garb. 

86 silly habit, humble dress. 

iv. S. D. two Gaolers] Rowe; Gaoler F. The text 
makes it clear that there were two. 
14, 15 gyves, Desir'd more than constrain'd, fetters 
imposed more by my own wish than by constraint. 
29 S. D.-151 S. D. There is practical certainty that 
this long passage dealing with the vision of Post- 
humus is spurious. Perhaps it was worked up by 
the players, for stage effect, out of the hints given 
at the close of the play (V. v. 425-458), or per- 
haps it replaces a briefer Shakespearean treatment 
of the same matter. 

57 deem, judge of. dignity, worthiness. 
67 geek, a fool. 

81 look out] Fs; look, look out F^. 
134 fangled, fond of trumpery. 
147 tongue and brain not, talk senselessly of. 
158 the shot, the reckoning, tavern-bill. 

V. 5 targes of proof, impenetrable shields. 

43 bore in hand, feigned, falsely pretended. 
88 feat, dexterous. See note on I. i. 49. 

93 favour, countenance. 

164 straight-pight, straight-pitched, erect. 

167 hook of wiving, the baited hook with which hus- 
bands are caught. What the 'hook' is the next line 
explains: 'Fairness which strikes the eye.' 

177 crack'd, boastingly spoken. 

200 simular, counterfeited, specious. 

250 temper, mix, compound. 

262 upon a rock, upon a cliff, whence you may throw 
me from you forever. 

271 naught, wicked, long of, on account of. 

279 feigned letter. See note on III. v. 100 S. D. 
feigned means not that the letter was not writ- 
ten by Posthumus, but that it contained 'feigned' 
(deceitful) information and sentiments. 

305 Had ever scar for, ever did anything to deserve j 
a metaphor from military service. 

353, 354 more Unlike, more inherently improbable. 

409 fitment, preparation. 

452 seeming, plausibility. 

464 Whom, on whom. 



868 



1 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



SOURCES — The earliest known reference to 
Shakespeare as a dramatist — "an upstart crow, beau- 
tified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart 
wrapped in a player's hide, supposes he is as well 
able to bumbast out a blank verse as the best of you; 
and being an absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his 
own conceit the only Shakescene in a country" — 
this outburst of the jealous artist came from the pen 
of Robert Greene, poet, dramatist, novelist, and lit- 
erary hack, in 1592. The exact occasion of Greene's 
resentment is unknown; not until nearly twenty years 
later, when Greene had been long dead, is Shake- 
speare known to have borrowed from the work of 
his angered rival. Greene's novel Pandosto, The 
TriumpJi of Time (1588), better known in its own 
day by its subtitle The History of Dorastus and 
Fawnia, furnished Shakespeare with the romantic plot 
of The Winter's Tale. Under still another title. The 
Fortunate Lovers, the novel was popular as a chap- 
book until well on in the eighteenth century. The 
invention of the narrative is a pleasing one ; and credit 
for the originality of the plot has been generally 
given to the novelist. So numerous are the changes 
made by Shakespeare in the plot of Greene's story, 
that a brief summary of Pandosto is necessary. 

Pandosto, king of Bohemia, growing jealous of the 
innocent intimacy between his wife Bellaria and his 
guest Egistus, king of Sicilia, instigated his cup-bearer 
Franion to murder Egistus. Franion, however, dis- 
closed all, and fled with the intended victim. Pan- 
dosto, fearing to war upon Egistus, who was the 
son-in-law of the Emperor of Russia, wreaked his 
wrath upon Bellaria, sending his guards to deprive 
her of her new-born babe and setting the infant 
adrift in an open boat. At the trial of Bellaria it 
was determined to seek a judgment of the oracle on 
the Isle of Delphos, which being obtained declared 
that the queen was innocent, and that "the king 
shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be 
not found." The king instantly repented; but the 
sudden news of the death of his son Garinter caused 
Bellaria to die of sorrow, and Pandosto was left 
stricken. The "tragical discourse" of the young in- 
fant Fawnia next tells of her finding in Sicilia by 



the shepherd Porrus and Mopsa his wife, and of 
her growth and beauty. Prince Dorastus, intended 
by King Egistus for a Danish princess, fell in love 
with Fawnia, when in pursuit of a falcon. Much 
space is given to the courtship, and to Dorastus' 
proposal of flight. The Shepherd, fearing the be- 
trayal of Fawnia, resolved to tell the king of the 
jewels found in the little boat with the child. In 
this he was fooled by Capnio, Dorastus' servant, who 
led him instead aboard the ship in which Dorastus 
planned to flee. The elopers sailed with the shep- 
herd to Bohemia, where Pandosto fell in love with 
his own daughter, and threw Dorastus (who called 
himself Meleagrus) into prison. The prince was 
freed at the request of ambassadors sent by Egistus; 
and Fawnia, Capnio, and the shepherd were con- 
demned to death. Upon this followed the disclosure 
of the shepherd's treasure found with the child, and 
Pandosto's recognition of his long-lost daughter. 
The old shepherd was made a knight; and festivities 
held in Bohemia, after which all returned to Sicilia. 
At the wedding there Pandosto, in remorse at the 
unnatural passion he had before conceived for his 
own daughter, slew himself. 

In spite of the intricacy of this plot, the slender 
pamphlet which holds its story is chiefly filled with 
soliloquies and colloquies, in the manner of Euphues 
and the characters of Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia. 
The episodes are no further developed than in a 
child's fairy-tale; and Shakespeare's title shows his 
appreciation of this fact. At its best, the style of 
Greene's story is smooth and graceful, and not with- 
out interest. A favorable specimen of the manner 
isi Bellaria's lament for her babe, given below; 
which should be compared with the queenly restraint 
and natural loftiness of temper of Shakespeare's 
Hermione. 

"Alas, sweet, unfortunate babe, scarce born, be- 
fore envied by fortune, would the day of thy birth 
had been the term of thy life: then shouldst thou 
have made an end to care and prevented thy father's 
rigor. Thy faults cannot yet deserve such hateful 
revenge, thy days are too short for so sharp a doom, 
but thy untimely death must pay thy mother's debts, 



869 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



and her guiltless crime must be thy ghastly curse. 
And shalt thou, sweet babe, be committed to fortune, 
when thou art already spited by fortune? Shall the 
seas, be thy harbor, and the hard boat thy cradle? 
Shall thy tender mouth instead of sweet kisses, be 
nipped with bitter storm? Shalt thou have the whist- 
ling winds for thy lullaby, and the salt sea foam 
instead of sweet milk? Alas, what destiny will assign 
such hard hap? What father would be so cruel? Or 
what gods will not revenge such rigor? Let me kiss 
thy lips, sweet infant, and wet thy tender cheeks 
with my tears, and put this chain about thy neck, 
and if fortune save thee, it may help to succor thee. 
Thus, since thou must go to surge in the gastful seas, 
with a sorrowful kiss I bid thee farewell, and I 
pray the gods thou mayst fare well." 

This ennobling of the queen's character, from the 
shows and conventions of grief to the majesty of 
true grief in an emperor's daughter, is Shakespeare's 
chief dramatic achievement in his treatment of his 
source. In the queenly serenity with which her spirit 
meets injuries, she stands as a worthy companion 
to the portrait of Katherine in Henry VIII, but the 
reconciliation which sweetens the bitterness of 
Greene's conclusion gives room for the superbly 
theatrical scene of her forgiveness. To her Shakes- 
peare gives as father the Emperor of Russia, whom 
Greene had called Polixenes' (Egistus') father-in-law. 
Leontes (Pandosto) is changed from a fiction of 
mere jealousy to a man overpowered by an evil 
obsession so strong that he seems a victim among 
those he suspects. Polixenes (Egistus) is a sym- 
pathetic portrait, of which no trace exists in the 
original. His visit to the shepherd's feast, and the 
skilful means by which his resentment of Florizel's 
actions is justified, is only in the drama. Camillo's 
(Franion's) part is greatly increased, for he plans 
the flight of the Prince and brings his master on. 
Out of Capnio, Dorastus' servant, comes Autolycus, 
who, though in times past he "had served the prince" 
and "worn three-pile," is now the most winning of 
rogues. Paulina, the spirited boy Mamillius (Garin- 
ter), the clown (substituted for the shepherd's wife), 
Antigonus, Emilia, — all these are creations of the 
dramatist. 

A striking alteration is that of interchanging Bo- 
hemia and Sicilia, for no particular reason except 
perhaps that an oracle of "Delphos" might seem more 
natural in the latter place, while an English coun- 
try dance and revel would better become the more 
northern country. The change did not affect the 
geography of Bohemia, from which Pandosto had 

870 



sent forth his daughter; and this retention of the 
mythical sea-coast called down the wrath of Ben 
Jonson. But Shakespeare's selection of a title for 
the play asserts his freedom of historical accuracy or 
consistency; these are the lands and customs of 
fairy-tale, not a real Bohemia or Sicily. 

OTHER PARALLELS— decent investigation in 
th„ field of source-materials has failed to disclose 
much that sheds light on the origin of Greene's Pan- 
dosto, or Shakespeare's use of it. A Polish tale, first 
published by J. Caro in 1878, gives a sixteenth-century 
narrative of a cruel prince, Ziemovit of Masovia, who 
killed his wife out of jealousy; and whose son, saved 
from his rage, was brought up secretly and restored 
to him in later years, after the innocence of his 
princess had been proved. It is not impossible that 
through some version of this story came Greene's 
choice of Bohemia as his scene, and the main out- 
line of his novel. A trace of the same story in 
Dutch folk-lore goes to prove that Shakespeare di- 
vined the nature of this winter's tale. Other ele- 
ments in the play have no known parallels worthy of 
account. A play by Robert Wilson, The Three La- 
dies of London (1584), contains an entrance of Tom 
Beggar and his companions with a thieves' song; 
but the prevalence along English roadsides of 
"feigned beggars and fawning fellows," as Dr. For- 
man calls them, would seem to have given all 
needed material here. The name Autolycus, of 
course, Shakespeare chose to match his semi-classical 
setting. Finally, the device with which the play is 
brought to a fortunate conclusion in a general way 
resembles a number of similar scenes in earlier plays, 
without any direct evidence of borrowing. The re- 
union of husband, wife, and daughter marks the 
close of Shakespeare's Pericles; while the theme of 
the animated statue had been seen in the old tale of 
Pygmalion, elaborated in Marston's Metamorphosis 
of Pygmalion's Image, in 1598, and in other works 
which borrowed the same device. Lope de Vega's 
El Marmol de Felisardo {Felisardo's Marble Image) 
presents the impersonation of a statue by the sweet- 
heart of a young prince, who has obtained his 
father's consent to wed the marble lady; The Try all 
by Chiimlry (1605) gives the opposite situation of 
a lover, as statue, hearing his lady's confession. 
Apart from the mere device of the statue, the closest 
parallel to the closing scene of the drama is perhaps 
that of Euripides' Alcestis, in motivation and in the 
treatment of character. We are reminded also of the 
last scene in Much Ado about Nothing. 

CRITICAL COMMENT— ''None of our authar's 



INTRODUCTION 



S 



plays," says Malone, "has been more censured for the 
breach of dramatic rules than The Winter's Tale." 
Dryden classed it as one of those "which were either 
grounded on impossibilities, or at least so meanly 
written, that the comedy neither caused you mirth, 
nor the serious part your concernment." Such in- 
congruities as the "free navigation between Sicily and 
Bohemia" and of Giulio Romano's living in the same 
age as the Delphic oracle, meet with more or less 
indulgent censure, according to the critic's belief in 
the Unities. It is natural, therefore, that The Win- 
ter's Tale should have been called a profound tragedy 
by Victor Hugo, the chief of the romantic critics. 

An interesting comment upon the play may be 
drawn from the fact that criticisms of this drama are 
chiefly studies of individual character, rather than 
of more general themes. Florizel, Perdita, Paulina, 
and Autolycus have been the subject of sympathetic 
sketches; but the more notable writers have been 
chiefly concerned with Hermidne and Leontes. What 
Greene called the "infectious sore of jealousy," 
exhibited in Leontes, was well analyzed by Coleridge; 
and his remarks on "genuine jealousy of disposition," 
as contrasted with Othello's passion, are well worth 
noting. Its efl'ects are "an excitability by the most 
inadequate causes . . .; a grossness of conception . . .; 
a sense of shame of his own feelings exhibited in a 
solitary moodiness of temper; a dread of vulgar 
ridicule . . .; and ... a spirit of selfish vindictive- 
ness." 

Of Leontes' queen no critic has ever expressed him- 
self in terms of less than superlative eulogy. One 
may cite as an example Hudson's "her proud sub- 
mission, her dignified obedience; with her Roman 
firmness and integrity of soul, heroic in strength, 
heroic in gentleness, the queenliest of women, the 
womanliest of queens." Her gentleness and serenity 
give tone to the play, which a critic of our day has 
called the most gentle of all Shakespeare's dramas. 
Some of this quality lies, as Dowden points out, in 
the paternal leniency with which the young lovers 
are drawn by the dramatist. 

STAGE HISTORY— Dr. Simon Forman saw the 
play at the Globe Theatre in May 15, 1611, and noted 
its story in his Book of Plays, giving nearly as much 
space to his impression of Autolycus, "the rogue 
that came in all tottered like Coll Pixci," as to the 
story of Perdita. A performance on November 5 
of the same year is listed by Cunningham in his copy 
of the much-debated Revels Accounts. The play w«s 
selected as one of those likely to please at the wed- 
ding festivities of Princess Elizabeth and the Elector 



Frederick, in February, 1613. Two other early per- 
formances are recorded, in 1624 and 1634. The Win- 
ter's Tale was unsuited to Restoration taste, and 
Genest's earliest records of it are in January, 1741, 
at the theatre in Goodman's Fields, and in 1742 and 
1754 at Covent Garden. Florizel and Perdita, or 
The Sheep Shearing, by Morgan, was acted in the 
latter year; but it was soon superseded by David 
Garrick's dramatic pastoral, Florizel and Perdita 
(1756). In both of these performances the first 
three acts were lopped away; and in Garrick's ^ext 
even the remainder was much altered, Garrick aE 
the while protesting in his Prologue, 

" 'Tis my chief Wish, my Joy, my only Plan, 
To lose no Drop oi the immortal Man!" 

Like his other perversion of Shakespearean comedy 
made at the same time, Katherine and Petruchio, Gar- 
rick's Florizel and Perdita was highly praised, and 
held the stage till the end cf the century. A per- 
formance of it in New York in 1796 is recorded by 
Seilhamer. Dr. Warburton, the famous editor, 
praised Garrick at the time for having given "an 
elegant form to a monstrous composition." 

Shakespeare came to his own again in the splendid 
production by John Kemble and Mrs. Siddons, in 
1802, at Drury Lane. The impressive rendering of 
Leontes by this great tragedian was eclipsed by the 
magnificent performance of his sister as Hermione. 
The part, especially in the final scene, seemed per- 
fectly adapted to her classic and statuesque beauty. 
Samuel Phelps gave a successful production of the 
play in 1845-6; but this was surpassed by the classical 
revival in the spring of 1856 under Charles Kean, 
whose spectacular treatment endeavored to make the 
play truly antique. A Pyrrhic dance was introduced 
into Act I, and a Dionysia into Act IV. Bohemia 
was changed to Bithynia, following Hanmer's 
emendation; the Sicilian setting was localized at Syra- 
cuse; and Greek music, costume, and scenery, all ad- 
vertised as careful studies from the ancient, were 
everywhere lavished. As a specimen of the elaboration 
may be quoted the program account corresponding to 
Shakespeare's "Enter Time, the Chorus"; "A classical 
allegory representing the course of Time. Luna in 
her car, accompanied by the stars (personified) sink- 
ing before the approach of Phoebus. Cronos as Time 
surmounting the globe describes the events of the 
sixteen years supposed to have elapsed." 

Miss Helen Faucit (Lady Martin) made Hermione 
one of her most famous parts in 1847. It was 



871 



4 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



reserved for an American actress, however, to make 
the most striking innovation of recent years, the act- 
ing of Hermione and Perdita by the same person. 
In 1887, at the suggestion of Thomas Hall, and forti- 
fied by the approval of Lord Tennyson, Miss Mary 
Anderson essayed the double role, and the season 
proved a great success. Sir Johnston Forbes Robert- 
son acted Leontes. The parts were later repeated in 
America; and Miss Anderson made her farewell ap- 
pearance as Hermione in 1889. The double role has 
been adopted by other actresses, such as Miss Viola 
Allen. In 1899 a prosperous season took place at the 
Queen's Theatre, Manchester. Tree's production in 
1906, when Miss Ellen Terry acted Hermione, just 
half a century after her appearance as Mamillius in 
Kean's revival, was a notable success. Miss Mat- 
thison's Hermione, at the New Theatre in New York 
City in 1910, was one of the few triumphs of that ill- 
starred venture. Like the production in the same 
year at the Theatre Shakespeare in Paris, an attempt 
was made, not without profit, to reproduce, within 
the limits of the picture stage, the acting conditions 
of the Elizabethan theatre. 

DATE — Dr. Simon Forman, as has been said, noted 
the play in his Book of Plays under the date of 
May 15, 1611. The Winter's Tale comes last of the 
comedies in the First Folio, as The Tempest comes 
first. These, as the places of honor, would naturally 
be assigned to the comparatively new pieces. Sir 
Henry Herbert, Master of the Revels to James I, 
entered on August 19, 1623,— "For the King's Play- 



ers. An old play called winter's tale, formerly al- 
lowed of by Sir George Buc." This latter official 
in 1603 obtained a reversionary grant of the office 
of master of the Revels, and on occasion exercised 
its privileges. He did not, however, obtain the office 
till August, 1610, on the approaching demise of his 
predecessor. The probabilities in favor of a date 
for The Winter's Tale after his incumbency are 
therefore slightly greater than for the years 1603- 
1610. 

The servant reports of the satyr masquers (IV. 
iv. 345) that "one three of them, by their own re- 
port, sir, hath danced before the King." A dance 
of satyrs occurs in Jonson's Masque of Oberon, per- 
formed at court on New Year's, 1611; and it is not 
improbable that a relation is indicated by the serv- 
ant's remark. The tone and title of the play, it 
may be added, befit mid-winter. With these dates 
(August, 1610-May, 1611) the tests of style agree. 
The style is concise and heavily charged with thought; 
and the use of metrical license is remarkably free, 
weak endings and run-on lines being numerous. 

TEXT~The sole authority is that of the First 
Folio, which is here happily free from most of the 
corruptions and printers' errors common in other 
plays. In this The Winter's Tale resembles The 
Tempest, and probably for a like reason, that the 
texts are comparatively new, still unpublished, and 
popular on the stage. A few of the more important 
emendations are indicated in the Notes. 

M. 



872 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[Scene: Sicilia, and Bohemia.^ 



Four Lords of Sicilia, 



Leoi^^tes, king of Sicilia. 

Mamillius, young prince of Sicilia. 

Camillo, 

Aktigoxus, 

Cleomenes, 

Dion, 

PoLixE]srEs, king of Bohemia. 

Florizel, prince of Bohemia. 

Archidamus, a Lord of Bohemia. 

Old Shepherd, reputed father of Perdita, 

Clown, his son. 



NAMES OF THE ACTORS 

AuTOLYCus, a rogue. 

[A Mariner. 

A Gaoler.] 

Hermione, queen to Leontes. 

Perdita, daughter to Leontes and Hermione. 

Paulina, wife to Antigonus. 

Emilia, a lady [attending on Hermione]. 

[MOPSA, 1 



[Dorcas, J 



Shepherdesses. 



Other Lords and Gentlemen, [Ladies, Officers,] and 

Servants, Shepherds, and Shepherdesses. 

[Time, as Chorus.] 



ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [^Antechamber in Leontes' palace.] 
Enter Camillo and Archidamus. 

Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bo- 
hemia, on the like occasion whereon my ser- 
vices are now on foot, you shall see, as I have 
said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia 
and your Sicilia. 5 

Cam. I think, this coming summer, the King of 
Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation 
which he justly owes him. 

Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame 
us we will be justified in our loves; for in- 
deed 10 

Cam. Beseech you, — 

Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my 
knowledge: we cannot with such magnificence 
— in so rare — I know not what to say. We 
will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses. 



unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though 
they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. 17 

Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for what's 
given freely. 

Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding 
instructs me and as mine honesty puts it to 
utterance. 22 

Cam: Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to 
Bohemia. They were trained together in 
their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt 
them then such an affection, which cannot 
choose but branch now. Since their more ma- 
ture dignities and royal necessities made sepa- 
ration of their society, their encounters, though 
not personal, have been royally attorneyed 
with interchange of gifts, letters, loving em- 
bassies ; that they have seemed to be together, 
though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, 
and embraced, as it were, from the ends of 
opposed winds. The heavens continue their 
loves ! 35 

Arch. I think there is not in the world either 



873 



6 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act I. SC. I. 



malice or matter to alter it. You have an 
unspeakable comfort of your young prince 
Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest 
promise that ever came into my note. 40 

Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes 
of him. It is a gallant child; one that indeed 
physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh. 
They that went on crutches ere he was born 
desire yet their life to see him a man. 45 

Arch. Would they else be content to die? 

Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse why 
they should desire to live. 

Arch. If the king had no son, they would de- 
sire to live on crutches till he had one. 50 

Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [A room of state in the same.^ 

Enter Leontes, Hermione, Mamillius^ Polixenes, 
Camillo, [and Attendants], 

Pol. Nine changes of the watery star hath been 
The shepherd's note since we have left our 

throne 
Without a burthen. Time as long again 
Would be iill'd up, my brother, with our 

thanks ; 
And yet we should, for perpetuity, 5 

Go hence in debt. And therefore, like a 

cipher. 
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply 
With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe 
That go before it. 

Leon. Stay your thanks a while ; 

And pay them when you part. 

Pol. Sir, that's to-morrow. 10 

I am question'd by my fears, of what may 

chance 
Or breed upon our absence; that may blow 
No sneaping winds at home, to make us say 
'This is put forth too truly.' Besides, I have 

stay'd 
To tire your royalty. 

Leon. We are tougher, brother, 15 

Than you can put us to't. 

Pol. No longer stay. 

Leon. One seven-night longer. 

Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow, 

Leon. We'll part the time between's then; and 
in that 
I'll no gainsaying. 

Pol. Press me not, beseech you, so. 



There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' 

the world, 20 

So soon as yours could win me; so it should 

now. 
Were there necessity in your request, although 
'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs 
Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder 
Were in your love a whip to me; my stay 25 
To you a charge and trouble; to save both, 
Farewell, our brother. 
Leon. Tongue-tied our queen? speak you. 

Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace 
until 
You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. 

You, sir. 
Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are 
sure 30 

All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction 
The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to 

him. 
He's beat from his best ward. 
Leon. Well said, Hermione. 

Her. To tell, he longs to see his son, were 
strong. 
But let him say so then, and let him go ; 35 

But let him swear so, and he shall not stay. 
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. 
Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure 
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia 
You take my lord, I'll give him my commis- 
sion 40 
To let him there a month behind the gest 
Prefix'd for's parting. Yet, good deed, Leon- 
tes, 
I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind 
What lady she her lord. You'll stay? 
Pol. No, madam. 
Her. Nay, but you will? 

Pol. I may not, verily. 45 

Her. Verily ! 

You put me off with limber vows ; but I, 
Though you would seek to unsphere the stars 

with oaths. 
Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily, 
You shall not go ; a lady's 'Verily' 's 50 

As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? 
Force me to keep you as a prisoner, 
Not like a guest ; so you shall pay your fees 
When you depart, and save your thanks. How 

say you? 
My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread 
'Verily,' ss 



874 



ACT I. SC. II.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



One of them you shall be. 
Pol. Your guest^ then^ madam : 

To be your prisoner should import offending; 

Which is for me less easy to commit 

Than you to punish. 
Her. Not your gaoler, then, 

But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question 
you 60 

Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were 
boys: 

You were pretty lordings then? 
Pol. We were, fair queen. 

Two lads that thought there was no more be- 
hind 

But such a day to-morrow as to-day. 

And to be boy eternal. 
Her. Was not my lord 65 

The verier wag o' the two? 
Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' 
the sun. 

And bleat the one at the other. What we 
chang'd 

Was innocence for innocence; we knew not 

The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd 70 

That any did. Had we pursu'd that life. 

And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd 

With stronger blood, we should have answer'd 
heaven 

Boldly 'not guilty,' the imposition clear'd 

Hereditary ours. 
Her. By this we gather 75 

You have tripp'd since. 
Pol. O my most sacred lady ! 

Temptations have since then been born to's; 
for 

In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl; 

Your precious self had then not cross'd the 
eyes 

Of my young play-fellow. 
Her. Grace to boot ! 80 

Of this make no conclusion, lest you say 

Your queen and I are devils. Yet go on; 

The offences we have made you do we'll an- 
swer. 

If you first sinn'd with us and that with us 

You did continue fault and that you slipp'd 
not 8s 

With any but with us. 
Leon. Is he won yet? 

Her. He'll stay, my lord. 
Leon. At my request he would not. 

Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest 



To better purpose. 
Her. Never ? 

Leon. Never, but once. 

Her. What! have I twice said well? when was't 

before ? 90 

I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and 

make's 
As fat as tame things. One good deed dying 

tongueless 
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. 
Our praises are our wages; you may ride's 
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere 95 
With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal ! 
My last good deed was to entreat his stay. 
What was my first ? it has an elder sister. 
Or I mistake you; O, would her name were 

Grace ! 
But once before I spoke to the purpose. 

When ? 100 

Nay, let me have't; I long. 
Leon. Why, that was when 

Three crabl)cd months had sour'd themselves 

to death, , 
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand 
And clap thyself my love; then didst thou 

utter 
'I am yours for ever.' 
Her. 'Tis grace indeed. 105 

Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose 

twice. 
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; 
The other for some while a friend. 
Leon. [Aside] Too hot, too hot! 

To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. 
I have tremor cordis on me. My heart 

dances ; no 

But not for joy; not joy. This entertainment 
May a free face put on, derive a liberty 
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom. 
And well become the agent ; 't may, I grant ; 
But to be paddling palms and pinching fin- 
gers, 115 
As now they are, and making practis'd smiles,- 
As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as 

'twere 
The mort o' the deer ! O, that is entertain- 
ment 
My bosom likes not, nor my brows. Mamil- 

lius. 
Art thou my boy? 
Mam. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. I' fecks! 120 



875 



8 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act I. SC. II. 



Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast 

smutch'd thy nose ? 
They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, 

captain. 
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, cap- 
tain. 
And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf 
Are all call'd neat. — Still virginalling 125 

Upon his palm ! — How now, you wanton calf ! 
Art thou my calf ? 

Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. 

Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots 
that I have. 
To be full like me : yet they say we are 
Almost as like as eggs ; women say so, 130 

That will say anything. But were they false 
As o'er-dy'd blacks, as wind, as waters, false 
As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes 
No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true 
To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page. 
Look on me with your welkin eye. Sweet vil- 
lain ! 136 
Most dear'st ! my collop ! Can thy dam ? — 

may't be ? — 
Affection ! thy intention stabs the centre. 
Thou dost make possible things not so held, 
Communicatest with dreams; — how can this 
be } 140 

With what's unreal thou coactive art, 
And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent 
Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou 

dost. 
And that beyond commission, and I find it. 
And that to the infection of my brains 145 

And hardening of my brows. 

Pol. What means Sicilia ? 

Her. He something seems unsettled. 

Pol. How, my lord ! 

Leon. What cheer? how is't with you, best 
brother ? 

Her. • You look 

As if you held a brow of much distraction. 
Are you moved, my lord? 

Leon. No, in good earnest. 150 

How sometimes nature will betray its folly, 
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines 
Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil 
Twenty-three years, and saw myself un- 
breech'd, 155 

In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled, 
Lest it should bite its master, and so prove. 



As ornaments oft does, too dangerous: 

How like, methought, I then was to this ker- 
nel. 

This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest 
friend, 160 

Will you take eggs for money ? 
Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight. 
Leon. You will ! why, happy man he's dole ! My 
brother. 

Are you so fond of your young prince as we 

Do seem to be of ours? 
Pol, If at home, sir, 163 

He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter, 

Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy. 

My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all. 

He makes a July's day short as December, 

And with his varying childness cures in me 170 

Thoughts that would thick my blood. 
Leon. So stands this squire 

Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord. 

And leave you to your graver steps. Hermi- 
one. 

How thou lovest us, show in our brother's wel- 
come; 

Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap. 175 

Next to thyself and my young rover, he's 

Apparent to my heart. 
Her, If you would seek us. 

We are yours i' the garden; shall's attend you 
there ? 
Leon. To your own bents dispose you; you'll 
be found. 

Be you beneath the sky. [Aside'] I am an- 
gling now, 180 

Though you perceive me not how I give line. 

Go to, go to! 

How she holds up the neb, the bill to him ! 

And arms her with the boldness of a wife 

To her allowing husband ! 

[Exeunt PolixeneSy Hermione, and 

Attendants.] 

Gone already! 185 

Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a 
f ork'd one ! 

Go, play, boy, play ; thy mother plays, and I 

Play too, but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue 

Will hiss me to my grave. Contempt and 
clamour 

Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. 
There have been, 190 

Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now; 

And many a man there is, even at this present. 



876 



ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



9 



Now while I speak this^ holds his wife by the 

arm, 
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's ab- 
sence 
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by 
Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's com- 
fort in 't 196 
Whiles other men have gates and those gates 

open'd. 
As mine, against their will. Should all 

despair 
That have revolted wives, the tenth of man- 
kind 
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is 
none ; 200 

It is a bawdy planet, that will strike 
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, 

think it. 
From east, west, north and south. Be it con- 
cluded. 
No barricade for a belly; know't; 
It will let in and out the enemy 205 

With bag and baggage. Many thousand on's 
Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, 
boy! 
Mam. I am like you, they say. 
Leon. Why, that's some comfort. 

What, Camillo there? 
Cam. Ay, my good lord. 210 

Leon. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest 
man. [Exit Mamillius.'] 

Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. 
Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor 
hold. 
When you cast out, it still came home. 
Leon. Didst note it ? 

Cam. He would not stay at your petitions; 
made 215 

His business more material. 
Leon. Didst perceive it? 

\^Aside'] They're here with me already, whis- 
pering, rounding 
*Sicilia is a so-f orth ;' *tis far gone, 
When I shall gust it last. How came't, Ca- 
millo, 
That he did stay? 
Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. 220 

Leon. At the queen's be't ; 'good' should be perti- 
nent; 
But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken 
By any understanding pate but thine? 
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in 



More than the common blocks; not noted, is't. 
But of the finer natures ? by some severals 226 
Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes 
Perchance are to this business purblind? say. 

Cam. Business, my lord ! I think most under- 
stand 
Bohemia stays here longer. 

Leon. Ha ! 

Cam. Stays here longer. 

Leon. Ay, but why? 231 

Cam. To satisfy your highness and the entrea- 
ties 
Of our most gracious mistress. 

Leon. Satisfy ! 

The entreaties of your mistress ! satisfy ! 
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, 
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well 
My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, 

thou 2Z7 

Hast cleans'd my bosom, I from thee departed 
Thy penitent ref orm'd ; but we have been 
Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd 240 

In that which seems so. 

Cam. Be it forbid, my lord ! 

Leon. To bide upon't, thou art not honest, or. 
If thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward, 
Which boxes honesty behind, restraining 
From course requir'd; or else thou must be 
counted 245 

A servant grafted in my serious trust 
And therein negligent ; or else a fool 
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake 

drawn. 
And takest it all for j est. 

Cam. My gracious lord, 

I may be negligent, foolish and fearful; 250 
In every one of these no man is free. 
But that his negligence, his folly, fear. 
Among the infinite doings of the world. 
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my 

lord. 
If ever I were wilful-negligent, 255 

It was my folly ; if industriously 
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence. 
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful 
To do a thing, v^here I the issue doubted. 
Whereof the execution did cry out 260 

Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear 
Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord, 
*Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty 
Is never free of. But, beseech your grace, 
Be plainer with me ; let me know my trespass 



877 



10 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act I. SC. II. 



By its own visage. If I then deny it, 266 

'Tis none of mine. 
Leon. Ha' not you seen, Camillo, — 

But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye- 
glass 
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn, — or heard, — 
For to a vision so apparent rumour 270 

Cannot be mute, — or thought, — for cogitation 
Resides not in that man that does not think, — 
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess. 
Or else be impudently negative. 
To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then 
say 275 

My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name 
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to 
Before her troth-plight. Say't and justify't. 
Cam. I would not be a stander-by to hear 

My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 280 
My present vengeance taken. "Shrew my 

heart. 
You never spoke what did become you less 
Than this ; which to reiterate were sin 
As deep as that, though true. 
Leon. Is whispering nothing? 

Is leaning cheek to cheek ? is meeting noses ? 285 
Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the career 
Of laughter with a sigh.^ — a note infallible 
Of breaiking honesty — horsing foot on foot? 
Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more 

swift ? 
Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eyes 
Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs 
only, 291 

That would unseen be wicked ? is this nothing ? 
Why, then the world and all that's in't is 

nothing; 
The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia noth- 
ing; 
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these 
nothings, 295 

If this be nothing. , 

Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd 

Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes; 
For 'tis most dang:erous. 
Leon. Say it be, 'tis true. 

Cam. No, no, my lord. 

Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie ! 

I say thou liest, Camillo, and L hate thee, 300 
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave. 
Or else a hovering temporizer, that * 

Canst with thine eyes at once see good and 
evil. 



Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver 

Infected as her life, she would not live 305 

The running of one glass. 

Cam. Who does infect her? 

Leon. Why, he that wears her like her medal, 

hanging 
About his neck, Bohemia ! who, if I 
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes 
To see alike mine honour as their profits, 310 
Their own particular thrifts, they would do 

that 
Which should undo more doing. Ay, and 

thou. 
His cupbearer, — whom I from meaner form 
Have bench'd and rear'd to worship, who 

mayst see 
Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees 

heaven, 315 

How I am galled, — mightst bespice a cup. 
To give mine enemy a lasting wink ; 
Which draught to me were cordial. 
Cam. Sir, my lord, 

I could do this, and that with no rash potion, 
But with a lingering dram that should not 

work 320 

Maliciously like poison: but I cannot 
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress. 
So sovereignly being honourable. 
I have lov'd thee, — 
Leon. Make that thy question, and go rot! 

Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, 325 
To appoint myself in this vexation, sully 
The purity and whiteness of my sheets. 
Which to preserve is sleep, which being 

spotted 
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps. 
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son, 
Who I do think is mine and love as mine, 331 
Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this? 
Could man so blench ? 
Cam. I must believe you, sir. 

I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't; 
Provided that, when he's remov'd, your high- 
ness 335 
Will take again your queen as yours at first. 
Even for your son's sake; and thereby for 

sealing 
The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms 
Known and allied to yours. 
Leon. Thou dost advise me 

Even so as I mine own course have set down: 
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. 341 



878 



ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



11 



Cam. My lord. 

Go then ; and with a countenance as clear 
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bo- 
hemia 
And with your queen. I am his cupbearer ; 345 
If from me he have wholesome beverage, 
Account me not your servant. 

Leon. This is all. 

Do't and thou hast the one half of my heart; 
Do't not, thou split'st thine o^\n. 

Cam. I'll do't, my lord. 

Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd 
me. Exit. 350 

Cam. O miserable lady ! But, for me. 

What case stand I in ? I must be the poisoner 
Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't 
Is the obedience to a master, one 
Who in rebellion with himself will have 355 
All that are his so too. To do this deed. 
Promotion follows. If I could find example 
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings 
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since 
Xor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not 
one, 360 

Let villany itself forswear't. I must 
Forsake the court ; to do't, or no, is certain 
To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now ! 
Here comes Bohemia. 

Enter Polixenes. 

Pol. This is strange ; methinks 

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? 
Good day, Camillo. 

Cam. Hail, most royal sir ! 366 

Pol. What is the news 1' the court? 

Cam. None rare, my lord. 

Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance 
As he had lost some province and a region 
Lov'd as he loves himself. Even now I met 
him 370 

With customary compliment; when he. 
Wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling 
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me and 
So leaves me to consider what is breeding 
That changeth thus his manners. 375 

Cam. I dare not know, my lord. 

Pol. How! dare not? do not? Do you know, 
and dare not? 
Be intelligent to me; 'tis thereabouts: 
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must. 
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 

87 



Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror 
Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must 
be 382 

A party in this alteration, finding 
Myself thus alter'd with't. 

Cam. There is a sickness 

Which puts some of us in distemper, but 385 
I cannot name the disease; and it is caught 
Of you that yet are well. 

Pol. How ! caught of me ! 

Make me not sighted like the basilisk. 
I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the 

better 
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo, — 
As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto 391 
Clerk-like experienc'd, which no less adorns 
Our gentry than our parents' noble names. 
In whose success we are gentle, — I beseech 

you, 
If you know aught which does behove my 
knowledge 395 

Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not 
In ignorant concealment. 

Cam. I may not answer. 

Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well? 
I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo ? 
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man 400 

Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the 

least 
Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare 
What incidency thou dost guess of harm 
Is creeping toward me ; how far off, how near ; 
Which way to be prevented, if to be ; 405 

If not, how best to bear it. 

Cam. Sir, I will tell you. 

Since I am charg'd in honour and by him 
That I think honourable; therefore mark my 

counsel. 
Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as 
I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me 410 
Cry lost, and so good night! 

Pol. On, good Camillo. 

Cam. I am appointed him to murder you. 

Pol. By whom, Camillo ? 

Cam. By the king. 

Pol. ' For what? 

Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he 
swears. 
As he had seen't or been an instrument 415 
To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his 

queen 
Forbiddenly. 

9 



12 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act I. SC. II. 



Pol. O, then my best blood turn 

To an infected j elly and my name 
Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best ! 
Turn then my freshest reputation to 420 

A savour that may strike the dullest nostril 
Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd. 
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infec- 
tion 
That e'er was heard or read ! 

Cam. Swear his thought over 

By each particular star in heaven and 425 

By all their influences, you may as well 
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon 
As or by oath remove or counsel shake 
The fabric of his folly, whose foundation 
Is pil'd upon his faith and will continue 430 
The standing of his body. 

Pol. How should this grow ? 

Cam. I know not; but I am sure 'tis safer to 
Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis 

born. 
If therefore you dare trust ray honesty. 
That lies enclosed in this trunk which you 435 
Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night ! 
Your followers I will whisper to the busi- 
ness. 
And will by twos and threes at several pos- 
terns 
Clear them o' the city. For myself, I'll put 
My fortunes to your service, which are here 440 
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain; 
For, by the honour of my parents, I 
Have utter'd truth ; which if you seek to prove, 
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer 
Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, 
thereon 445 

His execution sworn. 

Pol. I do believe thee. 

I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand. 

Be pilot to me and thy places shall 

Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready 

and 
My people did expect my hence departure 450 
Two days ago. This jealousy 
Is for a precious creature. As she's rare. 
Must it be great, and as his person's mighty. 
Must it be violent, and as he does conceive 
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever 455 

Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades 



Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 



The gracious queen, part of his theme, but 

nothing 
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo; 460 
I will respect thee as a father if 
Thou bear'st my life off hence; let us avoid. 
Cam. It is in mine authority to command 

The keys of all the posterns ; please your high- 
ness 
To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. 465 

Exeunt. 



ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — \_A room in Leontes* palace.'] 
Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies. 

Her. Take the boy to you; he so troubles me, 

'Tis past enduring. 
First Lady. Come, my gracious lord. 

Shall I be your playfellow ? 
Mam. No, I'll none of you. 

First Lady. Why, my sweet lord ? 
Mam. You'll kiss me hard and speak to me as if 

I were a baby still. I love you better. 6 

Sec. Lady. And why so, my lord? 
Mam. Not for because 

Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they 
say. 

Become some women best, so that there be not 

Too much hair there, but in a semicircle, 10 

Or a half-moon made with a pen. 
Sec. Lady. Who taught this ? 

Mam. I learnt it out of women's faces. Pray 
now 

What colour are your eyebrows ? 
First Lady. Blue, my lord. 

Mam. Nay, that's a mock; I have seen a lady's 
nose 

That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. 
First Lady. Hark ye; 

The queen your mother rounds apace ; we shall 

Present our services to a fine new prince 17 

One of these days; and then you'd wanton 
with us. 

If we would have you. 
Sec. Lady. She is spread of late 

Into a goodly bulk; good time encounter her! 

Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come^ 

sir, now 21 

I am for you again. Pray you, sit by us. 

And tell's a tale. 



880 



ACT II. SC. 



I.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



13 



Mam. Merry or sad shall 't be ? 

Her. As merry as you will. 

Mam. A sad tale's best for winter; I have one 25 

Of sprites and goblins. 
Her. Let's have that, good sir. 

Come on, sit down; come on, and do your best 

To fright me with your sprites ; you're power- 
ful at it. 
Mam. There was a man — 

Her. Nay, come, sit down ; then on. 

Mam. Dwelt by a churchyard — I will tell it 

softly ; 30 

Yond crickets shall not hear it. 
Her. Come on, then. 

And give't me in mine ear. 

[Enter Leontes, with Antigonus, Lords, and 
others.^ 

Leon. Was he met there .^ his train? Camillo 

with him.f* 
First Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; 

never 34 

Saw I men scour so on their way: I eyed 
Them even to their ships. 
Leon. How blest am I 

In my just censure, in my true opinion ! 
Alack, for lesser knowledge ! how accurs'd 
In being so blest ! There may be in the cup 
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart, 
And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge 
Is not infected; but if one present 42 

The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make 

known 
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his 

sides. 
With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen 

the spider. 45 

Camillo was his help in this, his pandar ! 
There is a plot against my life, my crown ; 
All's true that is mistrusted; that false villain 
Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him. 
He has discover'd my design, and I 50 

Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick 
For them to play at will. How came the pos- 
terns 
So easily open ? 
First Lord. By his great authority; 

Which often hath no less prevail'd than so 
On your command. 
Leon. I know't too well. 55 

Give me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse 

him. 



Though he does bear some signs of me, yet 

you 
Have too much blood in him. 

Her. What is this .^ sport ? 

Leon. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come 
about her; 
Away with him ! and let her sport herself 60 
With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes 
Has made thee swell thus. 

Her. But I'd say he had not. 

And I'll be sworn you would believe my say- 
ing, 
Howe'er you lean to the nayward. 

Leon. You, my lords. 

Look on her, mark her well; be but about 65 
To say 'she is a goodly lady,' and 
The justice of your hearts will thereto add 
' 'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable.' 
Praise her but for this her without-door form. 
Which on my faith deserves high speech, and 
straight 70 

The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands 
That calumny doth use — O, I am out — 
That mercy does, for calumny will sear 
Virtue itself; these shrugs, these hums and 

ha's. 
When you have said 'she's goodly,' come be- 
tween 75 
Ere you can say 'she's honest;' but be't known. 
From him that has most cause to grieve it 

should be. 
She's an adulteress. 

Her. Should a villain say so. 

The most replenish'd villain in the world. 
He were as much more villain. You, my lord. 
Do but mistake. 

Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 

Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing! 82 

Which I'll not call a creature of thy place. 
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent. 
Should a like language use to all degrees 85 
And mannerly distinguishment leave out 
Betwixt the prince and beggar : I have said 
She's an adulteress ; I have said with whom. 
More, she's a traitor, and Camillo is 
A fedary with her, and one that knows 90 
What she should shame to know herself 
But with her most vile principal, that she's 
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those 
That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy 
To this their late escape. 

Her, No^ by my life, 95 



881 



14 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act II. SC. I. 



Privy to none of this. How will this grieve 

you. 
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, 

that 
You thus have publish'd me ! Gentle my lord, 
You scarce can right me throughly then to 

say 
You did mistake. 
Leon, No ; if I mistake loo 

In those foundations which I build upon. 
The centre is not big enough to bear 
A school-boy's top. Away with her! to 



prison 



He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty 
But that he speaks. 
Her. There's some ill planet reigns. 

I must be patient till the heavens look io6 

With an aspect more favourable. Good my 

lords, 
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex 
Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew 
Perchance shall dry your pities. But I have 
That honourable grief lodg'd here which burns 
Worse than tears drown: beseech you all, my 
lords, 112 

With thoughts so qualified as your charities 
Shall best instruct you, measure me ; and so 
The king's will be perform'd ! 
Leon. Shall I be heard .^ 

Her. Who is't that goes with me? Beseech 
your highness, ii6 

My women may be with me ; for you see 
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good 

fools ; 
There is no cause. When you shall know 

your mistress 
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears 120 
As I come out. This action I now go on 
Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord. 
I never wish'd to see you sorry ; now 
I trust I shall. My women, come; you have 
leave. 
Leon. Go, do our bidding ; hence ! 125 

[Exit Queen, guarded; with Ladies.^ 
First Lord. Beseech your highness, call the 

queen again. 
Ant. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your jus- 
tice 
Prove violence; in the which three great ones 

suffer. 
Yourself, your queen, your son. 
First Lord. For her, my lord. 



I dare my life lay down and will do't, sir, 130 

Please you to accept it, that the queen is spot- 
less 

I' the eyes of heaven and to you; I mean, 

In this which you accuse her. 
Ant. If it prove 

She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where 

I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her; 

Than when I feel and see her no farther trust 
her ; 136 

For every inch of woman in the world. 

Ay, every dram of woman's fiesh is false. 

If she be. 
Leon. Hold your peaces. 

First Lord. Good my lord, — 

Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves; 140 

You are abus'd and by some putter-on 

That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the 
villain, 

I would land-damn him. Be she honour- 
flaw'd, 

I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven; 

The second and the third, nine, and some five; 

If this prove true, they'll pay for't: by mine 
honour, 146 

I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see. 

To bring false generations. They are co- 
heirs ; 

And I had rather glib myself than they 

Should not produce fair issue. 
Leon. Cease; no more. 150 

You smell this business with a sense as cold 

As is a dead man's nose. But I do see't and 
feel't. 

As you feel doing thus ; and see withal 

The instruments that feel. 
Ant. If it be so, 

We need no grave to bury honesty. 155 

There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten 

Of the whole dungy earth. 
Leon. What! lack I credit? 

First Lord. I had rather you did lack than I, my 
lord. 

Upon this ground; and more it would content 
me 

To have her honour true than your suspicion. 

Be blam'd for't how you might. 
Leon. Why, what need we 161 

Commune with you of this, but rather follow 

Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative 

Calls not your counsels, but our natural good- 
ness 



882 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



THE WINTER^S TALE 



15 



Imparts this; which if you, or stupified 165 
Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not 
Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves 
We need no more of your advice. The mat:- 

ter. 
The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all 
Properly ours. 

Ant. And I wish, my liege, 170 

You had only in your silent judgment tried it, 
Without more overture. 

Leon. How could that be ? 

Either thou art most ignorant by age. 
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight. 
Added to their familiarity, 175 

Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, 
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation 
But only seeing, all other circumstances 
Made up to the deed, doth push on this pro- 
• ceeding. 
• Yet, for a greater confirmation, 180 

For in an act of this importance 'twere 
Most piteous to be wild, I have despatch'd in 

post 
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 
Of stufF'd sufficiency. Now from the oracle 
They will bring all, whose spiritual counsel 
had, 186 

Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well.^ 

First Lord. Well done, my lord. 

Leon. Though I am satisfied and need no more 
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 190 

Give rest to the minds of others, such as he 
Whose ignorant credulity will not 
Come up to the truth. So have we thought it 

good 
From our free person she should be confln'd. 
Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence 
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; 196 
We are to speak in public ; for this business 
Will raise us all. 

Ant. [Aside^ To laughter, as I take it, 

If the good truth were known. Exeunt. 

Scene II. — \_A prison."] 

Enter Paulina, a Gentleman, [and Attendants]. 

Paul. The keeper of the prison, call to him; 
Let him have knowledge who I am. 

[Exit Gent.] 
Good lady, 



No court in Europe is too good for thee; 
What dost thou then in prison } 

[Re-enter Gentleman, with the Gaoler.] 

Now, good sir. 

You know me, do you not ? 
Gaol. For a worthy lady 

And one whom much I honour. 
Paul. Pray you then. 

Conduct me to the queen. 
Gaol. I may not, madam. 

To the contrary I have express commandment. 
Paul. Here's ado. 

To lock up honesty and honour from 10 

The access of gentle visitors ! Is't lawful, 
pray you. 

To see her women? any of them? Emilia? 
Gaol. So please you, madam. 

To put apart these your attendants, I 

Shall bring Emilia forth. 
Paul. I pray now, call her. 15 

Withdraw yourselves. 

[Exeunt Gentleman and Attendants.] 
Gaol. And, madam, 

I must be present at your conference. 
Paul. Well, be't so, prithee. [Exit Gaoler.] 

Here's such ado to make no stain a stain 

As passes colouring. 

[Re-enter Gaoler, with Emilia.] 

Dear gentlewoman, 20 
How fares our gracious lady ? 

Emil. As well as one so great and so forlorn 
May hold together ; on her frights and griefs, 
Which never tender lady hath borne greater. 
She is something before her time deliver'd. 25 

Paul. A boy ? 

Emil. A daughter, and a goodly babe. 

Lusty and like to live; the queen receives 
Much comfort in't, says *My poor prisoner, 
I am innocent as you.' 

Paul. I dare be sworn: 

These dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king, be- 
shrew them ! 30 

He must be told on't, and he shall: the office 
Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me. 
If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blis- 
ter 
And never to my red-look'd anger be 
The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, 35 



883 



16 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act 



II. SC. II. 



Commend my best obedience to the queen. 
If she dares trust me with her little babe, 
I'll show't the king and undertake to be 
Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know 
How he may soften at the sight o' the child ; 40 
The silence often of pure innocence 
Persuades when speaking fails. 

Emit. Most worthy madam^, 

Your honour and your goodness is so evident 
That your free undertaking cannot miss 
A thriving issue. There is no lady living 45 
So meet for this great errand. Please your 

ladyship 
To visit the next room, I'll presently 
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer; 
Who but to-day hammer'd of this design, 
But durst not tempt a minister of honour, 50 
Lest she should be denied. 

Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 

I'll use that tongue I have. If wit flow from't 
As boldness from my bosom, let't not be 

doubted 
I shall do good. 

Emil. Now be you blest for it ! 

I'll to the queen; please you, come something 
nearer. ss 

Gaol. Madam, if't please the queen to send the 
babe, 
I know not what I shall incur to pass it. 
Having no warrant. 

Paul. You need not fear it, sir: 

This child was prisoner to the womb and is 
By law and process of great nature thence 60 
Freed and enfranchis'd, not a party to 
The anger of the king nor guilty of. 
If any be, the trespass of the queen. 

Gaol. I do believe it. 

Paul. Do not you fear ; upon mine honour, I 
Will stand betwixt you and danger. Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [A room in Leontes' palace.'] 

Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and Servants. 

Leon. Nor night nor day no rest ! it is but weak- 
ness 
To bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If 
The cause were not in being, — part o' the 

cause. 
She the adulteress ; for the harlot king 
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank 5 



And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she 
1 can hook to me ; say that she were gone. 
Given to the fire; a moiety of my rest 
Might come to me again. Who's there? 

First Serv. My lord? 

Leon. Plow does the boy$ 

First Serv. lie took good rest to-night; 10 

'Tis hop'd his sickness is discharg'd. 

Leon. To see his nobleness ! 

Conceiving the dishonour of his mother. 
He straight declined, drooped, took it deeply, 
Pasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself, 15 
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep. 
And downright languish'd. Leave me solely; 

go. 
See how he fares. [^Exit Serv.] Fie, fie! no 

thought of him: 
The very thought of my revenges that way 
Recoil upon me; in himself too mighty, 20 

And in his parties, his alliance. Let him be • 
Until a time may serve : for present vengeance. 
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 
Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sor- 
row. 
They should not laugh if I could reach them, 
nor 25 

Shall she v/ithin my power. 

Enter Paulina, [with a child]. 

[First] Lord. You must not enter. 

Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to 
me. 
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas. 
Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent 

soul. 
More free than he is jealous. 

Ant. That's enough. 30 

[/Sec] Serv. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; 
commanded 
None should come at him. 

Paul. Not so hot, good sir; 

I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you. 
That creep like shadows by him and do sigh 
At each his needless heavings, such as you 35 
Nourish the cause of his awaking. I 
Do come with words as medicinal as true. 
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour 
That presses him from sleep. 

Leon. What noise there, ho ? 

Paul. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference 
About some gossips for your highness. 



884 



ACT II. SC. 



m.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



17 



Leon. How ! 

Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus, 

I charg'd thee that she should not come about 
me : 43 

I knew she would. 
Ant. I told her so, my lord, 

On your displeasure's peril and on mine, 45 

She should not visit you. 
Leon. What, canst not rule her ? 

Paul. From all dishonesty he can. In this. 

Unless he take the course that you have done, 

Commit me for committing honour, trust it, 

He shall not rule me. 
Ant. La you now, you hear. 50 

When she will take the rein I let her run ; 

But she'll not stumble. 
Paul. Good my liege, I come ; 

And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess 

Myself your loyal servant, your physician. 

Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dares 

Less appear so in comforting your evils, 56 

Than such as most seem yours. I say, 1 come 

From your good queen. 
Leon. Good queen ! 

PauL Good queen, my lord, 

Good queen; I say good queen; 

And would by combat make her good, so 
were I 60 

A man, the worst about you. 
Leon. Force her hence. 

PauL Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes 

First hand me. On mine own accord I'll 
ofF; 

But first I'll do my errand. The good queen, 

For she is good, hath brought you forth a 
daughter ; 65 

Here 'tis ; commends it to your blessing. 

[Laying down the child.'] 
Leon. Out ! 

A mankind witch ! Hence with her, out o' 
door! 

A most intelligencing bawd ! 
Paul. Not so; 

I am as ignorant in that as you 

In so entitling me, and no less honest 70 

Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll war- 
rant. 

As this world goes, to pass for honest. 
Leon. Traitors ! 

Will you not push her out ? Give her the bas- 
tard, 

Thou dotard ! thou art woman-tir'd, unroosted 



By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bas- 
tard ; 75 

Take't up, I say ; give't to thy crone. 
Paul. For ever 

Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou 

Takest up the princess by that forced baseness 

Which he has put upon't ! 
Leon. He dreads his wife. 

Paul. So I would you did; then 'twere past all 
doubt 80 

You'd call your children yours. 
Leon. A nest of traitors ! 

Ant. I am none, by this good light. 
Paul. Nor I, nor any 

But one that's here, and that's himself, for he 

The sacred honour of himself, his queen's, 

His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slan- 
der, 85 

Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and 
will not — • 

For, as the case now stands, it is a curse 

He cannot be compell'd to't — once remove 

The root of his opinion, which is rotten 

As ever oak or stone was sound. 
Leon. A callet 90 

Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her 
husband 

And now baits me ! This brat is none of 
mine ; 

It is the issue of Polixenes: 

Hence with it, and together with the dam 

Commit them to the fire ! 
Paul. It is yours; 95 

And, might we lay the old proverb to your 
charge. 

So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords. 

Although the print be little, the whole matter 

And copy of the father; eye, nose, lip. 

The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the 
valley, 100 

The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek. 

His smiles. 

The very mould and frame of hand, nail, fin- 
ger: 

And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast 
made it 

So like to him that got it, if thou hast 105 

The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all 
colours 

No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does, 

Her children not her husband's ! 
Leon. A gross hag! 



885 



18 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act II. SC. III. 



And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd. 

That wilt not stay her tongue. 
Ant. Hang all the husbands no 

That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself 

Hardly one subject. 
Leon. Once more, take her hence. 

Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord 

Can do no more. 
Leon. I'll ha' thee burnt. 

Paul. I care not ; 

It is an heretic that makes the fire, 115 

Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you 
tyrant ; 

But this most cruel usage of your queen. 

Not able to produce more accusation 

Than your own weak-hing'd fancy, something 
savours 

Of tyranny and will ignoble make you, 120 

Yea, scandalous to the world. 
Leon. On your allegiance, 

Out of the chamber with her ! Were I a 
tyrant, 

Where were her life? she durst not call me so^ 

If she did know me one. Away with her ! 
Paul. I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone. 

Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours. Jove 
send her 126 

A better guiding spirit! What needs these 
hands ? 

You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies. 

Will never do him good, not one of you. 

So, so ! farewell ; we are gone. Exit. 130 

Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. 

My child ? away with't ! Even thou, that hast 

A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence 

And see it instantly consum'd with fire; 

Even thou and none but thou. Take it up 
straight : 135 

Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, 

And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life. 

With what thou else call'st thine. If thou re- 
fuse 

And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; 

The bastard brains with these my proper 
hands 

Shall I dasti out. Go, take it to the fire ; 140 

For thou set'st on thy wife. 
Ant. I did not, sir: 

These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, 

Can clear me in't. 
Lords. We can ; my royal liege. 

He is not guilty of her coming hither. 145 



Leon. You're liars all. 

[Firsf] Lord. Beseech your highness, give us 

better credit: 
We have always truly serv'd you, and beseech 

you 
So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg. 
As recompense of our dear services 150 

Past and to come, that you do change this pur- 
pose. 
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must 
Lead on to some foul issue ; we all kneel. 
Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows : 
Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel 155 
And call me father.^ better burn it now 
Than curse it then. But be it; let it live. 
It shall not neither. You, sir, come you 

hither ; 
You that have been so tenderly officious 
With Lady Margery, your midwife there, 160 
To save this bastard's life, — for 'tis a bastard. 
So sure as this beard's grey, — what will you 

adventure 
To save this brat's life.^ 
Ant. Anything, my lord^ 

That my ability may undergo 
And nobleness impose ; at least thus much : 165 
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left 
To save the innocent; any thing possible. 
Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword 

Thou wilt perform my bidding. 
Ant. I will, ray lord. 

Leon. Mark and perform it, see'st thou? for the 

fail 170 

Of any point in't shall not only be 
Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife, 
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin 

thee. 
As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry 
This female bastard hence and that thou bear 

it 175 

To some remote and desert place quite out 
Of our dominions, and that there thou leave 

it, 
Without more mercy, to it own protection 
And favour of the climate. As by strange 

fortune 
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, 180 
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture. 
That thou commend it strangely to some place 
Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it 

up. 
Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death 



886 



ACT 



III.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



19 



Had been more merciful. Come on^ poor 

babe : 185 

Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and 

ravens 
To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they 

say, 
Casting their savageness aside, have done 
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous 
In more than this deed does require! And 

blessing 190 

Against this cruelty fight on thy side. 
Poor thing, condemned to loss ! 

Exit [with the child']. 
Leon. No, I'll not rear 

Another's issue. 

Enter a Servant, 

Serv. Please your highness, posts 

From those you sent to the oracle are come 
An hour since; Cleomenes and Dion, 195 

Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both 

landed. 
Hasting to the court. 

[First] Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 
Hath been beyond account. 

Leon. Twenty-three days 

They have been absent; 'tis good speed; fore- 
tells 
The great Apollo suddenly will have 200 

The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords. 
Summon a session, that we may arraign 
Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath 
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have 
A just and open trial. While she lives 205 
My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me. 
And think upon my bidding. Exeunt. 



ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — [A sea-port in Sicilia.] 
Enter Cleomenes and Dion. 

Cleo. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, 
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing 
The common praise it bears. 

Dion. I shall report. 

For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
Methinks I so should term them, and the rev- 
erence 



Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! 

How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly 

It was i' the off'ering! 
Cleo. But of all, the burst 

And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle. 

Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense, 10 

That I was nothing. 
Dion. If the event o' the journey 

Prove as successful to the queen, — O be't 
so! — 

As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, 

The time is worth the use on't. 
Cleo. Great Apollo 

Turn all to the best ! These proclamations, 15 

So forcing faults upon Hermione, 

I little like. 
Dion. The violent carriage of it 

Will clear or end the business; when the 
oracle. 

Thus by Apollo's great 'divine seal'd up. 

Shall the contents discover, somefe'hing rare 20 

Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh 
horses ! 

And gracious be the issue ! Exeunt. 

Scene II. — [A court of Justice.] 
Enter Leontes, Lords, [and] Officers. 

Leon. This sessions, to our great grief we pro- 
nounce. 
Even pushes 'gainst our heart; the party tried 
The daughter of a king, our wife, and one 
Of us too much belov'd. Let us be clear'd 
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly 5 
Proceed in justice, which shall have due 

course. 
Even to the guilt or the purgation. 
Produce the prisoner. 

Off. It is his highness' pleasure that the queen 
Appear in person here in court. Silence ! 10 

[Enter Hermione guarded; Paulina and Ladies 
attending.] 

Leon. Read the indictment. 

Off. [Reads.] Hermione, queen to the worthy 
Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused 
and arraigned of high treason, in committing 
adultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia, 
and conspiring with Camillo to take away the 
life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal 



887 



20 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act III. sc. 



L 



husband; the pretence whereof being by cir- 
cumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, 
contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true 
subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their 
better safety, to fly away by night. 22 

Her. Since what I am to say must be but that 
Which contradicts my accusation and 
The testimony on my part no other 25 

But what comes from myself, it shall scarce 

boot me 
To say 'not guilty.' Mine integrity 
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express 

it. 
Be so receiv'd. But thus: if powers divine 
Behold our human actions, as they do, 30 

I doubt not then but innocence shall make 
False accusation blush, and tyranny 
Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best 

know. 
Who least will seem* to do so, my past life 
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 35 
As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
Than history can pattern, though devis'd 
And play'd to take spectators. For behold 

me 
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daugh- 
ter, 40 
The mother to a hopeful prince, here stand- 
ing 
To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore 
Who please to come and hear. For life, I 

prize it 
As I weigh grief, which I would spare; for 

honour, 
'Tis a derivative from me to mine, 45 

And only that I stand for. I appeal 
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes 
Came to your court, how I was in your grace. 
How merited to be so; since he came. 
With what encounter so uncurrent I 50 

Have strain'd to appear thus. If one jot 

beyond 
The bound of honour, or in act or will 
That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts 
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin 
Cry fie upon my grave! 
Leon. I ne'er heard yet 55 

That any of these bolder vices wanted 
Less impudence to gainsay what they did 
Than to perform it first. 
Her, That''s true enough; 

888 



Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. 
Leon. You will not own it. 
Her. More than mistress of 60 

Which comes to me in name of fault, I must 

not 
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, 
With whom I am accus'd, I do confess 
I lov'd him as in honour he requir'd, 
With such a kind of love as might become 65 
A lady like me; with a love even such. 
So and no other, as yourself commanded: 
Which not to have done I think had been 

in me 
Both disobedience and ingratitude 
To you and toward your friend, whose love 
had spoke, 70 

Even since it could speak, from an infant, 

freely 
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd 
For me to try how. All I know of it 
Is that Camillo was an honest man ; 75 

And why he left your court, the gods them- 
selves. 
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. 
Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know 
What you have underta'en to do in s absence. 
Her. Sir, 80 

You speak a language that I understand not. 
My life stands in the level of your dreams. 
Which I'll lay down. 
Leon. Your actions are my dreams ; 

You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
And I but dream'd it. As you were past all 
shame, — 85 

Those of your fact are so — so past all truth; 
Which to deny concerns more than avails; 

for as ^ 

Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
No father owning it, — which is, indeed. 
More criminal in thee than it, — so thou 90 
Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest pas- 
sage 
Look for no less than death. 
Her. , Sir, spare your threats: 

The bug which you would fright me with I 

seek. 
To me can life be no commodity; 
The crown and comfort of my life, your fa- 
vour, 95 
I do give lost; for I do feel it gone. 
But know not how it went. My second joy 



ACT III. SC. II.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



21 



And first-fruits of my body, from his pres- 
ence 
I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third 

comfort, 
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, loo 
The inocent milk in it most innocent mouth, 
Hal'd out to murder; myself on every post 
Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred 
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried 105 
Here to this place, i' the open air, before 
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege. 
Tell me what blessings I have here alive. 
That I should fear to die? Therefore pro- 
ceed. 
But yet hear this: mistake me not; no life, no 
I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour, 
Which I would free; if I shall be condemn'd 
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else 
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 
'Tis rigour and not law. Your honours all, 
I do refer me to the oracle: 116 

Apollo be my judge! 
First Lord. This your request 

Is altogether just; therefore bring forth. 
And in Apollo's name, his oracle. 

[Exeunt certain Officers.^ 
Her. The Emperor of Russia was my father; 120 
O that he were alive, and here beholding 
His daughter's trial! that he did but see 
The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes 
Of pity, not revenge ! 

[Re-enter Officers, with Cleomenes and Dion.] 



Off. You here shall swear upon this sword of 
justice, 125 

That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have 
Been both at Delphos, and from thence have 

brought 
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd 
Of great Apollo's priest, and that since then 
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal 130 
Nor read the secrets in't. 

Cleo. Dion. All this we swear. 

Leon. Break up the seals and read. 

Off. [Reads] Hermione is chaste; Polixenes 
blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a 
jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly be- 
gotten; and the king shall live without an 
heir, if that which is lost be not found. 137 

Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo! 

889 



Her. Prais'd ! 

Leon. Hast thou read truth .f* 

Off. Ay, my lord; even so 

As it is here set down. 140 

L^eon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle. 

The sessions shall proceed; this is mere false- 
hood. 

[Enter Servant.] 

Serv. My lord the king, the king! 

Leon. What is the business? 

Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it ! 

The prince your son, with mere conceit and 
fear 145 

Of the queen's speed, is gone. 

Leon. How ! gone ! 

Serv. Is dead. 

Leon. Apollo's angry; and the heavens them- 
selves 
Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione 
swoons.] How now there! 

Paul. This news is mortal to the queen; look 
down 
And see what death is doing. 

Leon. Take her hence. 150 

Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover. 
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion. 
Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
Some remedies for life. 

[Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Hermione.] 

Apollo, pardon 
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! 155 
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes, 
New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo, 
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy; 
For, being transported by my jealousies 
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose 160 
Camillo for the minister to poison 
My friend Polixenes — which had been done, 
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 
My swift command, though I with death and 

with 
Reward did threaten and encourage him, 165 
Not doing it and being done; he, most hu- 
mane 
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest 
Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here, 
Which you knew great, and to the hazard 
Of all incertainties himself commended, 170 
No richer than his honour. How he glisters 
Thorough my dark rust ! and how his piety 
Does my deeds make the blacker! 



22 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act III. SC. II. 



[Re-enter Paulina.'] 

Paul. Woe the while! 

O^ cut my lace, lest my hearty, cracking it, 

Break too ! 

[First] Lord. What fit is this, good lady? 175 

Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for 

me? 
What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? 

boiling 
In leads or oils ? what old or newer torture 
Must I receive, whose every word deserves 
To taste of thy most worst ? Thy tyranny 180 
Together working with thy jealousies. 
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and 

idle 
For girls of nine, O, think what they have 

done 
And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all 
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 185 
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas noth- 
ing; 
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant 
And damnable ingrateful; nor was't much. 
Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's 

honour. 
To have him kill a king; poor trespasses, 190 
More monstrous standing by, whereof I reckon 
The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter 
To be or none or little; though a devil 
Would have shed water out of fire ere done't; 
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death 195 
Of the young prince, whose honourable 

thoughts. 
Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the 

heart 
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire 
Blemish'd his gracious dam; this is not, no. 
Laid to thy answer ; but the last, — O lords, 200 
When I have said, cry 'woe!' — the queen, the 

queen. 
The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead, and 

vengeance for't 
Not dropp'd down yet. 
[First] Lord. The higher powers forbid! 

Paul. I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word 

nor oath 
Prevail not, go and see; if you can bring 205 
Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, 
Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve 

you 
As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant ! 



Do not repent these things, for they are 

heavier 
Than all thy woes can stir: therefore betake 
thee 210 

To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting. 
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
To look that way thou wert. 
Leon. Go on, go on; 215 

Thou canst not speak too much; I have de- 

serv'd 
All tongues to talk their bitterest. 
[First] Lord. Say no more: 

Howe'er the business goes, you have made 

fault 
I' the boldness of your speech. 
Paul. I am sorry for't: 

All faults I make, when I shall come to know 
them, 220 

I do repent. Alas ! I have show'd too much 
The rashness of a woman; he is touch'd 
To the noble heart. What's gone and what's 

past help 
Should be past grief. Do not receive af- 
fliction 
At my petition ; I beseech you, rather 225 

Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
Of what you should forget. Now, good my 

liege. 
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman. 
The love I bore your queen — lo, fool again ! — • 
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your chil- 
dren ; 230 
I'll not remember you of my own lord. 
Who. is lost too ; take your patience to you. 
And I'll say nothing. 
Leon. Thou didst speak but well 
When most the truth; which I receive much 

better 
Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring 
me 235 

To the dead bodies of my queen and son. 
One grave shall be for both; upon them shall 
The causes of their death appear, unto 
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit 
The chapel where they lie, and tears shed 
there 240 

Shall be my recreation; so long as nature 
Will bear up with this exercise, so long 
I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me 
To these sorrows. Exeunt. 



890 



ACT III. SC. 



III.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



23 



Scene III. — [Bohemia. A desert country near 
the sea.^ 

Enter Antigonus [with a] Babe, [and] a 
Mariner. 

Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath 
touch'd upon 
The deserts of Bohemia? 
Mar. Ay, my lord; and fear 

We have landed in ill time; the skies look 

grimly 
And threaten present blusters. In my con- 
science, 5 
The heavens with that we have in hand are 

angry 
And frown upon 's. 
Ant. Their sacred wills be done ! Go, get 
aboard; 
Look to thy bark: I'll not be long before 
I call upon thee. 
Mar. Make your best haste, and go not lo 

Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud 

weather ; 
Besides, this place is famous for the crea- 
tures 
Of prey that keep upon't. 
Ant. Go thou away: 

I'll follow instantly. 
Mar. I am glad at heart 

To be so rid o' the business. Eojit. 

Ant. Come, poor babe; 15 

I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o' 

the dead 
May walk again ; if such thing be, thy mother 
Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was 

dream 
So like a waking. To me comes a creature, 
Sometimes her head on one side, some an- 
other ; 20 
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow. 
So fill'd and so becoming. In pure white 

robes. 
Like very sanctity, she did approach 
My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before 

me, 
And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes 25 
Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon 
Did this break from her: 'Good Antigonus, 
Since fate, against thy better disposition. 
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out 
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, 30 



Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 
There weep and leave it crying; and, for the 

babe 
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 
I prithee, call't. For this ungentle business, 
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see 35 
Thy wife Paulina more.' And so, with 

shrieks. 
She melted into air. Affrighted much, 
I did in time collect myself and thought 
This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are 

toys; 
Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, 40 

I will be squar'd by this. I do believe 
Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that 
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 
Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid. 
Either for life or death, upon the earth 45 
Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee 

well ! 
There lie, and there thy character; there 

these ; 
Which may, if fortune please, both breed 

thee, pretty. 
And still rest thine. The storm begins; poor 

wretch. 
That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd 50 
To loss and what may follow ! Weep I can- 
not. 
But my heart bleeds ; and most accurs'd am I 
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell! 
The day frowns more and more; thou'rt like 

to have 
A lullaby too rough; I never saw 55 

The heavens so dim by day. A savage clam- 
our ! 
Well may I get aboard ! This is the chase ; 
I am gone for ever. Ej;it, pursued by a bear. 

[Enter a Shepherd.] 

Shep. I would there were no age between six- 
teen and three-and-twenty, or that youth 
would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing 
in the between but getting wenches with child, 
wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting — 
Llark you now ! Would any but these boiled 
brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt 
this weather? They have scared away two 
of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will 
sooner find than the master: if anywhere I 
have them, 'tis by the seaside, browsing of 



891 



24 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act III. sc. 



III. 



ivy. Good luck, and't be thy will! what have 
we here.^ Mercy on's, a barne; a very pretty 
barne! A boy or a child, I wonder.^ A 
pretty one; a very pretty one; sure, some 
'scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can 
read waiting-gentlewoman in the 'scape. This 
has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, 
some behind-door-work; they were warmer 
that got this than the poor thing is here. 
I'll take it up for pity; yet I'll tarry till my 
son come; he hallooed but even now. Whoa, 
ho, hoa! 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Hilloa, loa! 80 

She p. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a 
thing to talk on when thou art dead and rot- 
ten, come hither. What ailest thou, man.^ 83 

Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea and 
by land ! but I am not to say it is a sea, for it 
is now the sky; betwixt the firmament and it 
you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. 87 

Shep. Why, boy, how is it? 

Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how 
it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that's 
not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of 
the poor souls ! sometimes to see 'em, and not 
to see 'em ; now the ship boring the moon with 
her main-mast, and anon swallowed with yest 
and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogs- 
head. And then for the land-service, to see 
how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how 
he cried to me for help and said his name was 
Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an end 
of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned 
it: but, first, how the poor souls roared, and 
the sea mocked them ; and how the poor gen- 
tleman roared and the bear mocked him, both 
roaring louder than the sea or weather. 104 

Shep. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? 

Clo. Now, now: I have not winked since I saw 
these sights; the men are not yet cold under 
water, nor the bear half dined on the gentle- 
man: he's at it now. 109 

Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the 
old man ! 

Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to 
have helped her: there your charity would 
have lacked footing. 114 

Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look 
thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou 



mettest with things dying, I with things new- 
born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a 
bearing-cloth for a squire's child! look thee 
here; take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's 
see; it was told me I should be rich by the 
fairies. This is some changeling: open't. 
What's within, boy? 123 

Clo. You're a made old man: if the sins of your 
youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. 
Gold ! all gold ! 126 

Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove 
so ; up with't, keep it close ; home, home, the 
next way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so 
still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my 
sheep go; come, good boy, the next way hobae. 

Clo. Go you the next way with your findings. 
I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gen- 
tleman and how much he hath eaten. They 
are never curst but when they are hungry; 
if there be any of him left, I'll bury it. 136 

Shep. That's a good deed. If thou mayest dis- 
cern by that which is left of him what he is, 
fetch me to the sight of him. 

Clo. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put 
him i' the ground. 141 

Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good 
deeds on't. Exeunt. 



ACT FOURTH 

Scene I. — Enter Time, the Chorus. 

Time. I, that please some, try all, both joy and 
terror 
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds 

error. 
Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime 
To me or my swift passage, that I slide s 

O'er sixteen years and leave the growth un- 
tried 
Of that wide gap, since it is in my power 
To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour 
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me 

pass 
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was 10 
Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to 
The times that brought them in; so shall I do 
To the freshest things now reigning, and 

make stale 
The glistering of this present, as my tale 



892 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



25 



Now seems to it. Your patience this allow- 
ing, 15 
I turn my glass and give my scene such grow- 
ing 
As you had slept between. Leontes leav- 
ing. 
The effects of his fond jealousies so griev- 
ing 
That he shuts up himself, imagine me. 
Gentle spectators, that I now may be 20 
In fair Bohemia; and remember well, 
I mention'd a son o' the king's, which Flori- 

zel 
I now name to you; and with speed so pace 
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 
Equal with wondering. What of her en- 
sues 25 
I list not prophesy; but let Time's news 
Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shep- 
herd's daughter, 
And what to her adheres, which follows after. 
Is the argument of Time. Of this allow. 
If ever you have spent time worse ere now; 30 
If never, yet that Time himself doth say 
He wishes earnestly you never may. Ea:it. 



Scene II. — [Bohemia. The palace of 
Polixenes.'] 

Enter Polixenes and Camillo. 

Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im- 
portunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee any 
thing; a death to grant this. 3 

Cam. It is fifteen j^ears since I saw my coun- 
try. Though I have for the most part been 
aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. 
Besides, the penitent king, my master, hath 
sent for me ; to whose feeling sorrows I might 
be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, 
which is another spur to my departure. 10 

Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out 
the rest of thy services by leaving me now; 
the need I have of thee thine own goodness 
hath made; better not to have had thee than 
thus to want thee. Thou, having made me 
businesses which none without thee can suf- 
ficiently manage, must either stay to execute 
them thyself or take away with thee the very 
services thou hast done; which if I have not 
enough considered, as too much I cannot, to 
be more thankful to thee shall be my study. 



and my profit therein the heaping friendships. 
Of that fatal country, Sicilia, prithee speak 
no more; whose very naming punishes me with 
the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call- 
est him, and reconciled king, my brother; 
whose loss of his most precious queen and 
children are even now to be afresh lamented. 
Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince 
Florizel, my son.^ Kings are no less un- 
happy, their issue not being gracious, than 
they are in losing them when they have ap- 
proved their virtues. 32 

Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. 
What his happier affairs may be, are to me 
unknown: but I have missingly noted, he is of 
late much retired from court and is less fre- 
quent to his princely exercises than formerly 
he hath appeared. 38 

Pol. 1 have considered so much, Camillo, and 
with some care; so far that I have eyes under 
my service which look upon his removedness; 
from whom I have this intelligence, that he is 
seldom from the house of a most homely shep- 
herd; a man, they say, that from very noth- 
ing, and beyond the imagination of his neigh- 
bours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. 46 

Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who 
hath a daughter of most rare note: the report 
of her is extended more than can be thought to 
begin from such a cottage. 50 

Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence; 
but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son 
thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the 
place; where we will, not appearing what we 
are, have some question with the shepherd; 
from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy 
to get the cause of my son's resort thither. 
Prithee, be my present partner in this busi- 
ness, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. 59 

Cam. I willingly obey your command. 

Pol. My best Camillo! We must disguise our- 
selves. Exeunt. 

Scene III. — [A road near the Shepherd's cot- 
tage.^ 

Enter Autolycus, singing. 

'When daffodils begin to peer. 

With heigh ! the doxy over the dale, 
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; 
For the red blood reigns in the winter's 
pale, 



893 



26 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act IV. SC. III. 



'The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, 5 
With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they 
sing! 

Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; 
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 

'The lark, that tirra-lyra chants, 

With heigh! [with heigh!] the thrush and 
the jay, 10 

Are summer songs for me and my aunts. 

While we lie tumbling in the hay.' 

I have served Prince Florizel and in my time 
wore three-pile; but now I am out of service: 

'But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? 15 
The pale moon shines by night: 

And when I wander here and there, 
I then do most go right. 

'If tinkers may have leave to live. 

And bear the sow-skin budget, 20 

Then my account I well may give. 
And in the stocks avouch it.' 

My traffic is sheets ; when the kite builds, look 
to lesser linen. My father named me Au- 
tolycus; who being, as I am, littered under 
Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of un- 
considered trifles. With die and drab I pur- 
chased this caparison, and my revenue is the 
silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too pow- 
erful on the highway; beating and hanging 
are terrors to me; for the life to come, I sleep 
out the thought of it. A prize ! a prize ! 32 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Let me see. Every 'leven wether tods; 
every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fif- 
teen hundred shorn, what comes the wool 
to ? 35 

Aut. [Aside.'] If the springe hold, the cock's 
mine. 

Clo. I cannot do't without counters. Let me 
see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing 
feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of 
currants, rice, — what will this sister of mine 
do with rice? But my father hath made her 
mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She 
hath made me four and twenty nosegays for 
the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and 
very good ones; but they are most of them 
means and bases; but one puritan amongst 



them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I 
must have saffron to colour the warden pies; 
mace; dates .^ — none, that's out of my note; 
nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but 
that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and 
as many of raisins o' the sun. 52 

Aut. O that ever I was born! 

[Grovelling on the ground. 

Clo. I' the name of me — 

Aut. O, help me, help me! pluck but off these 
rags; and then, death, death! 56 

Clo. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more 
rags to lay on thee, rather than have these 
off. 

Aut. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends 
me more than the stripes I have received, 
which are mighty ones and millions. 61 

Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may 
come to a great matter. 

Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money 
and apparel ta'en from me, and these de- 
testable things put upon me. 66 

Clo. What, by a horseman, or a footman? 

Aut. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. 

Clo. Indeed, he should be a footman by the gar- 
ments he has left with thee ; if this be a horse- 
man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. 
Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, 
lend me thy hand. 73 

Aut. O, good sir, tenderly, O ! 

Clo. Alas, poor soul! 

Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, 
my shoulder-blade is out. 

Clo. How now! canst stand? 

Aut. [Picking his pocket] Softly, dear sir; good 
sir, softly. You ha' done me a charitable of- 
fice. 81 

Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little 
money for thee. 

Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: 
I have a kinsman not past three quarters of 
a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I shall 
there have money, or any thing I want. Offer 
me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. 

Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed 
you ? 90 

Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go 
about with troll-my-dames : I knew him once 
a servant of the prince: I cannot tell, good 
sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he 
was certainly whipped out of the court. 95 

Clo. His vices, you would, say; there's no vir- 



894 



ACT IV. SC. III.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



27 



tue whipped out of the court. They cherish 
it to make it stay there; and yet it will no 
more but abide. 99 

Aut. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man 
well. He hath been since an ape-bearer; 
then a process-server, a bailift'; then he com- 
passed a motion of the Prodigal Son, and mar- 
ried a tinker's wife within a mile where my 
land and living lies; and, having flown over 
many knavish professions, he settled only in 
rogue. Some call him Autolycus. 107 

Clo. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he 
haunts wakes, fairs and bear-baitings. 

Aut. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue 
that put me into this apparel. m 

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bo- 
hemia: if you had but looked big and spit at 
him, he'd have run. 114 

Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: 
I am false of heart that way; and that he 
knew, I warrant him. 

Clo. How do you now? 118 

Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can 
stand and walk: I will even take my leave of 
you, and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 

Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? 

Aut. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. 

Clo. Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices 
for our sheep-shearing. Exit. 125 

Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir! Your purse is 
not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll 
be with you at your sheep-shearing too: 
if I make not this cheat bring out another 
and the shearers prove sheep, let me be 
unrolled and my name put in the book of 
virtue ! 131 

Song. 'Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 
And merrily hent the stile-a: 
A merry heart goes all the day, 

Your sad tires in a mile-a.' Exit. 



Scene IV. — [The Shepherd's cottage.] 

Enter Florizel and Perdita. 

Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of 
you * 

Does give a life; no shepherdess, but Flora 
Peering in April's front. This your sheep- 
shearing 
Is as a meeting of the petty gods, 
And you the queen on*t. 



Per. Sir, my gracious lord, 5 

To chide at your extremes it not becomes me; 
O, pardon, that I name them ! Your high 

self. 
The gracious mark o' the land, you have ob- 

scur'd 
With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly 

maid. 
Most goddess-like prank'd up ; but that our 
feasts 10 

In every mess have folly and the feeders 
Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
To see you so attir'd, sworn, I think. 
To show myself a glass. 
Flo. I bless the time 

When my good falcon made her flight across 
Thy father's ground. 
Per. Now Jove afford you cause ! 16 

To me the difl'erence forges dread; your great- 
ness 
Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I 

tremble 
To think your father, by some accident. 
Should pass this way as you did; O, the 
Fates ! 20 

How would he look, to see his work so noble 
Vilely bound up ? What would he say ? Or 

how 
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, be- 
hold 
The sternness of his presence? 
Flo. Apprehend 

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, 25 
Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
The shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter 
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Nep- 
tune 
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god. 
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, 30 

As I seem now. Their transformations 
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer. 
Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires 
Run not before mine honour, nor my lasts 
Burn hotter than my faith. 
Per. O, but, sir, 35 

Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis 
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power of the 

king: 
One of these two must be necessities. 
Which then will speak, that you must change 

this purpose. 
Or I my life. 



895 



28 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 40 

With these fore'd thoughts^ I prithee^ darken 

not 
The mirth o' the feast. Or I'll be thine, my 

fair, 
Or not my father's. For I cannot be 
Mine own, nor anything to any, if 
I be not thine. To this I am most constant, 45 
Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; 
Strangle such thoughts as these with any 

thing 
That you behold the while. Your guests are 

coming; 
Lift up your countenance, as it were the day 
Of celebration of that nuptial which 50 

We two have sworn shall come. 
Per. O lady Fortune, 

Stand 3^ou auspicious ! 
Flo. See, your guests approach; 

Address yourself to ehtertain them sprightly. 
And let's be red with mirth. 54 

[Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and 
others, with Polixenes and Camillo dis- 
guised.^ 

Shep. Fie, daughter ! when my old wife liv'd, 

upon 
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook. 
Both dame and servant; welcom'd all, serv'd 

all; 
Would sing her song and dance her turn ; now 

here. 
At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle; 
On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire 60 
With labour and the thing she took to quench 

it. 
She would to each one sip. You are retired, 
As if you were a feasted one and not 
The hostess of the meeting. Pray you, bid 
These unknown friends to's welcome; for it is 
A way to make us better friends, more known. 
Come, quench your blushes and present your- 
self 67 
That which you are, mistress o' the feast. 

Come on. 
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing. 
As your good flock shall prosper. 
Per. [To Pol.'] Sir, welcome; 70 

It is my father's will I should take on me 
The hostess-ship o' the day. [To Cam.] 

You're welcome, sir. 



Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Rever- 
end sirs. 
For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep 
Seeming and savour all the winter long. 75 
Grace and remembrance be to you both. 
And welcome to our shearing ! 

Pol. Shepherdess, — 

A fair one are you — well you fit our ages 
With flowers of winter. 

Per. Sir, the year growing ancient. 

Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 80 
Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the 

season 
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors. 
Which some call nature's bastards: of that 

kind 
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not 
To get slips of them. 

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden. 

Do you neglect them.^ 

Per. For I have heard it said 

There is an art which in their piedness shares 
With great creating nature. 

Pol. Say there be; 

Yet nature is made better by no mean 
But nature makes that mean : so, over that art 
Which you say adds to nature, is an art 91 

That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we 

marry 
A gentler scion to the wildest stock. 
And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
By bud of nobler race: this is an art 95 

Which does mend nature, change it rather, but 
The art itself is nature. 

Per. So it is. 

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors. 
And do not call them bastards. 

Per. I'll not put 

The dibble in earth to set one slip of them ; 100 
No more than were I painted I would wish 
This youth should say 'twere well and only 

therefore 
Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for 

you ; 
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; 
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun 105 
And with him rises weeping; these are flow- 
ers 
Of middle summer, and I think they are given 
To men of middle age. You're very welcome. 

Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your 
flock^ 



ACT IV. SC. IV.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



29 



And only live by gazing. 
Per. Out, alas ! no 

You'd be so lean, that blasts of January 
Would blow you through and through. Now, 

ray fair'st friend, 
I would I had some flowers o' the spring that 

might • 

Become your time of day; and yours, and 

yours. 
That wear upon your virgin branches yet ns 
Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, 
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st 

fall 
From Dis's wagon ! daffodils, . 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim. 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes 121 
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses. 
That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
Bright Phoebus in his strength^ — a malady 
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and 125 
The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, 
The flower-de-luce being one ! O, these I 

lack, 
To make you garlands of, and my sweet 

friend. 
To strew him o'er and o'er ! 
Flo. What, like a corse? 

Per. No, like a bank for love to lie and play 

on ; 130 

Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried. 
But quick and in mine arms. Come, take 

your flowers; 
Methinks I play as I have seen them do 
In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine 
Does change my disposition. 
Flo. What you do 135 

Still betters what is done. When you speak, 

sweet, 
I*d have you do it ever; when you sing, 
I'd have you buy and sell so, so give alms, 
Pray so ; and, for the ordering your afl'airs, 
To sing them too. When you do dance, I 

wish you 140 

A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do 
Nothing but that; move still, still so, 
And own no other function ; each your doing, 
So singular in each particular, 
Crowns what you are doing in the present 

deed, 145 

That all your acts are queens. 
Per, O Doricles, 



are too large; but that your 
blood which peepeth fairly 



so 



Your praises 

youth. 
And the true 

through 't. 
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shep 

herd. 
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
You woo'd me the false way. 
Flo. I think you have 

As little skill to fear as I have purpose 
To put you to't. But come; our dance, I 

pray: 
Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair, 
That never mean to part. 
Per. I'll swear for 'em. 155 

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever 
Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does or 

seems 
But smacks of something greater than herself. 
Too noble for this place. 
Cam. He tells her something 

That makes her blood look out; good sooth, 
she is 160 

The queen of curds and cream. 
Clo. Come on, strike up ! 

Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, 
garlic, 
To mend her kissing with ! 
Mop. Now, in good time ! 

Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our 
manners. 165 

Come, strike up ! 

Here a dance of Shepherds and 
Shepherdesses. 
Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is 
this 
Which dances with your daughter.'^ 
Shep. They call him Doricles; and boasts him- 
self 
To have a worthy feeding; but I have it 
Upon his own report and I believe it; 170 

He looks like sooth. He says he loves my 

daughter. 
I think so too ; for never gaz'd the moon 
Upon the water as he'll stand and read 
As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to 

plain, 
I think there is not half a kiss to choose 
Who loves another best. 
Pol. She dances featly. 

Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it, 
That should be silent; if young Doricles 



be 



175 



897 



/\ 



30 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 
Which he not dreams of. 180 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar 
at the door, you would never dance again after 
a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not 
move you. He sings several tunes faster than 
you'll tell money; he utters them as he had 
eaten ballads and all men's ears grew to his 
tunes. 186 

Clo. He could never come better; he shall come 
in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it 
be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very 
pleasant thing indeed and "sung lamentably. 190 

Serv. He hath songs for man or woman, of all 
sizes ; no milliner can so fit his customers with 
gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for 
maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; 
with such delicate burthens of dildos and fad- 
ings, 'jump her and thump her;' and where 
some stretch-mouthed rascal would, as it were, 
mean mischief and break a foul gap into the 
matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, 
do me no harm, good man;' puts him off, 
slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, 
good man.' 201 

Pol. This is a brave fellow. 

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable 
conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided 
wares ? 

Serv. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' the 
rainbow; points more than all the lawyers in 
Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they 
come to him by the gross: inkles, caddisses, 
cambrics, lawns. Why, he sings 'em over as 
they were gods or goddesses ; you would think 
a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the 
sleeve-hand and the work about the square 
on 't, 212 

Clo. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach 
singing. 

Per. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous 
words in 's tunes. [Exit Servant.'] 

Clo. You have of these pedlars, that have more 
in them than you'd think, sister. 218 

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. 

Enter Autolycus, singing. 

*Lawn as white as driven snow; 220 

Cypress black as e'er was crow; 



Gloves as sweet as damask roses; 



Masks for faces and for noses; 

Bugle bracelet, necklace amber. 

Perfume for a lady's chamber; 225 

Golden quoifs and stomachers. 

For my lads to give their dears; 

Pins and poking-sticks of steel. 

What maids lack from head to heel. 

Come buy of me, come ; come buy, come buy ; 

Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. 231 

Come buy.' 

Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou 
shouldst take no money of me; but being en- 
thralled as I am, it will also be the bondage 
of certain ribbons and gloves. 236 

Mop. I was promised them against the feast; 
but they come not too late now. 

Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or 
there be liars. * 240 

Mop. He hath. paid you all he promised you: 
may be, he has paid you more, which will 
shame you to give him again. 243 

Clo. Is there no manners left among maids ? will 
they wear their plackets where they should 
bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, 
when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to 
whistle off these secrets, but you must be tit- 
tle-tattling before all our guests? 'tis well 
they are whispering; clamour your tongues, 
and not a word more. 251 

Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a 
tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves. 

Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened 
by the way and lost all my money? 255 

Aut. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; 
therefore it behoves men to be wary. 

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing 
here. 

Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many 
parcels of charge. 261 

Clo. What hast here? ballads? 

Mop. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in 
print, o' life, for then we are sure they are 
true. 

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a 
usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty 
money-bags at a burthen and how she longed 
to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed. 

Mop. Is it true, think you? 

Aut. Very true, and but a month old. 

Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer! 271 

Autc Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mis- 



898; 



ACT IV. SC. IV.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



31 



tress Tale-porter^ and five or six honest wives 
that were present. Why should I carry lies 
abroad? 

Mop. Pray you now, buy it. 276 

Clo. Come on, lay it by :. and let's first see moe 
ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. 

Aut. Here's another ballad of a fish, that ap- 
peared upon the coast on Wednesday the four- 
score of April, forty thousand fathom above 
water, and sung this ballad against the hard 
hearts of maids. It was thought she was a 
woman and was turned into a cold fish for 
she would not exchange flesh with one that 
loved her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as 
true. 285 

Dor. Is it true too, think you? 

Aut. Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses 
more than my pack will hold. 

Clo. Lay it by too; another. 290 

Aiit. This is a merry ballad, but a very prett}^ 
one. 

Mop. Let's have some merry ones. 

Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one and goes 
to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man:' 
there's scarce a maid westward but she sings 
it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. 297 

Mop. We can both sing it ; if thou'lt bear a part, 
thou shalt hear ; 'tis in three parts. 

Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago. 300 

Aut. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my 
occupation ; have at it with you. 

Song. 



A. Get you hence, for I must go 
Where it fits not vou to know. 
D. Whither ? M.' O, whither ? D. Whither ? 
M. It becomes thy oath full well, 306 

Thou to me thy secrets tell. 
D. ]\Ie too, let me go thither. 
M. Or thou goest to the grange or mill. 
D. If to either, thou dost ill. 310 

A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither. 
D. Thou hast sworn my love to be. 
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me: 

Then whither goest? say, whither? 314 

Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves ; 
my father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, 
and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring 
away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy 
for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first 
choice. Follow me, girls. 320 

[Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa.] 

899 



Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. 

[Folloivs singing. 1 

'Will you buy any tape, 

Or lace for your cape. 
My dainty duck, my dear-a? 

Any silk, any thread, 325 

Any toys for your head. 
Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a? 

Come to the pedlar; 

Money 's a medler. 
That doth utter all men's ware-a.' Exit. 330 

[Re-enter Servant.'] 

Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shep- 
herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, 
that have made themselves all men of hair, 
they call themselves Saltier s, and they have a 
dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufrey 
of gambols, because they .are not in 't; but 
they themselves are o' the mind, if it be not 
too rough for some that know little but bowl- 
ing, it will please plentifully. 339 

Shep. Away! we'll none on 't: here has been 
too much homely foolery already. I know, 
sir, we weary you. 

Pol. You weary those that refresh us; pray, 
let's see these four threes of herdsmen. 344 

Serv. One three of them, by their own report, 
sir, hath danced before the king; and not the 
worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and 
a half by the squire. 348 

Shep. Leave your prating. Since these good 
men are pleased, let them come in ; but quickly 
now. 351 

Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit.] 



Here a dance of twelve Satyrs. 



Pol 



O, father, you'll know more of that here- 
after. 
[To Cam.] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time 

to part them. 
He's simple and tells much. [To Flor.] How 

now, fair shepherd ! 355 

Your heart is full of something that does take 
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was 

young 
And handed love as you do, I was wont 
To load my she with knacks; I would have 

ransack'd 
The pedlar's sijken treasury and have pour'd 

it 360 



32 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



To her acceptance; you have let him go 

And nothing marted with him. If your lass 

Interpretation should abuse and call this 

Your lack of love or bounty^ you were straited 

For a reply, at least if you make a care 365 

Of happy holding her. 
Flo. Old sir, I know 

She prizes not such trifles as these are: 

The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and 
lock'd 

Up in my heart; which I have given already, 

But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my 
life 370 

Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, 

Hath sometime lov'd ! I take thy hand, this 
hand. 

As soft as dove's down and as white as it, 

Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow 
that's bolted 374 

By the northern* blasts twice o'er. 
Pol. What follows this ? 

How prettily the young swain seems to wash 

The hand was fair before! I have put you 
out: 

But to your protestation ; let me hear 

What you profess. 
Flo. - Do, and be witness to 't. 379 

Pol. And this my neighbour too? 
Flo. And he, and more 

Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and 
all: 

That, were I crown'd the most imperial 
monarch, 

Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth 

That ever made eye swerve, had force and 
knowledge 

More than was ever man's, I would not prize 
them 385 

Without her love; for her employ them all; 

Commend them and condemn them to her serv- 
ice 

Or to their own perdition. 
Pol. Fairly ofFer'd. 

Cam. This shows a sound affection. 
Shep. But, my daughter. 

Say you the like to him ? 
Per. . I cannot speak 390 

So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better. 

By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 

The purity of his, 
Shep. Take hands, a bargain! 



And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness 
to '{; 

I give my daughter to him, and will make 395 

Her portion equal his. 
Flo. O, that must be 

I' the virtue of your daughter; one being dead, 

I shall have more than you can dream of yet; 

Enough then for your wonder. But, come on. 

Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 
Shep. Come, your hand ; 400 

And, daughter, yours. 
Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; 

Have you a father ? 
Flo. 1 have ; but what of him ? 

Pol. Knows he of this? 

Flo. He neither does nor shall. 

Pol. Methinks a father 

Is at the nuptial of his son a guest 405 

That best becomes the table. Pray you once 
more. 

Is not your father grown incapable 

Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid 

With age and altering rheums ? can he speak ? 
hear ? 

Know man from man? dispute his own estate? 

Lies he not bed-rid ? and again does nothing 411 

But what he did being childish? 
Flo. No, good sir; 

He has his health and ampler strength indeed 

Than most have of his age. 
Pol. By my white beard, 

You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 415 

Something unfilial; reason my son 

Should choose himself a wife, but as good 
reason 

The father, all whose joy is nothing else 

But fair posterity, should hold some counsel 

In such a business. 
Flo. I yield all this; 420 

But for some other reasons, my grave sir, 

Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint 

My father of this business. 
Pol. Let him know't. 

Flo. He shall not. 
Pol. Prithee, let him. 

Flo. No, he must not. 

Shep. Let him, my son: he shall not need to 
grieve 425 

At knowing of thy choice. 
Flo. Come, come, he must not. 

Mark our contract. 



900 



ACT IV. SC. IV.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



33 



Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, 

[^Discovering himself.^ 
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base 
To be acknowledg'd. Thou a sceptre's heir, 
That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou old 

traitor, 430 

I am sorry that by hanging thee I can 
But shorten thy life one week. And thou, 

fresh piece 
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must 

know 
The royal fool thou cop'st with, — 
She p. O, my heart! 

Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, 

and made 435 

More homely than thy state. For thee, fond 

boy. 
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh 
That thou no more shalt see this knack, as 

never 
I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from suc- 
cession; 
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, 440 
Far than Deucalion off. Mark thou my 

words. 
Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this 

time. 
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free 

thee 
From the dead blow of it. And you, enchant- 
ment,— 
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too, 445 
That makes himself, but for our honour 

therein. 
Unworthy thee, — if ever henceforth thou 
These rural latches to his entrance open, 
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 
I will devise a death as cruel for thee 450 

As thou art tender to 't. Ea!it. 

Per. Even here undone ! 

I was not much afeard; for once or twice 
I was about to speak and tell him plainly. 
The selfsame sun that shines upon his court 
Hides not his visage from our cottage but 455 
Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be 

gone? 
I told you what would come of this. Beseech 

you, 
Of your own state take care. This dream of 

mine, — 
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther. 



But milk my ewes and weep. 460 

Cam. Why, how now, father ! 

Speak ere thou diest. 
Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, 

Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir ! 

You have undone a man of fourscore three. 

That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea. 

To die upon the bed my father died, 465 

To lie close by his honest bones; but now 

Some hangman must put on my shroud and 
lay me 

Where no priest shovels-in dust. O cursed 
wretch. 

That knew'st this was the prince, and 
wouldst adventure 

To mingle faith with him ! Undone ! undone ! 

If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd 471 

To die when I desire. Exit. 

Flo. Why look you so upon me? 

I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, 

But nothing alter'd. What I was, I am ; 

More straining on for plucking back, not fol- 
lowing 475 

My leash unwillingly. 
Cam. Gracious my lord, 

You know your father's temper. At this time 

He will allow no speech, which I do guess 

You do not purpose to him; and as hardly 

Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear. 480 

Then, till the fury of his highness settle. 

Come not before him. 
Flo. I not purpose it. 

I think, Camillo? 
Cam. Even he, my lord. 

Per. How often have I told you 'twould be thus ! 

How often said, my dignity would last 485 

But till 'twere known ! 
Flo. It cannot fail but by 

The violation of my faith; and then 

Let nature crush the sides o' the earth to- 
gether 

And mar the seeds within ! Lift up thy looks ; 

From my succession wipe me, father; I 490 

Am heir to my affection. 
Cam-. Be advis'd. 

Flo. I am, and by my fancy; if my reason 

Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; 

If not, my senses, better pleas'd with mad- 
ness. 

Do bid it welcome. 
Cam. This is desperate, sir. 495 



901 



34i 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



Flo. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow; 
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo^, 
Not for Bohemia^ nor the pomp that may 
Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or 
The close earth wombs or the profound seas 
hides 500 

In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath 
To this m}^ fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray 

you, 
As you have ever been my father's honour'd 

friend. 
When he shall miss me, — as, in faith, I mean 

not 
To see him any more, — cast your good coun- 
sels 505 
Upon his passion; let myself and fortune 
Tug for the. time to come. This you may 

know 
And so deliver, I am put to sea 
With her whom here I cannot hold on shore; 
And most opportune to our need I have 510 
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd 
For this design. What course I mean to 

hold 
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 
Concern me the reporting. 

Cam. O my lord ! 

I would your spirit were easier for advice, 515 
Or stronger for your need. 

Flo. Hark, Perdita. [Drawing her aside. ^ 

I'll hear you by and by. 

Cam. He's irremoveable, 

Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy, if 
His going I could frame to serve my turn. 
Save him from danger, do him love and 
honour, 520 

Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia 
And that unhappy king, my master, whom 
I so much thirst to see. 

Flo. Now, good Camillo; 

I am so fraught with curious business that 
I leave out ceremony. 

Cam. Sir, I think 525 

You have heard of my poor services, i' the 

love 
That I have borne your father? 

Flo. Very nobly 

Have you deserv'd; it is my father's music 
To speak your deeds, not little of his care 
To have them recompens'd as thought on. 

Cam. Well, my lord. 

If you may please to think I love the king 531 



And through him what is nearest to him, 

which is 
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction. 
If your more ponderous and settled project 
May suffer alteration, on mine honour, 535 
I'll point you where you shall have such re- 
ceiving 
As shall become your highness; where you 

may 
Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see. 
There's no disjunction to be made, but by — 
As heavens f orf end ! — your ruin ; marry her, 
And, with my best endeavours in your absence, 
Your discontenting father strive to qualify 542 
And bring him up to liking. 

Flo. How, Camillo, 

May this, almost a miracle, be done? 
That I may call thee something more than 
man 545 

And after that trust to thee. 

Cam. Have you thought on 

A place whereto you'll go ? 

Flo. Not any yet ; 

But as the unthought-on accident is guilty 
To what we wildly do, so we profess 
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies 
Of every wind that blows. 

Cam. Then list to me: 551 

This follows, if you will not change your pur- 
pose 
But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia, 
And there present yourself and your fair 
princess. 



For so I see she must be, 'fore Leontes. 



555 



She shall be habited as it becomes 

The partner of your bed. Methinks I see 

Leontes opening his free arms and weeping 

His welcomes forth ; asks thee the son forgive- 
ness. 

As 'twere i' the father's 'person; kisses the 
hands 560 

Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides 
him 

'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the 
one 

He chides to hell and bids the other grow 

Faster than thought or time. 
Flo. Worthy Camillo, 

What colour for my visitation shall I 565 

Hold up before him? 
Cam. Sent by the king your father 

Tp greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, 



902 



ACT IV. SC. IV.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



35 



The manner of your bearing towards him, with 

What you as from jour father shall deliver. 

Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you 
down : 570 

The which shall point you forth at every sit- 
ting 

What you must say; that he shall not per- 
ceive 

But that you have your father's bosom there 

And speak his very heart. 
Flo. I am bound to you: 

There is some sap in this. 
Cam. A course more promising 

Than a wild dedication of yourselves 576 

To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most 
certain 

To miseries enough; no hope to help you. 

But as you shake oit one to take another; 

Nothing so certain as your anchors, who 580 

Do their best office, if they can but stay you 

Where you'll be loath to be. Besides you 
know 

Prosperity's the very bond of love, 

Whose fresh complexion and whose heart to- 
gether 

Affliction alters. 
Per. One of these is true ; 585 

I think affliction may subdue the cheek. 

But not take in the mind. 
Cam. Yea, say you so ? 

There shall not at jour father's house these 
seven years 

Be born another such. 
Flo. My good Camillo, 

She is as forward of her breeding as 590 

She is i' the rear our birth. 
Cam. I cannot say 'tis pity 

She lacks instructions, for she seems a mis- 
tress 

To most that teach. 
Per. Your pardon, sir ; for this 

I'll blush you thanks. 
Flo. My prettiest Perdita ! 

But O, the thorns we stand upon ! Camillo, 595 

Preserver of my father, now of me, 

The medicine of our house, how shall we do? 

We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son. 

Nor shall appear in Sicilia. 
Cam. My lord. 

Fear none of this: I think you know my for- 
tunes 600 

Do all lie there: it shall be so my care 



To have you royally appointed as if 

The scene you play were mine. For instance, 

sir. 
That you may know you shall not want, one 

word. [They talk aside. ^ 

Enter Autolycus. 

Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool Honesty is ! and Trust, 
his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman ! 
I have sold all my trumpery; not a counter- 
feit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, 
brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, 
shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack 
from fasting. They throng who should buy 
first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and 
brought a benediction to the buyer; by which 
means I saw whose purse was best in picture; 
and what I saw, to my good use I remembered. 
My clown, who wants but something to be a 
reasonable man, grew so in love with the 
wenches' song, that he would not stir his pet- 
titoes till he had both tune and words; which 
so drew the rest of the herd to me that all 
their other senses stuck in ears. You might 
have pinched a placket, it was senseless ; 'twas 
nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I could 
have filed keys off that hung in chains; no 
hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and ad- 
miring the nothing of it. So that in this time 
of lethargy I picked and cut most of their fes- 
tival purses ; and had not the old man come in 
with a whoo-bub against his daughter and the 
king's son and scared my choughs from the 
chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole 
army. 630 

[Camillo, Florizel, and Perdita come forward.^ 

Cam. Nay, but my letters, by this means being 
there 
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 

Flo. And those that you'll procure from King 
Leontes — 

Cam. Shall satisfy your father. 

Per. Happy be you! 

All that you speak shows fair. 635 

Cam. Who have we here? 

[Seeing Autolycus.'] 
We'll make an instrument of this, omit 
Nothing may give us aid. 

Aut. If they have overheard me now, why, 
hanging. 639 

Cam. How now, good fellow ! why shakest thou 



903 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended 
to thee. 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. 643 

Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal 
that from thee. Yet for the outside of thy 
poverty we must make an exchange; therefore 
disease thee instantly, — thou must think 
there's a necessity in't, — and change garments 
with this gentleman: though the pennyworth 
on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's 
some boot. 650 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know 
ye well enough. 

Cam. Nay, prithee, despatch; the gentleman is 
half Aajed already. 654 

Aut. Are you in earnest, sir? [Aside'] I smell 
the trick on't. 

Flo. Despatch, I prithee. 

Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot 
with conscience take it. 

Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. 660 

[Florizel and Autolycus exchange garments.] 
Fortunate mistress, — let my prophecy 
Come home to ye ! — you must retire yourself 
Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat 
And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, 
Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken 665 
The truth of your own seeming; that you 

may — 
For I do fear eyes over — to shipboard 
Get undescried. 

Per. I see the play so lies 

That I must bear a part. 

Cam. No remedy. 669 

Have you done there ? 

Flo. Should I now meet my father, 

He would not call me son. 

Cam. Nay, you shall have no hat. 

[Giving it to Perdita.] 
Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. 

Aut. Adieu, sir. 

Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot ! 
Pray you, a word. 

Cam. [Aside] What I do next, shall be to tell 
the king 675 

Of this escape and whither they are bound; 
Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail 
To force him after; in whose company 
I shall review Sicilia, for whose sight 
I have a woman's longing. 

Flo. Fortune speed us! 680 



Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. 

Cam,, The swifter speed the better. 

[Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo.] 

Aut. I understand the business, I hear it. To 
have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble 
hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good 
nose is requisite also, to smell out work for 
the other senses. I see this is the time that 
the unjust man doth thrive. What an ex- 
change had this been without boot! What a 
boot is here with this exchange ! Sure the 
gods do this year connive at us, and we may 
do any thing extempore. The prince himself 
is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away 
from his father with his clog at his heels ; if I 
thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint 
the king withal, I would not do't. I hold it 
the more knavery to conceal it; and therein 
am I constant to my profession. 698 

Enter Clown and Shepherd. 

Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot 
brain: every lane's end, every shop, church, 
session, hanging, yields a careful man work. 

Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now ! There 
is no other way but to tell the king she's 
a changeling and none of your flesh and 
blood. 70s 

Shep. Nay, but hear me. 

Clo. Nay, but hear me. 

Shep. Go to, then. 708 

Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, 
3^our flesh and blood has not offended the king; 
and so your flesh and blood is not to be pun- 
ished by him. Show those things you found 
about her, those secret things, all but what she 
has with her: this being done, let the law go 
whistle; I warrant you. 715 

Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, 
and his son's pranks too ; who, I may say, is 
no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, 
to go about to make me the king's brother- 
in-law. 720 

Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off* 
you could have been to him, and then your 
blood had been the dearer by I know how 
much an ounce. 

Aut. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies ! 725 

Shep. Well, let us to the king; there is that in 
this fardel will make him scratch his beard. 



904 



ACT IV. SC. 



IV.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



37 



Aut. [Aside] I know not what impediment this 
complaint may be to the flight of my master. 

Clo, Pray heartily he be at palace. 730 

Aut. [Aside] Though I am not naturally hon- 
est, I am so sometimes by chance; let me 
pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off 
his false beard.] How now, rustics! whither 
are you bound ? 735 

Shep. To the palace, and it like your worship. 

Aid. Your affairs there, what, with w^hom, the 
condition of that fardel, the place of your 
dwelling, your names, your ages, of what hav- 
ing, breeding, and any thing that is fitting to 
be known, discover. 741 

Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 

Aut. A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me 
have no lying; it becomes none but trades- 
men, and they often give us soldiers the lie; 
but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not 
stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us 
the lie. 748 

Clo. Your worship had like to have given us 
one, if you had not taken yourself with the 
manner. 751 

Shep. Are you a courtier, and't like you, sir ? 

Aut. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. 
Seest thou not the air of the court in these 
enfoldings.^ hath not my gait in it the meas- 
ure of the court? receives not thy nose court- 
odour from me? reflect I not on thy baseness 
court-contempt? Thinkest thou, for that I 
insinuate, or toaze from thee thy business, I 
am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap- 
a-pe, and one that will either push on or pluck 
back thy business there; whereupon I com- 
mand thee to open thy affair. 763 

Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. 

Aut. What advocate hast thou to him? 

Shep. I know not, and't like you. 

Clo. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; 
say you have none. 

Shep. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor 
hen. 770 

Aut. How blessed are we that are not simple 
men ! 
Yet nature might have made me as these are. 
Therefore I will not disdain. 

Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. 

Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them 
not handsomely. 776 

Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being 



fantastical; a great man, I'll warrant; I know 
by the picking on's teeth. 

Aut. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel? 
Wherefore that box? 781 

Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel 
and box, which none must know but the king; 
and which he shall know within this hour, if I 
may come to the speech of him. 785 

Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 

Shep. Why, sir? 

Aut. The king is not at the palace; he is gone 
aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and 
air himself ; for, if thou beest capable of things 
serious, thou must know the king is full of 
grief. 7QI 

Shep. So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should 
have married a shepherd's daughter. 

Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let 
him fly.- The curses he shall have, the tor- 
tures he shall feel, will break the back of man, 
the heart of monster. 

Clo. Think you so, sir? 798 

Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can 
make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those 
that are germane to him, though removed fifty 
times, shall all come under the hangman; 
which though it be great pity, yet it is neces- 
sary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram- 
tender, to offer to have his daughter come into 
grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that 
death is too soft for him, say I ; draw our 
throne into a sheep-cote ! all deaths are too 
few, the sharpest too easy. 

Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you 
hear, and't like you, sir? 810 

Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; 
then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head 
of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three 
quarters and a dram dead; then recovered 
again with aqua-vitae or some other hot in- 
fusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest 
day prognostication proclaims, shall he be 
set against a brick-wall, the sun looking with 
a southward eye upon him, where he is to 
behold him with flies blown to death. But 
what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose 
miseries are to be smiled at, their offences 
being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to 
be honest plain men, what you have to the 
king: being something gently considered, I'll 
bring you where he is aboard, tender your per- 



905 



38 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act IV. SC. IV. 



sons to his presence, whisper him in your be- 
half s; and if it be in man besides the king to 
effect your suits, here is man shall do it. 828 

Clo. He seems to be of great authority; close 
with him, give him gold ; and though authority 
be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the 
nose with gold. Show the inside of your 
purse to the outside of his hand, and no 
more ado. Remember 'stoned,' and 'flayed 
alive.' 

Shep. And't please you, sir, to undertake the 
business for us, here is that gold I have. I'll 
make it as much more and leave this young 
man in pawn till I bring it you. 838 

Aut. After I have done what I promised? 

Shep. Ay, sir. 840 

Aut. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party 
in this business ? 

Clo. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a 
pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out 
of it. 844 

Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son; 
hang him, he'll be made an example. 846 

Clo. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the 
king and show our strange sights: he must 
know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sis- 
ter; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as 
much as this old man does when the business 
is performed, and remain, as he says, your 
pawn till it be brought you. 853 

Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the 
sea-side; go on the right hand. I will but 
look upon the hedge and follow you. 

Clo. We are blest in this man, as I may say, 
even blest. 

Shep. Let's before as he bids us; he was pro- 
vided to do us good. 860 
[Exeunt Shepherd and Clown."] 

Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see For- 
tune would not suff'er me ; she drops booties in 
my mouth. I am courted now with a double 
occasion, gold and a means to do the prince 
my master good; which who knows how that 
may turn back to my advancement? I will 
bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard 
him; if he think it fit to shore them again and 
that the complaint they have to the king con- 
cerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for 
being so far officious; for I am proof against 
that title and what shame else belongs to't. 
To him will I present them : there may be mat- 
ter in it. Exit. 873 



ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — [A room in Leontes' palace.'] 

Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, and 
Servants. 

Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have per- 
form'd 
A saint-like sorrow; no fault could you make. 
Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid 

down 
More penitence than done trespass. At the 

last. 
Do as the heavens have done, forget your 
evil ; s 

With them forgive yourself. 

Leon. Whilst I remember 

Her and her virtues, I cannot forget 
My blemishes in them, and so still think of 
The wrong I did myself; which was so much. 
That heirless it hath made my kingdom and 10 
Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er 

man 
Bred his hopes out of. 

Paul. True, too true, my lord; 

If, one by one, you wedded all the world. 
Or from the all that are took something good. 
To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd 15 
Would be unparallel'd. 

Leon. I think so. Kill'd! 

She I kill'd ! I did so ; but thou strikest me 
Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter 
Upon thy tongue as in my thought ; now, good 

now. 
Say so but seldom. 

Cleo. Not at all, good lady ; 20 

You might have spoken a thousand things that 

would 
Have done the time more benefit and grac'd 
Your kindness better. 

Paul. You are one of those 

Would have him wed again. 

Dion. If you would not so. 

You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
Of his most sovereign name; consider little 26 
What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue, 
May drop upon his kingdom and devour 
Incertain lookers on. What were more holy 
Than to rejoice the former queen is well? 30 
What holier than, for royalty's repair, 
For present comfort and for future good. 



906 



ACT V. SC. 



I.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



39 



To bless the bed of majesty again 
With a sweet fellow to't ? 
Paul. There is none worthy, 

Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods 
Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes; 36 
For has not the divine Apollo said, 
Is't not the tenour of his oracle. 
That King Leontes shall not have an heir 
Till' his lost child be found? which that it 

shall, 40 

Is all as monstrous to our human reason 
As my Antigonus to break his grave 
And come again to me; who, on my life. 
Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your coun- 
sel 
My lord should to the heavens be contrary. 
Oppose against their wills. [To Leontes.'] 

Care not for issue; 46 

The crown will find an heir; great Alexander 
Left his to the worthiest; so his successor 
Was like to be the best. 
Leon. Good Paulina, 

Who hast the memory of Hermione, so 

I know, in honour, O, that ever I 

Had squar'd me to thy counsel ! then, even 

now, 
I might have look'd upon my queen's full 

eyes. 
Have taken treasure from her lips — 
Paul. And left them 

More rich for what they yielded. 
Leon. Thou speak'st truth. 

No more such wives ; therefore, no wife. One 

worse. 
And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit 
Again possess her corpse, and on this stage. 
Where we offenders now appear, soul-vex'd. 
Begin, *And why to me?' 
Paul. Had she such power, 60 

She had just cause. 
Leon. She had ; and would incense me 

To murder her I married. 
Paul. I should so. 

Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you 

mark 
Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't 
You chose her; then I'd shriek, that even your 

ears 65 

Should rift to hear me; and the words that 

follow'd 
Should be 'Remember mine.* 
Leon, Stars, stars. 



And all eyes else dead coals ! Fear thou no 

wife; 
I'll have no wife, Paulina. 
Paid. Will you swear 



Never to marry but by my free leave 



70 



Leon. Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit! 
Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his 

oath. 
Cleo. You tempt him over-much. 
Paul. Unless another, 

As like Hermione as is her picture. 

Affront his eye. 
Cleo. Good madam, — 

Paul. I have done. 75 

Yet, if my lord will marry,— if you will, sir. 

No remedy, but you will, — give me the office 

To choose you a queen; she shall not be so 
young 

As was your former ; but she shall be such 

As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should 
take joy 80 

To see her in your arms. 
Leon. My true Paulina, 

We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. 
Paul. That 

Shall be when your first queen's again in 
breath ; 

Never till then. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. One that gives out himself Prince Flori- 
zel, 8s 

Son of Polixenes, with his princess, she 
The fairest I have yet beheld, desires access 
To your high presence. 

Leon. What with him? he comes not 

Like to his father's greatness: his approach. 
So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 90 
'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd 
By need and accident. What train ? 

Serv. But few. 

And those but mean. 

Leon. His princess, say you, with him? 

Serv. Ay, the most peerless- piece of earth, I 
think. 
That e'er the sun shone bright on. 

Paul. O Hermione, 

As every present time doth boast itself 96 

Above a better gone, so must thy grave 
Give way to what's seen now ! Sir, you your- 
self 



907 



40 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act v. SC. I. 



Have said and writ so, but your writing now 
Is colder than that theme, 'She had not been, 
Nor was not to be equall'd;' — thus your verse 
Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly 
ebb'd, 102 

To say you have seen a better. 

Serv. Pardon, madam: 

The one I have almost forgot, — your par- 
don, — 
The other, when she has obtain'd your eje, 105 
Will have your tongue too. This is a crea- 
ture. 
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
Of all professors else, make proselytes 
Of who she but bid follow. 

Paul. How ! not women .^ 

Serv. Women will love her, that she is a woman 
More worth than any man; men, that she is m 
The rarest of all women. 

Leon. Go, Cleomenes ; 

Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, 

Bring them to our embracement. Still, 'tis 

strange [Exeunt Cleomenes and others.^ 

He thus should steal upon us. 115 

Paul. Had our prince, 

Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had 

pair'd 
Well with this lord; there was not full a 

month 
Between their births. 

Leon. Prithee, no more, cease; thou know'st 
He dies to me again when talk'd of. Sure, 120 
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches 
Will bring me to consider that which may 
Unfurnish me of reason. They are come. 

Enter Florizel, Perdita, Cleomenes and others. 

Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince ; 
For she did print your royal father off, 125 
Conceiving you; were I but twenty-one. 
Your father's image is so hit in you, 
His very air, that I should call you brother, 
As I did him, and speak of something wildly 
By us perform'd before. Most dearly wel- 
come ! 130 
And your fair princess, — goddess ! — O, alas ! 
I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth 
Might thus have stood begetting wonder as 
You, gracious couple, do; and then I lost — 
All mine own folly — the society, 135 
Amity too, of your brave father, whom. 



Though bearing misery, I desire my life 
Once more to look on him. 

Flo, By his command 

Have I here touch'd Sicilia and from him 
Give you all greetings that a king, at friend. 
Can send his brother; and, but infirmity 
Which waits upon worn times hath something 
seiz'd 14A 

Plis wish'd ability, he had himself 
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and 

his 
Measur'd to look upon you; whom he loves — ■ 
He bade me say so — more than all the scep- 
tres 146 
And those that bear them living. 

Leon. O my brother. 

Good gentleman ! the wrongs I have done thee 

stir 
Afresh within me, and these thy offices. 
So rarely kind, are as interpreters 150 

Of my behind-hand slackness. Welcome 

hither. 
As is the spring to the earth. And hath he 

too 
Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage, 
At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, 
To greet a man not worth her pains, much 
less iss 

The adventure of her person? 

Flo. Good my lord. 

She came from Libya. 

Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, 

That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd.f^ 

Flo. Most royal sir, from thence; from him, 

whose daughter 

His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her; 

thence, 160 

A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have 

cross'd. 
To execute the charge my father gave me 
For visiting your highness : my best train 
I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; 
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify 165 

Not only my success in Libya, sir. 
But my arrival and my wife's in safety 
Here where we are. 

Leon. The blessed gods 

Purge all infection from our air whilst you 
Do climate here ! You have a holy father, 170 
A graceful gentleman; against whose person, 
So sacred as it is, I have done sin; 
For which the heavens, taking angry note^ 



908 



ACT V. SC. 



^] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



41 



Have left me issueless; and your father's 

blest^ 
As he from heaven merits it, with you 175 

Worthy his goodness. What might I have 

been, 
Might I a son and daughter now have look'd 

on. 
Such goodly things as you ! 

Enter a Lord. 

Lord. Most noble sir, 

That which I shall report will bear no credit, 
Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, 
great sir, 180 

Bohemia greets you from himself by me ; 
Desires you to attach his son, who has — 
His dignity and duty both cast off — 
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
A shepherd's daughter. 185 

Leon. Where's Bohemia? speak. 

Lord. Here in j^our city; I now came from 
him, — 
I speak amazedly; and it becomes 
My marvel and my message. To your court 
Whiles he was hastening, in the chase, it 

seems, 
Of this fair couple, meets he on the way 190 
The father of this seeming lady and 
Her brother, having both their country quitted 
With this young prince. 

Flo. Camillo has betray'd me; 

Whose honour and whose honesty till now 194 
Endur'd all weathers. 

Lord. Lay't so to his charge; 

He's with the king your father. 

Leon. Who? Camillo? 

Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now 
Has these poor men in question. Never saw I 
Wretches so quake; they kneel, they kiss the 

earth ; 
Forswear themselves as often as they speak. 
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them 201 
With divers deaths in death. 

Per. O my poor father ! 

The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
Our contract celebrated. 

Leon. You are married? 

Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; 205 
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first; 
The odds for high and low's alike. 

Leon. My lord, 

Is this the daughter of a king? 



Flo. She is, 

When once she is my wife. 
Leon. That 'once,' I see by your good father's 

speed, 210 

Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, 
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking 
Where you were tied in duty, and as sorry 
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty^, 
That you might well enjoy her. 
Flo. Dear, look up; 

Though Fortune, visible an enemy, 216 

Should chase us with my father, power no jot 
Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, 

sir, 
Remember since you ow'd no more to time 
Than I do now; with thought of such affec- 
tions, 220 
StejD forth mine advocate; at your request 
My father will grant precious things as trifles. 
Leon. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious 

mistress. 
Which he counts but a trifle. 
Paul. Sir, my liege. 

Your eye hath too much youth in't; not a 

month 225* 

'Fore your queen died, she was more worth 

such gazes 
Than what you look on now. 
Leon. I thought of her. 

Even in these looks I made. [To Florizel.] 

But your petition 
Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father; 
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, 
I am friend to them and you, upon which 

errand 231 

I now go tow^ard him ^ therefore follow me 
And mark what way I make. Come, good my 

lord. [Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [Before Leontes' palace.'] 
Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman. 

Aut. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this 
relation ? 

1. Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, 
heard the old shepherd deliver the manner 
how he found it; whereupon, after a little 
amazcdness, we were all commanded out of 
the chamber; only this methought I heard the 
shepherd say, he found the child. 8 



909 



42 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act v. SC. II. 



Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. 

1. Gent. I make a broken delivery of the busi- 
ness; but the changes I perceived in the king 
and Camillo were very notes of admiration: 
they seemed almost^ with staring on one an- 
other, to tear the cases of their eyes ; there 
was speech in their dumbness, language in 
their very gesture; they looked as they had 
heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. 
A notable passion of wonder appeared in 
them; but the wisest beholder, that knew no 
more but seeing, could not say if the impor- 
tance were joy or sorrow; but in the extremity, 
of the one, it must needs be. 21 2. 

Enter another Gentleman. 

Here comes a gentleman that haply knows 
more. The news, Rogero ? 
%. Gent. Nothing but bonfires : the oracle is ful- 
filled; the king's daughter is found: such a 
deal of wonder is broken out within this hour 
that ballad-makers cannot be able to express 
it. 27 

Enter another Gentleman. 

Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he 
can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? 
this news which is called true is so like an old 
tale, that the verity of it is in strong suspicion ; 
has the king found his heir? 32 

S. Gent. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant 
by circumstance. That which you hear you'll 
swear you see, there is such unity in the 
proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's, 
her jewel about the neck of it, the letters of 1. 
Antigonus found with it which they know to 
be his character, the majesty of the creature 
in resemblance of the mother, the affection of 3. 
nobleness which nature shows above her breed- 
ing, and many other evidences proclaim her 
with all certainty to be the king's daughter. 
Did you see the meeting of the two kings ? 44 

2. Gent. No. 
S. Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was 

to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might 
you have beheld one j oy crown another, so 
and in such manner that it seemed sorrow 
wept to take leave of them, for their joy waded 
in tears. There was casting up of eyes, hold- 
ing up of hands, with countenance of such 

910 



distraction that they were to be known by 
garment, not by favour. Our king, being 
ready to leap out of himself for joy of his 
found daughter, as if that joy were now be- 
come a loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother !' 
then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces 
his son-in-law; then again worries he his 
daughter with clipping her ; now he thanks the 
old shepherd, v/hich stands by like a weather- 
bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never 
heard of such another encounter, which lames 
report to follow it and undoes description to 
do it. 63 

Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, 
that carried hence the child? 
Gent. Like an old tale still, which will have 
matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep 
and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces 
with a bear; this avouches the shepherd's son, 
who has not only his innocence, which seems 
much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and 



rings of his that Paulina knows. 



72 



Gent. What became of his bark and his fol- 
lowers ? 

Gent. Wrecked the same instant of their mas- 
ter's death and in the view of the shepherd: 
so that all the instruments which aided to 
expose the child were even then lost when it 
was found. But O, the noble combat that 
'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! 
She had one eye declined for the loss of her 
husband, another elevated that the oracle was 
fulfilled: she lifted the princess from the 
earth, and so locks her in embracing, as if she 
would pin her to her heart that she might no 
more be in danger of losing. 
Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the 
audience of kings and princes; for by such 
was it acted. 88 

Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all and 
that which angled for mine eyes, caught the 
water though not the fish, was when, at the 
relation of the queen's death, with the manner 
how she came to't bravely confessed and la- 
mented by the king, how attentiveness 
wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of 
dolour to another, she did, with an 'Alas,' I 
would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my 
heart wept blood. Who was most maicble 
there changed colour; some swooned, all sor- 
rowed : if all the world could have seen 't, the 
woe had been universal. 100 



ACT V. SC. II.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



1. Gent. Are they returned to the court? 

S. Gent. No: the princess hearing of her moth- 
er's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, 
— a piece many years in doing and now newly 
performed by that rare Italian master, Julio 
Romano, who, had he himself eternity and 
could put breath into his work, would beguile 
Nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her 
ape. He so near to Hermione hath done 
Hermione that they say one would speak to 
her and stand in hope of answer. Thither 
with all greediness of affection are they gone, 
and there they intend to sup. 112 

2. Gent. I thought she had some great matter 
there in hand; for she hath privately twice or 
thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, 
visited that removed house. Shall we thither 
and with our company piece the rejoicing? 117 

1. Gent. Who would be thence that has the 

benefit of access? every wink of an eye some 

new grace will be born; our absence makes us 

unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. 121 

Exeunt [Gentlemen]. 

Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former 
life in me, would preferment drop on my 
head. I brought the old man and his son 
aboard the prince ; told him I heard them talk 
of a fardel and I know not what; but he at 
that time, overfond of "the shepherd's daugh- 
ter, so he then took her to be, who began to 
be much sea-sick, and himself little better, 
extremity of weather continuing, this mystery 
remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to 
me; for had I been the finder out of this se- 
cret, it would not have relished among my 
other discredits. 133 

Enter Shepherd and Clown. 

Here come those I have done good to against 
my will, and already appearing In the blos- 
soms of their fortune. 136 

Shep. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but 
thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen 
born. 

Clo. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight 
with me this other day, because I was no gen- 
tleman born. See you these clothes? say you 
see them not and think me still no gentleman 
born; you were best say these robes are not 
gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do, and try 
whether I am not now a gentleman born. 145 

Aut. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. 

91 



Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four 
hours. 

Shep. And so have I, boy. 149 

Clo. So you have; but I was a gentleman born 
before my father; for the king's son took me 
by the hand, and called me brother; and then 
the two kings called my father brother; and 
then the prince my brother and the princess 
my sister called my father father; and so we 
wept, and there was the first gentleman-like 
tears that ever we shed. 156 

Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 

Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so 
preposterous estate as we are. 159 

Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me 
all the faults I have committed to your wor- 
ship and to give me your good report to the 
prince my master. 

Shep. Prithee, son, do ; for we must be gentle, 
now^we are gentlemen. 165 

Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life ? 

Aut. Ay, and it like your good worship. 

Clo. Give me thy hand; I will swear to the 
prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any 
is in Bohemia. 170 

Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 

Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let 
boars and franklins say it, I'll swear it. 

Shep. How if it be false, son? 174 

Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman 
may swear it in the behalf of his friend; and 
I'll swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow 
of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; 
but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands 
and that thou wilt be drunk. But I'll swear 
it, and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow 
of thy hands. 181 

Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. 

Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow; if 
I do not wonder how thou darest venture to be 
drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not. 
Hark ! the kings and the princes, our kindred, 
are going to see the queen's picture. Come, 
follow us; we'll be thy good masters. 188 

Exeunt. 

Scene III. — [A chapel in Paulina's house.] 

Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Ca- 
millo, Paulina, Lords, etc. 

Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great com- 
fort 
1 



u 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act v. SC. III. 



That I have had of thee ! 
Paul. What, sovereign sii% 

I did not well I meant well. All my services 
You have paid home ; but that you have vouch- 

saf'd. 
With your crown'd brother and these your 
contracted s 

Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to 

visit, 
It is a surplus of your grace, which never 
My life may last to answer. 
Leon. O Paulina, 

We honour you with trouble ; but we came 
To see the statue of our queen; Your gal- 
lery 10 
Have we pass'd through, not without much 

content 
In many singularities; but we saw not 
That which my daughter came to look upon, 
The statue of her mother. 
Paul. As she liv'd peefless^ 

So her dead likeness, I do well believe, is 
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon 
Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it 
Lonely, apart. But here it is ; prepare 
To see the life as lively mock'd as ever 
Still sleep mock'd death. Behold, and say 'tis 
well. 20 

[Paulina draws a curtain, and discovers 
Hermione standing like a statue.^ 
I like your silence, it the more shows off 
Your wonder; but yet speak. First, you, my 

liege. 
Comes it not something near } 
Leon. Her natural posture ! 

Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed 
Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she 25 
In thy not chiding, for she was as tender 
As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, 
Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing 
So aged as this seems. 
Pol. O, not by much. 

Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence ; 
Which lets go by some sixteen years and 
makes her 31 

As she liv'd now. 
Leon. As now she might have done. 

So much to my good comfort, as it is 
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood. 
Even with such life of majesty, warm life, 35 
As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd 
her! 



I am ashamed. Does not the stone rebuke me 
For being more stone than it ? O royal piece. 
There's magic in thy majesty, which has 
My evils conjur'd to remembrance and 40 
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits. 
Standing like stone with thee. 

Per. And give me leave, 

And do not say 'tis superstition, that 
I kneel and then implore her blessing. Lady, 
Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 45 
Give me that hand of yours to kiss. 

Paul. O, patience ! 

The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's 
Not dry. 

Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on. 
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, 50 
So many summers dry. Scarce any joy 
Did ever so long live; no sorrow 
But kill'd itself much sooner. 

Pol. Dear my brother, 

Let him that was the cause of this have power 
To take oiF so much grief from you as he 55 
Will piece up in himself. 

Paul. Indeed, my lord, 

If I had thought the sight of my poor image 
Would thus have wrought you, — for the stone 

is mine — 
I'd not have show'd it. 

Leon. Do not draw the curtain. 

Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your 
fancy ' 60 

May think anon it moves. 

Leon. Let be, let be. 

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, al- 
ready — 
What was he that did make it ? See, my lord, 
Would you not deem it breath'd? and that 

those veins 
Did verily bear blood? 

Pol. Masterly done; 65 

The very life seems warm upon her lip. 

Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't. 
As we are mock'd with art. 

Paul. I'll draw the curtain; 

My lord's almost so far transported that 
He'll think anon it lives. 

Leon. O sweet Paulina, 70 

Make me to think so twenty years together ! 
No settled senses of the world can match 
The pleasure of that madness. Left alone. 

Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd 
you; but 



912 



ACT V. SC. III.] 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



45 



I could afflict you farther. 
Leon. Do, Paulina; 75 

For this affliction has a taste as sweet 
As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, 
There is an air comes from her; what fine 

chisel 
Could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock 

me, 
For I will kiss her. 
Paul. Good my lord, forbear ! 80 

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; 
You'll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own 
With oily painting. Shall I draw the cur- 
tain ? 
Leon. No, not these twenty years. 
Per. So long could I 

Stand by, a looker on. 
Paul. Either forbear, 85 

Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you 
For more amazement. If you can behold it, 
I'll make the statue move indeed, descend 
And take you by the hand: but then you'll 

think — 
Which I protest against — I am assisted 90 

By wicked powers. 
Leon. What you can make her do, 

I am content to look on ; what to sj)eak, 
I am content to hear ; for 'tis as easy 
To make her speak as move. 
Paul. It is requir'd 94 

You do awake your faith. Then all stand 

still; 
On ! those that think it is unlawful business 
I am about, let them depart. 
Leon. Proceed: 

No foot shall stir. 
Paul. Music, awake her; strike! \_Music.'] 

'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; ap- 
proach ; 
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come, 
I'll fill your grave up; stir, nay, come away. 
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from 
him 102 

Dear life redeems you. You perceive she 
stirs: [Hermione comes down.] 

Start not; her actions shall be holy as 
You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun 
her 105 

Until you see her die again ; for then 
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand: 
When she was young you woo'd her; now in 
age 

9 



Is she become the suitor ? 

Leon. O, she's warm! 

If this be magic, let it be an art no 

Lawful as eating. 

Pol. She embraces him. 

Carn. She hangs about his neck: 

If she pertain to life let her speak too. 

Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has 
lived. 
Or how stolen from the dead. 

Paul. That she is living. 

Were it but told you, should be hooted at 116 
Like an old tale; but it appears she lives. 
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little 

while. 
Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel 
And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, 
good lady; 120 

Our Perdita is found. 

Her. You gods, look down 

And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
Upon my daughter's head ! Tell me, mine 

own. 
Where hast thou been preserv'd ? where liv'd } 

how found 
Thy father's court .^ for thou shalt hear that I, 
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle 126 

Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd 
Myself to see the issue. 

Paul. There's time enough for that; 

Lest they desire upon this push to trouble 
Your joys with like relation. Go together. 
You precious winners all ; your exultation 131 
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, 
Will wing me to some wither'd bough and 

there 
My mate, that's never to be found again, 
Lament till I am lost. 



Leon. 



O, peace, Paulina 



Tliou shouldst a husband take by my consent, 

As I by thine a wife; this is a match. 

And made between's by vows. Thou hast 

found mine; 
But how, is to be question'd ; for I saw her. 
As I thought, dead, and have in vain said 

many 140 

A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far — • 
For him, I partly know his mind — to find thee 
An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, 
And take her by the hand, whose worth and 

honesty 
Is richly noted and here justified 145 



13 



46 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



[act v. SC. III. 



By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place. 
What! look upon my brother; both your par- 
dons. 
That e'er I put between your holy looks 
My ill suspicion. This's your son-in-law 
And son unto the king, whom, heavens di- 
recting, ISO 



Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good 

Paulina, 
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely 
Each one demand and answer to his part 
Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first 
We were dissever'd; hastily lead away. 155 

Exeunt. 



FINIS. 



NOTES 



The divisions into acts and scenes is that of the 
first folio (F). The Names of the Actors are at the 
end of the play. The direction of place is chiefly 
from Rowe, The3bald and others. 

ACT I 

i. 7 visitation, visiting. 

15 sleepy, narcotic. 

16 unintelligent, ignorant. 

30 attorney'd, supplied by proxy, 

33 vast (noun), waste, desert, 

35 loves, mutual love. 

40 note, observation. 
43 physics, heals. 

ii. 8 moe, more. 

10 part, depart. 

11 question'd, troubled. 

12 that, would that. 

13 sneaping", nipping. 

15 royalty, royal entertainment, state. 
33 best ward, strongest defense. 
39 at, to. 

borrow, pledge, loan. 

41 let, keep. 

gest, journal of the stages arranged for a king's 
journey, from the French jist, a lodging. 

43 jar, tick. 

44 lady she, whatever lady. 

48 unsphere, take out of the proper sphere by con- 
juration. In the Ptolemaic system of astronomy 
each star is fixed within its sphere. 

53 fees, payment customarily made in England by 
all prisoners upon departure. 

62 lordings, lords, diminutive and familiar term. 

70 doctrine, a trisyllable here, no] Fo; om. F^. 

74-75 he . . . ours, the weight of original sin 
imposed upon us by inheritance from Adam not 
being assumed by us. 

80 grace to boot, God's grace help us. 

96 to heat, run a heat. 

acre, a measure of length, a furlong. 
goal, that is of race. 



104 clap, clap up a bargain by slapping the hand into 

another's as pledge. 
109 far, farther. 
112 free face, open appearance. 

118 mort, a hunting air to give notice that deer is 
run down. 

119 brows, an allusion to the horns of a cuckold. 

120 i' fecks, circumlocution for a faith. 

121 bawcock, beau coq, fine fellow. 

123 neat, play on three meanings, 'clean,' 'afi'ected,' 
and 'cattle.' 

125 virginalling, playing on the virginals, a kind of 
harpsichord. 

126 wanton, folicsome. 
128 pash, head. 

shoots, horns. 
132 o'er-dy'd blacks, black cloth over-dyed, which 

rots quickly. 
134 bourn, limit. 

136 welkin, blue, like the sky. 
villain, rogue. 

137 collop, a piece of flesh, hence a child. 

138 affection, excited imagination. 

141 coactive, working with. Love is represented here 
as the product of imagination and even more the 
product of real acts. These Leontes suspects. 

144 commission, allowance. 

145 inspection, that is by suspicion. 
159 squash, unripe peascod. 

161 eggs for money, nothing for something. 

163 he's dole, be his portion. 

168 parasite, companion. 

170 childness, childish behavior. 

172 walk, retire. 

176 rover, archer, Cupid. 

177 apparent, heir. 
179 bents, desires. 
183 neb, beak. 

185 allowing, commending, approving. 

188 issue, result. 

191 cuckolds, deceived husbands. 

197 gates, that is of fish ponds. 

201 strike, bring ill influence. 

216 material, important. 



914 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



47 



219 gust, learn by tasting. 

221 pertinent, a proper epitaph. 

224 conceit, imagination. 

225 blocks, heads. 
227 messes, ranks. 

238 cleans'd, that is, by confession and absolution. 

244 boxes, hamstrings. 

246 grafted, planted. 

248 home, to the limit. 

254 puts forth, puts out buds. 

256 industriously, intentionally. 

260 execution, performance; that is, by some other 

person. 
263 allow'd, highly regarded. 
276 hobby-horse] Rowe; holy-horse F. 

280 clouded, darken by slumber. 

281 shrew, curse. 

286 career, gallop of a horse. 

291 pin-and-web, a disease of the eyes. 

297 opinion, suspicion. 

306 glass, hour-glass. 

307 her medal, her portrait set in a brooch. 

312 undo more doing, prevent more sin, 

313 meaner, lower in rank. 

314 worship, dignity. 

317 wink, sleep. 

318 cordial, warming to the heart. 

319 rash, sudden in effect, 

321 maliciously, malignantly, openly harmful. 

322 crack, flaw, sin. 
324 question, doubt. 
326 appoint, establish. 
329 is, is as. 

332 ripe, vehement. 

333 blench, swerve from the ricrht course. 

334 fetch off, kill. 

337 forsealing, sealing up. F reads: for sealing. 

353 ground, cause, 

363 break neck, ruin. 

365 warp, change. 

369 as, as if. 

372 wafting, turning. 

374 breeding, afoot. 

378 intelligent, conveying intelligence. 

388 basilisk, a fabulous animal, said to kill by its 

look. 
390 regard, glance. 

393 gentry, noble birth. 

394 success, succession. 

403 incidency, prospect of danger. 

416 vice, screw as by a vise, impel. 

419 his, that is, Judas's. 

424 thought, suspicion. 

426 influences, astronomical term referring to the 
powers of stars. 

431 standing, lifetime. 

446, and his execution having been decreed there- 
upon. 

458 expedition, speed. 

462 avoid, escape. 

441 discovery, communication. 

458 comfort, act as an assistance to. 

459-460; the queen is not suspected of that of which 
he suspects me. 



ACT II 

i. 25 The play's title seems derived from this line. 
37 censure, opinion. 

40 a spider steep'd, a spider's web, believed to be 
poisonous. 

44 gorge, throat. 

45 hefts, heavings. 
51 trick, toy. 

64 nayward, opposite opinion. 

68 honest, chaste. 

69 without door, external. 

72 out, out of the part, used of an actor who has 

forgotten his lines. 
79 replenish'd, complete. 
84 barbarism, the vulgar speech. 
90 fedary, accomplice, fedary] Dyce; federarie F. 
94 vulgars, vulgar people. 
102 centre, earth. 
104-105 afar . . . speaks, supremely guilty merely 

for speaking. 
107 aspect, the attitude of a star with relation to a 

man's fortunes. 
115 heard, obeyed. 
118 fools, dear ones. 
121 action, suit at law, charge. 
141 abused, deceived, 

putter-on, informer. 
143 land-damn, double damn. 
153 thus, Leontes takes hold of Antigonys. 
166 in skill, by a trick. 
172 overture, public utterance. 
182 Delphos, Delphi, a temple sacred to Apollo, 

really on the mainland of Greece. 
195 treachery, treasonable act. 
198 raise, rouse. 

11.23 on, after. 
30 lunes, mad fits. 
49 hammer'd, having thought. 

ill. 4 harlot, used of either sex. 

5-8 blank and level, target and aim. 

8 moiety, part. 
17 solely, alone. 
30 free, innocent. 

41 gossips, Godfathers and Godmothers. 
56 comforting, encouraging. 

60; would challenge the traducer to combat. 

67 mankind, masculine. 

68 intelligencing, tattling. 

74 woman tir'd, henpecked; 'tire,' tear like a falcon 
with the beak. 

75 Partlet, a hen; from Pertelote, the hen in Chau- 
cer's tale of the Fox and Cock. 

87 foresaid, false. 

90 callet, connnon scold. 
100 valley, depression in the forehead. 
107 yellow, color of jealousy. 
109 lozel, rascal. 
140 proper, own. 
150 dear, faitliful. 
162 this, Antigonus's. 
170 fail, failure. 
178 it, old genitive form of its. 



915 



48 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



182 strangely, as a stranger. 

184 present, immediate. 

189-190 prosperous . , . fortunate, 

deserve from this deed. 
192 loss, the loss of parents. 



more than you 



ACT III 

i. 2 isle, Delphos compare II. i. 183. 
14 use, the interest, expense. 

17 carriage, conduct. 

19 divine, priest. 

il. 1 sessions (singular), sitting of court. 

18 pretence, pretention. 
26 boot, advantage. 

34; who least seems willing. 

37 pattern, equal. 

38 take, capture. 

39 owe, own. 

50 encounter so uncurrent, unjustifiable reception. 

82 lull, aim. 

86 fact, committed crime. 

88 like to itself, as is proper. 

91 passage, experience. 

93 bug, ghost. 

94 commodity, advantage. 
103 immodest, indecent. 

107 strength of limit, limited strength. 
115 rigour, force. 

123 flatness, plainness, completeness. 
142 mere, entire. 

163 tardied, delayed. 

168 practice, plot. 

172 dark] P^; om. F^. 

185 spices, touches. 

187 of a fool, in the quality of a fool. 

194 fire, burning eyes. 

197 high, very dangerous. 

206 tincture, color, 

231 remember, remind. 

iii. 1 perfect, perfectly certain. 

2 deserts of Bohemia, the sea coast of Bohemia is 
taken from Greene's story. 
11 land, country. 

20 some, sometimes. 
41 squar'd, governed. 

47 character, identification. 

63 ancientry, elders, old folks. 

65 boiled brains, rash wits. 

69 ivy, the sea ivy, seaweed. 

71 barne, child. 

72 child, girl. 

73 scape, escapade. 

101 flapdragon'd, swallowed as a burning raisin is. 

See 2 Henry IV II. iv. 268, and note. 
119 bearing cloth, cloth used in baptism. 

124 made] Theobald; mad F. 
135 curst, ill-willed, savage. 

ACT IV 



i. Time's speech is thought spurious by R. G. White, 
but genuine by most other critics. 



6 untried, unnoted. 

8 self-born twin, the same. 

27 daughter, probably pronounced 'dafter' to rime 
with after in line 28; or 'after' may also have been 
pronounced 'arter' in Shakespeare's time. 

28 adheres, belongs. 

ii. 9 o'erween, dare. 
36 missingly, by the absence. 
41 removedness, truancy. 
52 angle, hook. 
56 uneasy, difficult. 

iii. 1 peer, appear. 

2 doxy, gipsy's sweetheart; a slang word from the 
thieves' language of the day. 
4 pale, paleness. 

7 pugging, thieving. 

10 Fa repeats 'with heigh.' 

11 aunts, sweethearts. 

19 three-pile, thick velvet worn by courtiers. 

20 budget, purse, pocket. 

23 kite, a bird supposed to steal cloth for nests. 
25 Mercury, God of thieves. 
27 die and drab, gambling and women, 
purchas'd, obtained. 

29 silly cheat, picking pockets, or perhaps with 
loaded dice. 

33; every eleven wether will produce a tod, or twen- 
ty-eight pounds of wool. 
36 spring, trap to catch game. 
38 counters, counting bee. 
44 three-man song-men, singers ready to take parts. 

46 means, baritones, 
puritan, tenor. 

47 horn-pipes, dancing tunes. 

48 warden, a kind of pear. 
50 race, route. 

92 troll-my-dames, a kind of bagatelle, game 
played on a board. 

99 abide, stay for a time. 
101 ape-bearer, clown. 

103 compass'd a motion, got a puppet-show. 
108 prig, thief. 
122 bring, attend. 
133 hent, take (to leap over). 



iv. 4 petty gods, the classical dii minores. 
8 mark, model. 

11 mess, a party of four at a table. 

13-14 sworn . . . glass, the meaning is obscure.. 
'Swoon' is suggested as an emendation for 'swan.' 

23 flaunts, finery. 

40 life, way of living, rank of life. 

56 pantler, servant in the pantry. 

75 savour, smell. 

79 ancient, old. 

82 gillyvors, the pink. 

89 mean, means. 
100 dibble, a kind of trowel. 
118 Dis, Pluto who carried off Proserpine. 
125 oxlips, a kind of cowslips. 
127 flower-de-luce, the iris. 
132 quick, alive. 



916 



THE WINTER'S TALE 



49 



134 Whitsun pastorals, pastorals played at Whitsun- 


543 liking, proper condition of mind and body. 


tide. 






548 accident, that is the accident of discovery. 


144 singular, uniquely good. 






549 to, as to, in regard to. 


160 out] Theobald; on't F. 






558 free, generous. 


169 feeding", estate, pasture land. 






565 color, pretense. 


185 tell, count. 






568 comforts, evidence of sympathy. 


192 milliner, man who deals in clothes. 






573 bosom, confidence. 


195 fadings, refrains, or jigs, in songs. 






587 take in, take prisoner. 


198 gap, jest. 






590 forward of, above, beyond. 


204 unbraided, undamaged. 






608 pomander, a little round ball of perfumes worn 


206 points, laces with metal tags. 






to prevent plague. 


208 inkles, linen and worsted tapes. 






609 table-book, memorandum book, made of pre- 


211 sleeve-hand, cuff. 






pared parchment. 


212 square, insertion of lace in a dress. 






613 in picture, in appearance. 


221 cypress, crepe, perhaps from the Island 


of 


618 pettitoes, pigs' feet. 


Cyprus. 






628 whoo-bub, hubbub. 


224" bugle, glass bead, tube-shaped, commonly black. 


647 disease thee, undress yourself. 


226 quoifs, caps or cap plates. 






654 flayed] Steevens; fled F. 


228 poking-sticks, rods used to stiffen the 


plaits 


of 


665 disliken, make unlike. 


ruffs. 






687 unjust, dishonest. 


237 against, for, in preparation for. 






698 boot, something extra given to the bargain. 


247 kiln-hole, a fire-place used in making malt. 




704 changeling, child left by fairies. 


248 whistle off, starting the hawk in falconry. 




727 fardel, bundle. 


250 clamour, silence, put an end to noise. 






733 excrement, anything growing upon the body; 


253 tawdry, a kind of necklace bought at 


the fair 


used particularly of the hair and nails. 


of St. Audrey at Ely. 






739 having, estate. 


254 cozened, cheated. 






751 with the manner, in the act, red-handed; a Nor- 


261 charge, importance. 






man law term. Autolycus has possessed himself of 


264 0' life, on my life. 






the fardel. 


268 carbonadoed, broiled. 






755 measure, gait. 


279 ballad of a fish. Malone named such 


a ballad 


759 insinuate, talk with condescension. 


as entered on the Stationer's Register in 1604. 




toaze, touse, draw out. or toazel F.,; at toaze 


315 out, finished. 






F. 


316 sad, serious. 






760 cap-a-pe, head to foot, entirely. 


330 utter, put in circulation, put on the market. 




779, picking one's teeth was an ostentatious fad of 


333 hair, skins. 






the time. 


334 Saltiers, leapers, tumblers. 






794 hand-fast, safe guard. 


335 gallimaufry, medley. 






801 germane, related. 


341 homely, rustic. 






825 gently considered, bribed. 


348 squire, rule. 






826 tender, introduce. 


362 marted, bargained. 






852 pawn, hostage. 


363 interpretation should abuse, should 


interpret 


864 occasion, opportunity. 


wrongly. 






868 shore, put ashore. 


364 straited, put in trouble. 








374 bolted, sifted. 








400 witnesses, pronounced 'witness.' 






ACT V 


407 incapable, unable to understand. 








409 rheums, the defluxion of humors or fluids in nose 


i. 30 well, blest, euphemism for dead. 


or eye. 






31 repair, restoration. 


410 dispute, treat of. 






60 Begin, *And] Capell; And begin F. 


427 mark, witness. 






75 affront, confront. I have done] given to Cle- 


430 affect'st, desircst. 






onicnes in Fj. 


433 force, necessity. 






85 gives out, calls, names. 


434 copst, come into contact. 






90 out of circumstance, against probability. 


438 Shalt] Rowe; shalt never F. 






91 fram'd, designed. 


441 far, farther. 






108 professors else, adherents of other religions. 


Deucalion, the Roman Xoah. 






123 unfurnish, rob. 


468, that is, in unconsecrated ground. 






139 touch'd, landed at. 


492 fancy, love. 






142 waits upon, attends. 


510 our] Theobald; her F. 






worn time, aged years. 


524 fraught, engaged. 






170 climate, take the air. 


curious, requiring care. 






182 attach, arrest. 


528 music, favorite tune. 






188 marvel, wonder. 


542 discontenting, discontented. 






198 in question, under examination. 


qualify, restrain. 






200 forswear, contradict. 



917 



50 



THE WINTER'S TALE ' 



207 hi^h and low, high rank (Florizel) and low rank 
(Perdita), with a play on the throw in dice. 

219 since, the time when. 

223-228 See the Introduction for this delicate use of 
Shakespeare's source. 

233 way, headway. 

ii. 20 importance, import. 

34 pregnant by, established by. 

38 character, hand-writing. 

41 affection, carriage. 

53 favour, face, 

89 touches, tricks. 
105 Julio Romano (1492^-1596), a painter of Rome. 
116 remov'd, secluded. 
121 unthrifty to, unable to increase. 
132 relished, appeared well. 



159 preposterous, a mistake by the clown for pros- 
perous. 

173 franklins, country land-holders, the next rank 
below gentlemen. 

181 tall, thick. 

iii. 12 singularities, rare sights. 

18 lonely, alone. Lonely] Hanmer; Lonely Fi; 
Lovely Fg. 

19 lively, in a lifelike way. 
28 nothing, in no way. 

38 piece, masterpiece. 

67 fixure, fixed state. 

86 resolve you, make yourselves ready. 
129 push, crisis. 
132 partake to, display to. 
145 justified, testified to. 



918 



THE TEMPEST 



INTRODUCTION 



THE ISLE OF DEVILS— The sources of The 
Tempest hitherto discovered do not account for any 
important constituent of the play. The hint for 
the title and the setting of the action probably came 
from the shipwreck of the Sea Adventure, which 
was much taFked of and written about in 1610-11, 
the date of composition assigned by the versification 
and style of the play as well as by external evidence. 
Sir George Somers left England for Virginia in 
May, 1609, with a well appointed expedition of nine 
vessels and five hundred settlers for the new colony. 
On July 55 the Sea Adventure was separated by a 
great storm from the rest of the fleet and almost 
given up for lost, but Sir George Som^ers, who was in 
command, descrying the Bermudas, those on board 
succeeded in making a landing by driving the ship on 
shore, and after eight months escaped to Virginia in 
two pinnaces they had built. Some of them returned 
to England in 1610, and strange tales of their ad- 
ventures went abroad. It was to set these at rest 
that "the Council of Virginia" published "A True 
Declaration of the Estate of the Colony," in which 
the horrors of the storm are vividly described, and 
contrasted with the good fortune of the escape. 
"These islands of the Bermudas have ever been ac- 
counted as an enchanted pile of rocks, and a desert 
inhabitation for devils, but all the fairies of the rocks 
were l)ut flocks of birds, and all the devils that 
haunted the woods were but herds of swine." Fuller 
details are given in a pamphlet published the same 
year (1610) by one of the adventurers, Silvester 
Jourdan, under the title "A Discovery of the Ber- 
mudas, otherwise called the Isle of Devils." He 
says : — 

"The Islands of the Bermudas, as every man 
knoweth that hath heard or read of them, were 
never inhabited t)j any Christian or heathen people, 
but ever esteemed and reputed a most prodigious 
and enchanted place, afi^ording nothing but gusts, 
storms, and foul weather; which made every navi-j 

91 



gator and mariner to avoid them as Scylla and 
Charybdis, or as they would shun the devil himself; 
and no man was ever heard to make for this place, 
but as, against their wills, they have, by storms and 
dangerousness of the rocks lying seven leagues into 
the sea, suffered shipwreck. Yet did we find there 
the air so temperate and the country so abundantly 
fruitful of all fit necessaries for the sustentation and 
preservation of man's life, that, most in a manner 
of all our provision of bread, beer, and victual being 
quite spoiled in lying long drowned in salt water, 
notwithstanding we were there for the space of nine 
months (few days over or under), we were not only 
well-refreshed, comforted, and with good satiety con- 
tented, but out of the abundance thereof provided 
us some reasonable quantity and proportion of pro- 
vision to carry us for Virginia, and to maintain our- 
selves and that company we found there: — where- 
fore my opinion sincerely of this island is, that 
whereas it hath been, and is still accounted the most 
dangerous, unfortunate, and forlorn place of the 
world, it is in truth the richest, healthfulest, and 
pleasing land, (the quantity and bigness thereof con- 
sidered,) and merely natural, as ever man set foot 
upon." 

A third account, by William Strachy, also dated 
1610, although it appears not to have been printed 
before 16x?5, gives a lively description of the "most 
dreadful Tempest," especially of St. Elmo's Fires, 
which were seen about halfway up the mast (see I. 
i. 200 and note thereon) ; the Bermudas are spoken 
of as The Devil's Island, "it being counted of most 
that they can be no habitation for men but rather 
given over to devils and wicked spirits." Rich's 
"News from Virginia," a ballad of 1610 by "one of 
the ^''oyage," calls the islands Bermoothawes. Cf. 
"the still-vex'd Bermoothes" of I. ii. 229. 

MONTAIGNE— *'The conception of Caliban un- 
doubtedly connects itself with the general idea of 
the desert island, to which it forms an all but in- 
9 



2 



THE TEMPEST 



evitable supplement." So writes Sir Adolphus Ward, 
who also draws attention to another element in Cali- 
ban's composition, More's Utopia was an island of 
the West, and Montaigne's Essays (translated by 
Florio, 1603; second edition, 1613) had associated such 
speculations with the inhabitants of America. Gon- 
zalo's description of an ideal commonwealth (II. i 
147-164; see note) is taken directly from Mon- 
taigne's chapter Of the Canihalles, and "it seems dif- 
ficult to escape from the conclusion that Shakespeare 
intended his monster as a satire incarnate on Mon- 
taigne's 'noble savage.' " The name Caliban is prob- 
ably nothing more than a metathesis of Canibal. 

DIE SCHONE SIDEA—Jakoh Ayrer of Nurem- 
berg, who died in 1605, wrote under this title a 
comedy which along with much that is foolish and 
Irrelevant has some points of resemblance with The 
Tempest. The beautiful Sidea is the daughter of a 
jnagician, Prince Ludolff, who is vanquished in bat- 
tle by the Prince of Wiltauo In revenge Ludolff 
charms the rapier of his adversary's son and carries 
him off to the forest, where the beautiful Sidea com- 
pels him to carry and split logs. But the two 
young people fall in love with each other, run away, 
and bring about a reconciliation between their par- 
ents. As Ayrer's comedy was undoubtedly earlier in 
date, he cannot have copied from Shakespeare, and 
it seems very unlikely that Shakespeare, if he had 
had access to Ayrer's comedy (no printed copy be- 
fore 1618 is known), would have disinterred these 
incidents from the mass of balderdash in which they 
are embedded. Probably both plots -go back to a 
common original in some Italian novel which has 
since been lost. Thomas's History of Italy (1549) 
gives Prospero (Adorno) as the name of a lieutenant 
of the Duke of Milan at Genoa, who was deposed and 
restored to office, and Alonzo and Ferdinand as 
names of kings of Naples about the same time (lat- 
ter part of the fifteenth century). 

AT THE COURT OF JAMES, J— The earliest 
mention of The Tempest is an entry in the Revels 
Accounts for 1611: — "By the Kings Players: Hallo- 
mas nyght was presented att Whithall before the 
Kinges Majestic a play called the Tempest." This 
indicates that Shakespeare's Company presented the 
play at Court on Nov. T, in the banqueting hall newly 
erected by James I. For many years this entry, 
unearthed by Peter Cunningham, was regarded as a 
forgery, but recent investigations by an English 
barrister, Ernest Law, have established its authen- 
ticity. The play was probably first produced on the 



stage of the company's theatre at Blackfriars a few 
months before, and it seems to have become im- 
mediately popular. We learn from the Vertue MS. 
that it was again presented at Court in February, 
1613, as part of the festivities in celebration of the 
marriage of Princess Elizabeth to the Elector Pala- 
tine. In 1613 Ben Jonson, in the Introduction to 
Bartholomew Fair, made an ironical apology for the 
absence from his play of "a Servant-Monster" or 
"a nest of Anticks." "He is loth to make nature 
afraid in his plays, like those that beget Tales, Tem- 
pests, and such like Drolleries, to mix his head with 
other men's heels." It was doubtless because The 
Tempest was popular, comparatively new, and still 
unpublished that the printers of the First Folio 
in 1623 gave this comedy the first place in their 
collection of Shakespeare's dramas. The text as 
there given is remarkably correct, and remains 
the sole authority for any modern edition of the 
play. 

STAGE HISTORY— In 1667 D'Avenant and Dry- 
den laid sacrilegious hands upon The Tempest and 
turned it into a monstrosity called The Enchanted 
Island, which was exceedingly popular; no modern 
critic would describe it in the words of Pepys "the 
most innocent play that ever I saw," for the adapters 
succeeded in converting the crystal purity of the 
original into gross indecency. Miranda was dupli- 
cated with Hippolito "one that never saw woman, 
right heir of the Dukedom of Mantua," and was 
given a sister, Dorinda; Caliban's part was similarly 
doubled with a sister-monster, Sycorax. In 1673 
Shadwell subjected this version to further degrada- 
tion by developing its operatic features, adding new 
songs and a concluding masque, in which Neptune, 
Amphitrite, Oceanus, and Tethys "appear in a char- 
iot drawn with sea horses; on each side of the char- 
iot, sea gods and goddesses, Tritons and Nereids." 
This was the version that was produced by Garrick 
at Drury Lane in 1756 with Beard, the popular ballad 
singer, as Prospero, and by John Philip Kemble in 
1767, when Sarah Kemble (afterwards Mrs. Siddons), 
then aged twelve, appeared as Ariel. Even Macready 
in 1821 retained the parts of Hippolito and Dorinda, 
and did not return to the original text till 1838. 
The Tempest had its place in the great Shakespear- 
ean revivals of Samuel Phelps at Sadler's Wells 
(1847) and of Charles Kean at the Princess (1857), 
the latter v/ith sumptuous decorations and elaborate 
mechanical devices. Kemble, Macready, Phelps, and 
Kean took the part of Prpspero. The most noted 



920 



INTRODUCTION 



Caliban of the early nineteenth century was John 
Emery. 

In recent times The Tempest has been one of the 
most read and least acted of Shakespeare's master- 
pieces. In the words of a modern critic, "this most 
ethereal, most imaginative and poetical of plays ^le- 
mands very skillful and delicate handling, and the 
most praiseworthy rendering of it is likely at the 
best to fall far short of the imaginative visions of 
the poet's genius." It offers no easy triumph for a 
"star" actress; Miranda is an ungrateful part in 
the sense that it is extremely difficult and affords 
little opportunity for striking stage effects. Caliban 
is a still more difficult character as conceived by 
Shakespeare, and the annals of the stage give no 
record of successful realization. F. R. Benson gave 
some notable performances toward the end of the 
nineteenth century in the English provinces, and 
early in the twentieth at the London Lyceum; his 
Caliban was "an ape-like creature, which climbed 
trees, hung head downwards from branches, and 
performed other startling athletic feats," reminiscent 
rather of the university gymnasium than of the en- 
chanted isle. Beerbohm Tree's impersonation (1904) 
was more imaginative and grotesque. "He enters," 
says a contemporary report, "eating a whole fish, 
with fangs which obtrude like those of som6 wild 
animal of the woods. His hairy arms and legs, his 
long nails on fingers and toes, and his wisps of un- 
kempt hair make him a cross between Rip Van 
Winkle and a chimpanzee." The production was on 
the scale of spectacular magnificence associated with 
His Majesty's Theatre. The Lord Mayor of Lon- 
don in place of the usual banquet, in 1897, gave a 
performance without scenery with the aid of the 
Elizabethan Stage Society, Mr. Dolmetsch supplying 
the music with Elizabethan instruments. Ben Greet's 
company have produced the play in the open air 
at many colleges on both sides oi the Atlantic, and 
it is a curious fact that llie Tempest, which pro- 
fessional actors fear to undertake, is a favorite play 
for amateur performers, from the Oxford University 
Dramatic Society to the merest schoolgirls. 

On the American stage W. E. Burton, John Gil- 
bert, and William Davidge won reputation in the 
part of Caliban, and Charles Fisher and E. L. 
Davenport in that of Prosper©. The most note- 
worthy production of recent years was that at 
Daly's Theatre in 1897; Tyrone Power was Caliban; 
Virginia Earl, Ariel; Nancy Mcintosh, Miranda. 
The setting was delicately charming, the music quaint 



and sweet; but nearly half of the text disappeared 
to make way for stage effects. Prospero's bidding 
to stage manager Ariel, "Bring a corollary rather 
than want a spirit," has been too generously inter- 
preted by the modern producer. A French Tempest 
in 1889 omitted even the part of Prospero; but as 
this performance frankly announced itself as a 
"ballet," it belongs rather to opera than to romantic 
drama. 

MUSIC — The original settings of Ariel's songs, 
"Full fathom five" and "Where the bee sucks," were 
composed by R. Johnson, and are preserved in Wil- 
son's Cheerfull Ayres or Ballads, Oxford, 1660. 
Later settings in the seventeenth century by the 
greatest of English song writers, Purcell, and in 
the eighteenth century by Dr. Arne, still figure 
on concert programs. Taubert wrote incidental 
music for a production of The Tempest at the 
Munich Court Theatre, and the orchestral accompani- 
ments arranged by Sir Arthur Sullivan, Tschaikow- 
sky, and Glazounoff, are also used at modern perform- 
ances of the drama. 

CRITICAL COMMENT— Caliban, the despair of 
the actor, is the delight of the critic. Dry den, after 
mangling the play for the stage, chose this character 
as a signal instance of the copiousness of Shakes- 
peare's invention. "The poet has most judiciously 
furnished him with a person, a language, and a 
character which will suit him both by father's and 
mother's side; he has all the discontents and malice 
of a witch and of a devil, besides a convenient pro- 
portion of the deadly sins; gluttony, sloth, and lust 
are manifest; the dejectedness of a slave is likewise 
given him, and the ignorance of one bred up in a 
desert island. His person is monstrous, as he is the 
product of unnatural lust; and his language is as 
hobgoblin as his person ; in all things he is dis- 
tinguished from other mortals." Dr. Johnson (1773) 
gave the play judicious praise for the regularity of 
its plot and diversity of its characters. Coleridge 
brought out a side of Caliban's nature, which had 
been overlooked. "Caliban is in some respects a 
noble being; the poet has raised him far above con- 
tempt; he is a man in the sense of the imagination; 
all the images he uses are drawn from Nature and 
are highly poetical; they fit in with the images of 
Ariel. Caliban gives us images from the earth, 
Ariel images from the air. Caliban talks of the dif- 
ficulty of finding fresh water, of the situation of 
morasses, and of other circumstances which even 
brute instinct, without reason, could comprehend. 



921 



4 



THE TEMPEST 



No mean figure is employed, no mean passion dis- 
played, beyond animal passion and repugnance to 
command." Dr. Daniel Wilson (1873) identified 
Caliban with the missing link. Ruskin interpreted 
the play allegorically — Ariel as "the spirit of gener- 
ous and free hearted service," Caliban as the type 
of slavery. "The heart of his slavery is in his wor- 
ship; 'That's a brave god and bears celestial- 
liquor.' " Dowden was inclined to read the play as 
Shakespeare's farewell to his art in the character 
of Prospero, Ferdinand standing for his successor, 
Fletcher, with whom he collaborated in The Two 
Noble Kinsmen and Henry VIII. Other interpreta- 
tions have identified Prospero with James I and 
with Divine Providence, but the multitude of modern 
allegorical theories has rather tended to discredit this 
whole critical method. Other critics have employed 
themselves, with no greater success, in an endeavor 
to locate the enchanted isle. Rudyard Kipling is an 
advocate of Bermuda, Edward E. Hale of Cutty- 
hunk, MasSo The former believes that he discovered 
Stephano's wine cellar on the beach near Hamilton; 
th& latter points out that the fauna and flora of 
the island are those of the New England coast, and 
not of the Gulf of Mexico, or the tropics; he there- 
fore claims Miranda as a Massachusetts girl. 
Another theory identifies her with Virginia Dare, 
the first cMld born in America of English parents. 
On August 18, 1587, "Eleanor, daughter to the Gov- 
ernor, and wife to Ananias Dare, one of the Assist- 
ants, was delivered of a daughter in Roanoke, and 
the same was christened the Sunday following, and 
because this child was the first Christian born in 
Virginia, she was named Virginia." Captain John 
White, the Governor, sailed away to England for 
supplies the same year; on his return in 1590 the 
little colony had disappeared, and it was supposed 
they had taken refuge with friendly Indians in the 
interior. In 1607, when the settlement was next 
renewed, it was reported that there were still seven 
of the English alive among the Indians, "four men, 



two boys, and one maid." "The strange girlhood 
of this one maid, if she were Virginia Dare," sug- 
gests Professor Raleigh, "may well have set Shakes- 
speare's fancy working." 

CALIBAN IN IMAGINATIVE LITERATURE 
— Nothing is so significant of Shakespeare's triumph- 
ant achievement in Caliban as the hold taken by the 
character on the imagination of later poets. Among 
the evidences of this F. G. Waldron's drama The 
Virgin Queen (1797), "attempted as a sequel to 
Shakespeare's Tempest/' has only the interest of 
curiosity; but Browning's monologue, Caliban upon 
Setebos: or Natural Theology in the Island is re- 
markable for its extension of the mind of Caliban 
into regions into which his creator had not ventured. 
Browning's Caliban is still in the main the Caliban 
of the play, but he has religious and philosophic 
interests characteristic of his new maker and of the 
Victorian era. 

In the dramatic fantasy of the French philosopher 
Renan (1878), Caliban becomes a political dema- 
gogue, the spokesman of the Rights of Man and 
Social Democracy. The cry of "Vive Caliban! Cali- 
ban chef du peuple" puts the monster in Prospero's 
place as Duke of Milan; but once on the throne, 
Caliban receives new light as to the rights of prop- 
erty and the importance of science, literature, and 
art. He protects Prospero against the accusations of 
sorcery and atheism urged against him by the In- 
quisition, and exploits his studies for the greater 
glory of the Caliban regime. Ariel's devices have no 
hold upon a positivistic generation, devoid of im- 
agination, and he bids his old master a last farewell. 
Renan uses the characters of The Tempest for many 
ironical criticisms of modern democracy and republi- 
can government — a far cry, it may seem, from the 
intention of the original author, though the discern- 
ing reader may find in Shakespeare's romantic drama 
the hints which the writer of the French Caliban has 
ingeniously elaborated. 

C. 



922 



THE TEMPEST 



[The Scene: An uninhabited Island. 



Aloxso, King of Naples. 

Sebastiax, his brother. 

Prospero, the right Duke of Milan. 

AxToxio, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan 

Feroixaxu, son to the King of Naples. 

Gox'ZALo, an honest old Counsellor. 

Adkiax and ^ 

^ iLords. 

Fraxcisco, J 

Calibax^ a savage and deformed slave. 

Trixculo, a jester. 

Stephax'O, a drunken butler. 



NAMES OF THE ACTORS 

Master of a ship. 
Boatswain. 



Mariners. 

Miraxda, daughter to Prospero. 

Ariel, an airy spirit. 

Iris, 

Ceres, 

Juxo, 

Nymphs, 

Reapers, 

[Other Spirits attending on Prospero.] 



[presented by] Spirits. 



ACT FIRST 

Scene I. — [On a ship at sea: a tempestuous 
noise of thunder and lightning heard.^ 

Enter a Ship-Master and a Boatswain. 

Mast. Boatswain ! 

Boats. Here^ master. What cheer .^ 
Mast. Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, 
yarely, or we run ourselves aground; bestir, 
bestir. Exit. 5 

Enter Mariners. 

Boats. Heigh, my hearts ! cheerly, cheerly, my 
hearts ! yare, yare ! Take in the topsail. 
Tend to the master's whistle. Blow, till thou 
burst thy wind, if room enough ! 9 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, 
Gonzalo, and others. 

Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the 

master.'' Play the men. 
Boats. I pray now, keep below. 
Ant. Where is the master, boatswain? 
Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our 



labour; keep your cabins; you do assist the 
storm. IS 

Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 

Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What cares 
these roarers for the name of king? To 
cabin ! Silence ! Trouble us not. 

Gon. Good, yet remember whom thou hast 
aboard. 21 

Boats. None that I more love than myself. 
You are a counsellor; if you can command 
these elements to silence, and work the peace 
of the present, we will not hand a rope more; 
use your authority. If you cannot, give 
thanks you have lived so long, and make your- 
self ready in your cabin for the mischance of 
the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts ! 
Out of our way, I say. Exit. 29 

Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow: 
methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him ; 
his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand 
fast, good Fate, to his hanging; make the rope 
of his destiny our cable, for our own doth 
little advantage. If he be not born to be 
hanged, our case is miserable. Exeunt. 36 

Enter Boatswain. 



Boats. Down with the topmast! yare! lower^ 



923 



THE TEMPEST 



[act I. SC. I. 



lower ! Bring her to try with main-course. 
(A cry within.) A plague upon this howling! 
They are louder than the weather or our office. 

Enter Sebastian^ Antonio, and Gonzalo. 

Yet again! What do you here? Shall we 
give o'er and drown.? Have you a mind to 
sink } 42 

Seh. A pox o' your throaty you bawling, blas- 
phemous, incharitable dog! 

Boats. Work you then. 45 

Ant. Hang, cur! Hang, you whoreson, inso- 
lent noisemaker! We are less afraid to be 
drowned than thou art. 

Gon. I'll warrant him for drowning, though the 
ship were no stronger than a nutshell and as 
leaky as an unstanched wench. 51 

Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold ! Set her two 
courses oiF to sea again; lay her off. 

Enter Mariners wet. 

Mariners. All lost ! To prayers, to prayers ! 
All lost! 55 

Boats.. What, must our mouths be cold? 
Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! Let's 
assist them. 
For our case is as theirs. 
^eh. I'm out of patience. 

Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives hj 
drunkards. 
This wide-chapp'd rascal — would thou 
mights t lie drowning 60 

The washing of ten tides ! 
Gon. He'll be hang'd yet. 

Though every drop of water swear against it 
And gape at widest to glut him. 
{A confused noise within": 'Mercy on us !' — 
'We split, we split!' — 'Farewell my wife and 
children !' — 65 

'Farewell, brother!' — 'We split, we split, we 
split!') 
Ant. Let's all sink with the king. 
Seb. Let's take leave of him. 

Exeunt Ant. and Seb. 

Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of 

sea for an acre of barren ground, long heath, 

brown furze, any thing. The wills above be 

done! but I would fain die a dry death. 

Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [The island. Before Prospero's 
cell.] 

Enter Prospero and Miranda. 

Mir. If by your art, my dearest father, you 

have 
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. 
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking 

pitch. 
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's 

cheek. 
Dashes the fire out. O, I have sufFer'd 5 
With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel. 
Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in 

her, 
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they 

perish'd. 
Had I been any god of power, I would 10 
Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere 
It should the good ship so have swallow'd and 
The fraughting souls within her. 
Pros. Be collected. 

No more amazement. Tell your piteous 

heart 
There's no harm done. 
Mir. O, woe the day ! 

Pros. No harm. 15 

I have done nothing but in care of thee. 
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who 
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought know- 
ing 
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better 
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, 20 
And thy no greater father. 
Mir. More to know 

Did never meddle with my thoughts. 
Pros. 'Tis time 

I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, 
And pluck my magic garment from me. So: 
[Lays down his mantle.] 
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; 

have comfort, 25 

The direful spectacle of the wreck, which 

touch'd 
The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
I have with such provision in mine art 
So safely ordered that there is no soul — 
No, not so much perdition as an hair 30 

Betid to any creature in the vessel 
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st 

sink. Sit down; 



924 



ACT I, SC. II.] 



THE TEMPEST 



For thou must now know farther. 
Miro You have often 

Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd 
And left me to a bootless inquisition, 35 

Concluding 'Stay: not yet.' 
Pros. The hour's now come; 

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear, 
Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remem- 
ber 
A time before we came unto this cell? 
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast 
not 40 

Out three years old. 
Mho Certainly, sir, I can. 

Pros. By what? By any other house or per- 
son? 
Of any thing the image tell me that 
Hath kept with thy remembrance. 
Mir. 'Tis far off; 

And rather like a dream than an assurance 45 
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not 
Four or five women once that tended me? 
Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But 
how is it 
That this lives in thy mind? What seest 

thou else 
In the dark backward and abysm of time? 50 
If thou rememberest aught ere thou camest 

here, 
How thou camest here thou mayst. 
Mir. But that I do not. 

Pros. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year 
since, 
Thy father was the Duke of Milan and 
A prince of power. 
Mir. Sir, are not you my father? 55 

Pros. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy 

father 
Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir 
And princess no worse issued. 
Mir. O the heavens ! 

What foul play had we, that we came from 
thence ? 60 

Or blessed was't we did? 
Pros. Both, both, my girl: 

By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd 

thence. 
But blessedly holp hither. 
Mir. O, my heart bleeds 

To think 0' the teen that I have turn'd you 
to. 



Which is from my remembrance ! Please you, 
farther. 65 

Pros. My brother and thy uncle, call'd An- 
tonio — 
I pray thee, mark me — that a brother should 
Be so perfidious 1 — he whom next thyself 
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
The manage of my state ; as at that time 70 
Through all the signories it was the first 
And Prospero the prime duke, being so re- 
puted 
In dignity, and for the liberal arts 
Without a parallel; those being all my study. 
The government I cast upon my brother 75 
And to my state grew stranger, being trans- 
ported 
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
Dost thou attend me? 
Mir. Sir, most heedfully. 

Pros. Being once perfected how to grant suits. 
How to deny them, who to advance and who 
To trash for over-topping, new created 81 
The creatures that were mine, I say, or 

chang'd 'em. 
Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key 
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state 
To what tune pleased his ear; that now he 
was 85 

The ivy which had hid my princely trunk. 
And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou at- 
tend'st not. 
Mir. O, good sir, I do. 

Pros. I pray thee, mark me. 

I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated 
To closeness and the bettering of my mind 90 
With that which, but by being so retir'd, 
O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false 

brother 
Awak'd an evil nature; and my trust. 
Like a good parent, did beget of him 
A falsehood in its contrary as great 95 

As my trust was; which had indeed no limit, 
A confidence sans bound. He being thus 

lorded. 
Not only with what my revenue yielded. 
But what my power might else exact, like one 
Who having into truth, by telling of it, 100 
. Made such a sinner of his memory. 
To credit his own lie, he did believe 
He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitu- 
tion. 
And executing the outward face of royalty, 



925 



THE TEMPEST 



ACT I. SC. II. 



With all prerogative : hence his ambition grow- 
ing— 105 
Dost thou hear? 

Mir. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 

Pros. To have no screen between this part he 
play'd 
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library 
Was dukedom large enough: of temporal 
royalties no 

He thinks me now incapable; confederates — 
So dry he was for sway — wi' the King of 

Naples 
To give him annual tribute, do him homage, 
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
The dukedom yet unbow'd — alas, poor 
Milan ! — ns 

To most ignoble stooping. 

Mir. O the heavens ! 

Pros. Mark his condition and the event; then 
tell me 
If this might be a brother. 

Mir. I should sin 

To think but nobly of my grandmother: 
Good wombs have borne bad sons. 

Pros. Now the condition. 120 

This King of Naples, being an enemy 
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; 
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises 
Of homage and I know not how much tribute, 
Should presently extirpate me and mine 125 
Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan 
With all the honours on my brother: whereon, 
A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
Fated to the purpose did Antonio open 
The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of dark- 
ness, 130 
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
Me and thy crying self. 

Mir. Alack, for pity! 

I, not remembering how I cried out then. 
Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint 
That wrings mine eyes to't. 

Pros. Hear a little further 135 

And then I'll bring thee to the present busi- 
ness 
Which now's upon's; without the which this 

story • 

Were most impertinent. 

Mir, Wherefore did they not 

That hour destroy us ? 

Pros. Well demanded, wench: 



My tale provokes that question. Dear, they 
durst not, 140 

So dear the love my people bore me, nor set 
A mark so bloody on the business, but 
With colours fairer painted their foul ends. 
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark. 
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they pre- 
pared 145 
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd. 
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats 
Instinctively have quit it : there they hoist us, 
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh 
To the winds whose pity, sighing back again. 
Did us but loving wrong. 

Mir. Alack, what trouble 151 

Was I then to you ! 

Pros. O, a cherubin 

Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst 

smile, 
Infused with a fortitude from heaven. 
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full 
salt, 15s 

Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in 

me 
An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
Against what should ensue. 

Mir. How came we ashore.^ 

Pros. By Providence divine 

Some food we had and some fresh water that 
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 161 

Out of his charity, who being then appointed 
Master of this design, did give us, with 
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries. 
Which since have steaded much; so, of his 
gentleness, 165 

Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me 
From mine own library with volumes that 
I prize above my dukedom. 

Mir. Would I might 

But ever see that man! 

Pros. Now I arise: [Resumes his mantle.'] 

Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
Here in this island we arriv'd; and here 171 
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more 

profit 
Than other princess can that have more time 
For vainer hours and tutors not so careful. 

Mir. Heavens thank you f or't ! And now, I pray 
you, sir, 17s 

For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason 
For raising this sea-storm ? 

Pros. Know thus far forth. 



926 



ACT I. SC, II.] 



THE TEMPEST 



9 



By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, 
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience 
I find my zenith doth depend upon 181 

A most auspicious star, whose influence 
If now I court not but omit, my fortunes 
Will ever after droop. Here cease more 

questions : 
Thou art inclin'd to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness. 
And give it way; I know thou canst not 

choose. [Miranda sleeps.] 186 

Come away, servant, come. I am ready now. 
Approach, my Ariel, come. 

Enter Ariel. 

Art. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I 
come 
To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, 190 
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding 

task 
Ariel and all his quality. 
Pros. Hast thou, spirit, 

Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade 
thee? 
Ari. To every article. 195 

I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak. 
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
I flam'd amazement: sometime I'ld divide, 
And burn in many places ; on the topmast. 
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame dis- 
tinctly, 200 
Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the 

precursors 
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momen- 
tary 
And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and 

cracks 
Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Nep- 
tune 
Seem to besiege and make his bold waves 
tremble, 205 

Yea, his dread trident shake. 
Pros. My brave spirit ! 

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
Would not infect his reason? 
Ari. Not a soul 

But felt a fever of the mad and play'd 
Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners 
Plung'd in the foaming brine and quit the 
vessel, 2n 



Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdi- 
nand, 
With hair up-staring, — then like reeds, not 

hair, — 
Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is 

empty. 
And all the devils are here.' 
Pros. Why, that's my spirit! 215 

But was not this nigh shore? 
Ari. Close by, my master. 

Pros. But are they, Ariel, safe? 
Ari. Not a hair perish'd; 

On their sustaining garments not a blemish. 
But fresher than before: and, as thou badest 

me. 
In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle. 
The king's son have I landed by himself; 221 
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs 
In an odd angle of the isle and sitting. 
His arms in this sad knot. 
Pros. Of the king's ship 

The mariners say how thou hast dispos'd 225 
And all the rest o' the fleet. 
Ari. Safely in harbour 

Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where 

once 
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's 

hid: 
The mariners all under hatches stow'd; 230 
Who, with a charm join'd to their sufFer'd 

labour, 
I have left asleep: and for the rest o' the 

fleet 
Which I dispers'd, they all have met again 
And are upon the Mediterranean flote. 
Bound sadly home for Naples, 235 

Supposing that they saw the king's ship 

wreck'd 
And his great person perish. 
Pros. Ariel, thy charge 

Exactly is perform'd: but there's more work. 
What is the time o' the day? 
Ari. Past the mid season. 

Pros. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt 
six and now 240 

Must by us both be spent most preciously. 
Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give 
me pains. 
Let me remember thee what thou hast prom- 

is'd. 
Which is not yet perform'd me. 



927 



10 



THE TEMPEST 



[act I. SC. II. 



Pros. How now? moody? 

What is't thou canst demand? 

Ari. My liberty. 245 

Pros, Before the time be out? No more! 

Ari. I prithee^ 

Remember I have done thee worthy service; 

Told thee no lies^ made thee no mistakings, 

serv'd 
Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst 

promise 
To bate me a full year. 
Pros. Dost thou forget 250 

From what a torment I did free thee ? 
Ari. No. 

Pros. Thou dost^ and think'st it much to tread 
the ooze 
Of the salt deep. 

To run upon the sharp wind of the north. 
To do me business in the veins o' the earth 255 
When it is bak'd with frost. 
Ari. I do not, sir. 

Pros. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou 
forgot 
The foul witch Sycorax^ who with age and 

envy 
Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot 
her? 
Ari. No, sir. 

Pros. Thou hast. Where was she born ? 

Speak; tell me. 260 

Ari. Sir, in Argier. 

Pros. O, was she so? I must 

Once in a month recount what thou hast been, 
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch 

Sycorax, 
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible 
To enter human hearing, from Argier, 265 
Thou know'st, was banish'd : for one thing she 

did 
They would not take her life. Is not this 
true? 
Ari. Ay, sir. 

Pros. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought 
with child 
And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my 
slave, 270 

As thou report'st thyself, wast then her serv- 
ant; 
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, 
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine 
thee, 



By help of her more potent ministers 275 

And in her most unmitigable rage. 

Into a cloven pine; within which rift 

Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain 

A dozen years; within which space she died 

And left thee there; where thou didst vent 

thy groans 280 

As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this 

island — 
Save for the son that she did litter here, 
A freckled whelp hag-born — not honoured ' 

with 
A human shape. 
Ari. Yes, Caliban her son. 

Pros. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban 285 
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best 

know'st 
What torment I did find thee in; thy groans 
Did make wolves howl and penetrate the 

breasts 
Of ever angry bears; it was a torment 
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 290 
Could not again undo; it was mine art. 
When I arriv'd and heard thee, that made 

gape 
The pine and let thee out. 
Ari. I thank thee, master. 

Pros. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an 

oak 
And peg thee in his knotty entrails till 295 
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 
Ari. Pardon, master; 

I will be correspondent to command 
And do my spiriting gently. 
Pros. Do so, and after two days 

I will discharge thee. 
Ari. That's my noble master! 

What shall I do? Say what! What shall I 

do ? 300 

Pros. Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea: 

be subject 
To no sight but thine and mine, invisible 
To every eyeball else. Go take this shape 
And hither come in*t. Go! Hence with 

diligence! Exit Ariel. 

Awake, dear heart, awake! Thou hast slept 

well. 305 

Awake ! 
Mir. The strangeness of your story put 

Heaviness in me. 
Pros. Shake it off. Come on; 

We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never 



928 



ACT I. SC. II.] 



THE TEMPEST 



11 



'Tis a villain, sir, 



Yields us kind answer. 

Mir. 

I do not love to look on. 

Pros. But, as 'tis, 31c 

We cannot miss him: he docs make our fire, 
Fetch in our wood and serves in offices 
That profit us. What, ho! Slave! Caliban! 
Thou earth, thou! Speak. 

Cal. {Within) There's wood enough within. 

Pros. Come forth, I say ! there's other business 



for thee: 
Come, thou tortoise ! 



Enter Ariel, 



When.? 
like a icater-ni/mph. 
My quaint Ariel, 



Exit. 
devil 



Fine apparition ! 

Hark in thine ear. 
Ari. My lord, it shall be done. 

Pros. Thou poisonous slave, got by the 
himself 

Upon thy wicked dam, come forth! 

Enter Caliban. 



Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 

With raven's feather from unwholesome fen 

Drop on you both ! A south-west blow on ye 

And blister you all o'er ! 

Pros. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have 

cramps, 325 

Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; 

urchins 
Shall, for that vast of night that they may 

work, 
All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd 
As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more 

stinging 
Than bees that made 'em. 
Cal. I must eat my dinner. 330 

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother. 
Which thou takest from me. When thou 

camest first. 
Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, 

wouldst give me 
Water with berries in't, and teach me how 
To name the bigger light, and how the less. 
That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd 

thee 336 

And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, 
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place 

and fertile. 
Cursed be I that did so! All the charms 



Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you 



For I am all the subjects that you have, 341 
Which first was mine own king; and here you 

sty me 
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
The rest o' the island. 
Pros. Thou most lying slave. 

Whom stripes may move, not kindness ! I have 
us'd thee, 345 

Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodg'd 

thee 
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to vio- 
late 
The honour of my child. 
Cal. O ho, O ho ! would't had been done ! 

Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else 350 
This isle with Calibans. 
Pros. Abhorred slave. 

Which any print of goodness wilt not take. 
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee. 
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee 

each hour 
One thing or other: when thou didst not, 
savage, 355 

Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble 

like 
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
With words that made them known. But thy 

vile race. 
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which 

good natures 
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast 
thou 360 

Deservedly confin'd into this rock, 
Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. 
Cal. You taught me language; and my profit 
on't 
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid 

you 
For learning me your language ! 
Pros. Hag-seed, hence ! 365 

Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best. 
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, 

malice ? 
If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly 
What I command, I'll rack thee with old 

cramps. 
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar 
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 
Cal. No, pray thee. 371 

[Aside] I must obey: his art is of such power, 
It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
And make a vassal of him. 



929 



12 



THE TEMPEST 



[act I. SC. II. 



Pros. So, slave, hence! Exit Caliban. 375 

Re-enter Ariel, invisible, 'playing and singing; 
Ferdinand following. 

Ariel's song. 

*Come unto these yellow sands, 

And then take hands: 
Courtsied when you have and kiss'd 

The wild waves whist, 
Foot it featly here and there; 380 

And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 
Burden (dispersedly) . Hark, hark! 

Bow-wow. 
The watch-dogs bark! 

Bow-wow. 
Ari. Hark, hark! I hear 

The strain of strutting chanticleer 385 
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.' 

Fer. Where should this music be? i' the air or 
the earth? 
It sounds no more: and, sure, it waits upon 
Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank. 
Weeping again the king my father's wreck, 390 
This music crept by me upon the waters. 
Allaying both their fury and my passion 
With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it, 
Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone. 
No, it begins again. 395 

A. ArieVs song. 

P^^ 'Full fathom five thy father lies; 
^^ Of his bones are coral made; 
^^^^^ Those are pearls that were his eyes : 

^> Nothing of him that doth fade 
For m,|. ^q|-Jj suffer a sea-change 400 

lo ente^ something rich and strange. 
1 hou kno vmphs hourly ring his knell : 

did Burden. Ding-dong. 

They would i hear them,— Ding-dong, bell.' 

true? 
Ari. Ay, sir. does remember my drown'd 
Pros. This blue-e 405 

with child 1 business, nor no sound 
And here was le es. I hear it now above me. 

slave urtains of thine eye advance 

As thou report'st^u seest yond. 

ant; What is't? a spirit? 

And, for thou was^^out ! Believe me, sir, 410 
To act her earthy ajm. But 'tis a spirit. 
Refusing her grand^s and sleeps and hath 

thee, 



This gallant which thou 
something 

thou 

415 



As we have, such. 

seest 
Was in the wreck; and, but he's 

stain'd 
With grief, that's beauty's canker, 

mightst call him 
A goodly person : he hath lost his fellows 
And strays about to find 'em. 
Mir. I might call him 

A thing divine, for nothing natural 
I ever saw so noble. 
Pros. [Aside] It goes on, I see. 

As my soul prompts it. Spirit," fine spirit! 

I'll free thee 420 

Within two days for this. 

Fer. Most sure, the goddess 

On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my 

prayer 
May know if you remain upon this island; 
And that you will some good instruction give 
How I may bear me here: my prime request, 
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! 
If you be maid or no? 
Mir. No wonder, sir; 427 

But certainly a maid. 
Fer. My language ! Heavens ! 

I am the best of tliem that speak this speech. 
Were I but where 'tis spoken. 
Pros. How? the best? 430 

What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard 
thee? 
Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear 

me; 
And that he does I weep: myself am Naples, 
Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, be- 
held 435 
The king my father wreck'd. 
Mir. Alack, for mercy ! 
Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of 
Milan 
And his brave son being twain. 
Pros. [Aside] The Duke of Milan 
And his more braver daughter could control 

thee. 
If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight 440 
They have chang'd eyes. Delicate Ariel, 
I'll set thee free for this. [To Fer.] A word, 

good sir; 
I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a 
word. 
Mir. Why speaks my father so ungently? This 



930 



ACT I. SC. 



II.] 



THE TEMPEST 



13 



Is the third man that e'er I saw^, the first 445 
That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father 
To be inclin'd my way ! 
Fer. O, if a virgin, 

And your aiFection not gone forth, I'll make 

you 
The queen of Naples. 
Pros. Soft, sir! one word more. 

[Aside] They are both in either's powers; 
but this swift business 450 

I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
Make the prize light. [To Fer,] One word 

more; I charge thee 
That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp 
The name thou owest not; and hast put thy- 
self 
Upon this island as a spy, to win it 455 

From me, the lord on't. 
Fer. No^ as I am a man. 

Mir. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a 
temple : 
If the ill spirit have so fair a house. 
Good things will strive to dwell with't. 
Pros. Follow me. 

Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come; 
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together: 461 
Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be 
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and 

husks 
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. 
Fer. No ; 

I will resist such entertainment till 465 

Mine enemy has more power. 

Draws, and is charmed from moving. 
Mir. O dear father. 

Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
He's gentle and not fearful. 
Pros. [To Mir., who kneels to him] What? I 
say. 
My foot my tutor? [To Fer.] Put thy sword 

up, traitor; 
Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy 
conscience 470 

Is so possess'd with guilt : come from thy 

ward. 
For I can here disarm thee with this stick 
And make thy weapon drop. 
Mir. Beseech you, father. 

Pros. Hence ! Hang not on my garments. 
Mir. Sir, have pity ; 

I'll be his surety. 
Pros, Silence! One word more 475 



Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. 
What! 

An advocate for an impostor ! Hush ! 

Thou think'st there is no more such shapes 
as he. 

Having seen but him and Caliban. Foolish 
wench ! 

To the most of men this is a Caliban 480 

And they to him are angels. 
Mir. My affections 

Are then most humble; I have no ambition 

To see a goodlier man. 
Pros. [To Fer.] Come on; obey: 

Thy nerves are in their infancy again 

And have no vigour in them. 
Fer. So they are; 485 

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 

My father's loss, the weakness which I feel. 

The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's 
threats. 

To whom I am subdued, are but light to me. 

Might I but through my prison once a day 490 

Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth 

Let liberty make use of; space enough 

Have I in such a prison. 
Pros. [Aside] It works. [To Fer.] Come on. 

Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To Fer.] 
Follow me. 

[To Ari.] Hark what thou else shalt do me. 
Mir. [To Fer.] Be of comfort; 495 

My father's of a better nature, sir, 

Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted 

Which now came from him. 
Pros. Thou shalt be as free 

As mountain winds: but then exactly do 

All points of my command. 
Ari. To the syllable. 500 

Pros. [To Fer.] Come, follow. [To Mir.] 
Speak not for him. Exeunt. 

ACT SECOND 

Scene I. — [Another part of the island.] 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and others. 

Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have 
cause. 
So have we all, of joy; for our escape 
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe 
Is common; every day some sailor's wife, 



931 



14 



THE TEMPEST 



[act II. SC. I. 



The masters of some merchant and the mer- 
chant 5 

Have just our theme of woe; but for the 
miracle, 

I mean our preservation, few in millions 

Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, 
weigh 

Our sorrow with our comfort. 
Alon. Prithee, peace. 

Seh. He receives comfort like cold porridge. lo 
Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 
Seh. Look, he's winding up the watch of his 

wit; by and by it will strike. 
Gon. Sir, — 

Seb. One: tell. 15 

Gvn. When every grief is entertain'd that's 
ofFer'd, 

Comes to the entertainer — 
Seb. A dollar. 
Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have 

spoken truer than you purposed. 20 

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant 

you should. 
Gon. Therefore, my lord, — 
Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his 

tongue ! 
Alon. I prithee, spare. 25 

Gon. Well, I have done: but yet,— 
Seb. He will be talking. 
Ant. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, 

first begins to crow? 
Seb. The old cock. 30 

Ant. The cockerel. 
Seb. Done. The wager? 
Ant. A laughter. 
Seb. A match! 

A dr. Though this island seem to be desert, — 35 
Seb. Ha, ha, ha ! So, you're paid. 
Adr. Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible, — 
Seb. Yet,— 
Adr. Yet,— 

Ant. He could not miss't. 40 

Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender and 

delicate temperance. 
Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. 
Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly de- 
livered. 45 
Adr. The air breathes upon us here mo^t 

sweetly. 
Seb. As if it had lungs and rotten ones. 
Ant. Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen. 
Gon, Here is every thing advantageous to life. 



so 



Ant. True; save means to live. 

Seb. Of that there's none, or little. 

Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how 
green ! 

Ant. The ground indeed is tawny. 

Seb. With an eye of green in't. 55 

Ant. He misses not much. 

Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. 

Gon. But the rarity of it is, — which is indeed 
almost beyond credit, — 

Seb. As many vouched rarities are. 60 

Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, 
drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding 
their freshness and glosses, being rather new- 
dyed than stained with salt water. 64 

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, 
would it not say he lies? 

Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 

Gon. Methinks our garments are now as fresh 
as when we put them on first in Afric, at the 
marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel 
to the King of Tunis. 71 

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper 
well in our return. 

Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such 
a paragon to their queen. 

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 76 

Ant. Widow! a pox o' that! How came that 
widow in? Widow Dido! 

Seb. What if he had said 'widower iEneas' too ? 
Good Lord, how you take it ! 80 

Adr. 'Widow Dido' said you? you make me 
study of that: she was of Carthage, not of 
Tunis. 

Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 

Adr. Carthage? 

Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 85 

Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. 

Seb. He hath raised the wall and houses too. 

Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy 
next ? 

Seb. I think he will carry this island home in 
his pocket and give it his son for an apple. 91 

Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, 
bring forth more islands. 

Gon. Ay. 

Ant. Why, in good time. 

Gon. Sir, we were talking that our garments 
seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis 
at the marriage of your daughter, who is now 
queen. 

Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 



932 



ACT II. 



SC. I.] 



THE TEMPEST 



15 



Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. loo 

Ant. O, widow Dido! Ay, widow Dido. 

Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresli as the 

first day I wore it .^ I mean, in a sort. 
Ant, That sort was well fished for. 
Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's mar- 
riage ? 105 
Alon. You cram these words into mine ears 
against 
The stomach of my sense. Would I had never 
Married my daughter there! For, coming 

thence, 
My son is lost and, in my rate, she too, 
Who is so far from Italy removed no 

I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish 
Hath made his meal on thee? 
Fran. Sir, he may live: 

I saw him beat the surges under him. 
And ride upon their backs ; he trod the water, 
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 116 
The surge most swoln that met him; his bold 

head 
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and 

oar'd 
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis 
bow'd, 120 

As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt 
He came alive to land. 
Alon. No, no, he's gone. 

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great 
loss. 
That would not bless our Europe with your 

daughter. 
But rather lose her to an African ; 125 

WTiere she at least is banish'd from your 

eye. 
Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. 
Alon. Prithee, peace. 

Seb. You were kneel'd to and importun'd other- 
wise 
By all of us, and the fair soul herself 
Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at 
Which end o' the beam should bow. We have 
lost your son, 131 

I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have 
Moe widows in them of this business' making 
Than we bring men to comfort them: 
The fault's your own. 
Alon. So is the dcar'st o' the loss. 135 

Gon, My lord Sebastian, 



The truth 3'ou speak doth lack some gentle- 
ness 

And time to speak it in: you rub the sore, 

When you should bring the plaster. 
Seb. Very well. 

Ant. And most cliirurgeonly. 140 

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, 

When you are cloudy. 
Seb. Foul weather? 

Ant. Very foul. 

Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, — 
Ant. He'ld sow't with nettle-seed. 
Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 

Gon. And were the king on't, what would I do? 
Seb. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. 146 
Gon. T the commonwealth I would by con- 
traries 

Execute all things; for no kind of traffic 

Would I admit; no name of magistrate; 

Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, 

And use of service, none; contract, succes- 
sion, 151 

Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; 

No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; 

No occupation; all men idle, all; 

And women too, but innocent and pure; 155 

No sovereignty; — 



Seb. 



Yet he would be king on't. 



Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth Tor- 
gets the beginning. 

Gon. All things in common nature should pro- 
duce 
Without sw^eat or endeavour: treason, felony. 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any en- 
gine, 161 
W^ould I not have; but nature should bring 

forth. 
Of it own kind, all foison, all abundance. 
To feed my innocent people. 

Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects? 165 

Ant. None, man; all idle: wliores and knaves. 

Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, 
To excel the golden age. 

Seb. 'Save his majesty! 

Ant. Long live Gonzalo! 

Gon. And, — do you mark me, sir? 

Alon. Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing 
to me. 171 

Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did 
it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, 
who are of such sensible and nimble lungs 
that they always use to laugh at nothing. 



933 



16 



THE TEMPEST 



[act II. SC. lo 



Ant. 'Twas you we laughed at. 

Gon. Who in this kind of merry fooling am 
nothing to you : so you may continue and laugh 
at nothing still. 

Ant. What a blow was there given! i8o 

Seb. And it had not fallen flat-long. 

Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you 
would lift the moon out of her sphere^ if she 
would continue in it five weeks without chang- 
ing. 

Enter Ariel, l^invisible^l playing solemn music. 



Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. 

Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. i86 

Gon. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure 

my discretion so weakly- Will you laugh me 

asleep, for I am very heavy .f* 

Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 190 

[All sleep except Alon., Seb., and Ant.] 

Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine 

eyes 

Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : 

I find 
They are inclin'd to do so. 
Seb. Please you, sir. 

Do not omit the heavy offer of it: 
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, 195 

It is a comforter. 
Ant. We two, my lord. 

Will guard your person while you take your 

rest. 
And watch your safety. 
Alon. Thank you. Wondrous heavy. 

[Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel.] 
Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses 

them ! 
Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. 
Seb. Why 200 

Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not 
Myself dispos'd to sleep. 
Ant. Nor I; my spirits are nimble. 

They fell together all, as by consent; 
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What 

might. 
Worthy Sebastian? O, what might? — No 
more : — 205 

And yet methinks I see it in thy face. 
What thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks 

thee, and 
My strong imagination sees a crown 
Dropping upon thy head. 

934 



Seb. What, art thou waking? 

Ant. Do you not hear me speak? 

Seb. I do; and surely 210 

It is a sleepy language and thou speak'st 

Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? 

This is a strange repose, to be asleep 

With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, 
moving. 

And yet so fast asleep. 
Ant. Noble Sebastian, 215 

Thou let'st thy fortune sleep — die, rather; 
wink'st 

Whiles thou art waking. 
Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly; 

There's meaning in thy snores. 
Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you 

Must be so too, if heed me; which to do 220 

Trebles thee o'er. 
Seb. Well, I am standing water. 

Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 
Seb. Do so: to ebb 

Hereditary sloth instructs me. 
Ant. O, 

If you but knew how you the purpose cherish 

Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it. 

You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed, 226 

Most often do so near the bottom run 

By their own fear or sloth. 
Seb. Prithee, say on: 

The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim 

A matter from thee, and a birth indeed 230 

Which throes thee much to yield. 
Ant. Thus, sir: 

Although this lord of weak remembrance, this. 

Who shall be of as little memory 

When he is earth'd, hath here almost per- 
suaded, — 

For he's a spirit of persuasion, only 235 

Professes to persuade, — the king his son's 
alive, 

'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd 

As he that sleeps here swims. • 
Seb. I have no hope 

That he's undrown'd. 
Ant. O, out of that *no hope' 

What great hope have you! No hope that 
way is 240 

Another way so high a hope that even 

Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, 

But doubt discovery there. Will you grant 
with me 

That Ferdinand is drown'd? 



ACT II. SC. I.] 



THE TEMPEST 



17 



Seb. He's gone. 

Ant. Then, tell me, 

Who's the next heir of Naples ? 

Seb. Claribel. 245 

Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells 
Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from 

Naples 
Can have no note, unless the sun were post — 
The man i' the moon's too slow — till new-born 

chins 
Be rough and razorable; she that from whom 
We all were sea-swallow 'd, though some cast 



again, 



251 



And by that destiny to perform an act 
Whereof what's past is prologue, what to 

come 
In yours and my discharge. 
Seb. What stuff is this ! How say you ? 

'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of 
Tunis ; 255 

So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions 
There is some space. 
Ant. A space w^hose every cubit 

Seems to cry out, 'How shall that Claribel 
Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis, 
And let Sebastian wake.' Say, this were 
death 260 

That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were 

no worse 
Than now they are. There be that can rule 

Naples 
As well as he that sleeps; lords that can 

prate 
As amply and unnecessarily 
As this Gonzalo; I myself could make 265 
A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore 
The mind that I do ! What a sleep were this 
For your advancement! Do you understand 
me.'' 
Seb. Methinks I do. 
Ant. And how does your content 

Tender your own good fortune? 
Seb. I remember 270 

You did supplant your brother Prospero. 
Ant. * True: 

And look how well my garments sit upon me; 
Much feater tlian before: my brother's serv- 
ants 
Were then my fellows; now tliey are my men. 
Seb. But, for your conscience? 275 

Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? H 'twere a 
kibe. 



'Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not 
This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences. 
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be 

they 
And melt ere they molest! Here lies your 

brother, 280 

No better than the earth he lies upon. 
If he were that which now he's like, that's 

dead; 
Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches 

of it. 
Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing 

thus. 
To the perpetual wink for aye might put 285 
This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who 
Should not upbraid our course. For all the 

rest. 
They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk; 
They'll tell the clock to any business that 
We say befits the hour. 
Seb. Thy case, dear friend, 290 

Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan, 
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one 

stroke 
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou 

payest: 
And I the king shall love thee. 
Ant. Draw together; 

And when I rear my hand, do you the like. 
To fall it on Gonzalo. 
Seb. O, but one word. [They talk apart.] 

Enter Ariel, [invisible,'] with music and song. 

Ari. My master through his art foresees the 
danger 
That you, his friend, are in; and sends me 

fortli— 
For else his project dies — to keep them liv- 
ing. 

Sings in Gonzalo's ear. 

'While you here do snoring lie, 300 

Open-eyed conspiracy 

His time doth take. 
If of life you keep a care, 
Shake off slumber, and beware: 

Awake, awake !' 305 

Ant. Then let us both be sudden. 

Gon. [Waiting] Now, good angels 

Preserve the king! 
[To Seb. and Ant.] Why, how now? 



935 



18 



THE TEMPEST 



[act II. SC. I. 



[To the King.'] Ho, awake! 

[To Seh. and Ant.] Why are you drawn? 

Wherefore this ghastly looking? 
Alon. [Waking] What's the matter? 

Seh. Whiles we stood here securing your re- 
pose, 310 
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellow- 
ing 
Like bulls, or rather lions: did't not wake 

you? 
It struck mine ear most terribly. 
Alon. I heard nothing. 

Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear^ 
To make an earthquake! Sure, it was the 
. roar 315 

Of a whole herd of lions. 
Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? 

Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a hum- 
ming. 
And that a strange one too, which did awake 

me: 
I shaked you, sir, and cried: as mine eyes 

open'd, 
I saw their weapons drawn: there was a 
noise, 320 

That's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our 

guard. 
Or that we quit this place: let's draw our 
weapons. 
Alon. Lead ofF this ground; and let's make 
further search 
For my poor son. 
Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! 

For he is, sure, i' the island. 
Alon. Lead away. 325 

Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I have 
done: 
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. Exeunt. 



Scene II. — [Another part of the island.] 

Enter Caliban with a burden of wood. A noise 
of thunder heard. 

Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and 

make him 
By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me 
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor 

pinch, 



Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' the 
mire, 5 

Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark 
Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but 
For every trifle are they set upon me; 
Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at 

me 
And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which 
Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount n 
Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I 
All wound with adders who with cloven 

tongues 
Do hiss me into madness. 

Enter Trinculo. 

Lo, now, lo ! 
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me 
For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat; 
Perchance he will not mind me. 17 

Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off 
any weather at all, and another storm brew- 
ing; I hear it sing i' the wind. Yond same 
black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul 
bombard that would shed his liquor. If it 
should thunder as it did before, I know not 
where to hide my head: yond same cloud can- 
not choose but fall by pailfuls. What have 
we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A 
fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and 
fish-like smell; a kind of not of the newest 
Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in 
England now, as once I was, and had but this 
fish painted, not a holiday fool there but 
would give a piece of silver: there would this 
monster make a man; any strange beast there 
makes a man: when they will not give a doit 
to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten 
to see a dead Indian. Legged like a man! 
and his fins like arms ! Warm o' my troth ! 
I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no 
longer: this is no fish, but g,n islander, that 
hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [Thun- 
der.] Alas, the storm is come again! my best 
way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is 
no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints 
a man with strange bed-fellows. I will here 
shroud till the dregs of the storm be past. 43 

Enter Stephano, singing [a bottle in his hand]. 



Ste. *I shall no more to sea, to sea. 
Here shall I die ashore' — 



45 



936 



ACT II. SC. II.] 



THE TEMPEST 



19 



This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's 
funeral: well, here's my comfort. 

Drinks. Sings. 
'The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I, 

The gunner and his mate 
Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery, 50 
But none of us car'd for Kate; 
For she 'had a tongue with a tang. 
Would cry to a sailor. Go hang! 
She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch, 
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she 
did itch: 55 

Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang !' 

This is a scurvy tune too: but here's my com- 
fort. Drinks. 

Cal. Do not torment me! Oh! 

Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? 
Do you put tricks upon's with savages and 
men of Ind, ha? I have not 'scaped drown- 
ing to be afeard now of your four legs; for it 
hath been said. As proper a man as ever went 
on four legs cannot make him give ground; 
and it shall be said so again while Stephano 
breathes at nostrils. 

Cal. The spirit torments me. Oh ! 66 

Ste. This is some monster of the isle with four 
legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. 
Where the devil should he learn our language ? 
I will give him some relief, if it be but for 
that. If I can recover him and keep him 
tame and get to Naples with him, he's a pres- 
ent for any emperor that ever trod on neat's- 
leather. 

Cal. Do not torment me, prithee; I'll bring my 
wood home faster. 75 

Ste. He's in his fit now and does not talk after 
the v/isest. He shall taste of my bottle: if 
he have never drunk wine afore, it will go 
near to remove his fit. If I can recover him 
and keep him tame, I will not take too much 
for him; he shall pay for him that hath him, 
and that soundly. 

Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt 
anon, I know it by thy trembling: now Pros- 
per works upon thee. 84 

Ste. Come on your ways; open your mouth; 
here is that whicli will give language to you, 
cat: open your mouth; this will shake your 
shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly: 
you cannot tell who's your friend: open your 
chaps again. I 



T7'in. I should know that voice: it should be — 
but he is drowned; and these are devils. O 
defend me! 92 

Ste. Four legs and two voices: a most delicate 
monster ! His forward voice now is to speak 
well of his friend; his backward voice is to 
utter foul speeches and to detract. If all 
the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will 
help his ague. Come. Amen ! I will pour 
some in thy other mouth. 

Trin. Stephano ! 100 

Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, 
mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I 
will leave him; I have no long spoon. 

Trin. Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch 
me and speak to me; for I am Trinculo — be 
not afeard — thy good friend Trinculo. 106 

Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I'll 
pull thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trin- 
culo's legs, these are they. Thou art very Trin- 
culo indeed ! How camest thou to be the siege 
of this moon-calf? Can he vent Trinculos? 

Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder- 
stroke. But art thou not drowned, Stephano ? 
I hope now thou art not drowned. Is the 
storm overblown? I hid me under the dead 
moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of the storm. 
And art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, 
two Neapolitans 'scaped! 

Ste. Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach 
is not constant. 120 

Cal. [Aside.] These be fine things,, and if they 
be not sprites. 
That's a brave god and bears celestial liquor. 
I will kneel to him. 

Ste. How didst thou 'scape? How camest thou 
hither? Swear by this bottle how thou cam- 
est hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack 
which the sailors heaved o'erboard, by this 
bottle ! which I made of the bark of a tree 
with mine own hands since I was cast ashore. 

Cal. I'll swear upon that bottle to be thy true 
subject; for the liquor is not earthly. 131 

Ste. Here; swear then how thou escapedst. 

Trin. Swum ashore, man, like a duck: I can 
swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. 134 

Ste. Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst 
swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 

Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this ? 

Ste. The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock 
by the sea-side where my wine is hid. How 
now, moon-calf! how does thine ague? 



937 



20 



THE TEMPEST 



[act II. SC. II. 



Cal. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven? 140 

Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee: I was 
the man i' the moon when time was. 

Cal. 1 have seen thee in her and I do adore 
thee : 
My mistress show'd me thee and thy dog and 
thy bush. 

Ste. Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I 
will furnish it anon with new contents : swear. 

Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow 
monster ! I af eard of him ! A very weak 
monster ! The man i' the moon ! A most 
poor credulous monster ! Well drawn, mon- 
ster, in good sooth ! 151 

Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' 
island ; 
And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my 
god. 

Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and 
drunken monster ! When's god's asleep, he'll 
rob his bottle. 

Cal. I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy 
sub j ect. 

Ste. Come on then; down, and swear. 

Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this 
puppy-headed monster. A most scurvy mon- 
ster ! I could find in my heart to beat 
him. — 

Ste. Come, kiss. 161 

Trin. But that the poor monster's in drink: an 
abominable monster ! 

Cal. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck 
thee berries; 
I'll fish for thee and get thee wood enough. 165 
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! 
I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee. 
Thou wondrous man. 

Trin. A most ridiculous monster, to make a won- 
der of a poor drunkard! 170 

Cal. I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs 
grow; 
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig- 
nuts; 
Show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee how 
To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee 
To clustering filberts and sometimes I'll get 
thee 175 

Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go 
with me.^ 

Ste. I prithee now, lead the way without any 
more talking. Trinculo, the king and all our 
company else being drowned, we will inherit 



here. Here, bear my bottle; fellow Trinculo, 
we'll fill him by and by again. 181 

Cal. (Sings drunkenly.) 

Farewell, master; farewell, farewell! 

Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster ! 

Cal. *No more dams I'll make for fish; 

Nor fetch in firing 185 

At requiring; 
Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish: 
'Ban, 'Ban, Cacaliban 
Has a new master: get a new man.* 

Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! free- 
dom, hey-day, freedom! 191 
Ste. O brave monster! Lead the way. 

Exeunt. 

ACT THIRD 

Scene I. — [Before Prosperous cell.] 

Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. 

Fer. There be some sports are painful, and 
their labour 
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of base- 
ness 
Are nobly undergone and most poor matters 
Point to rich ends. This my mean task 
Would be as heavy to me as odious, but s 
The mistress which I serve quickens what's 

dead 
And makes my labours pleasures. O, she is 
Ten times more gentle than her father's 

crabbed. 
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must re- 
move 
Some thousands of these logs and pile them 
up, 10 

Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress 
Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such 

baseness 
Had never like executor. I forget: 
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my 

labours. 
Most busy least when I do it. 15 

Enter Miranda; and Prospero [at a distance, 
unseen'] . 



Mir. 



Alas, now, pray you, 



938 



ACT III. SC. 



^] 



THE TEMPEST 



21 



Work not so hard. I would the lightning 
had 

Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to 
pile ! 

Pray, set it down and rest you: when this 
burns, 

'Twill weep for having wearied you. ]\Iy fa- 
ther 

Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself; 20 

He's safe for these three hours. 
Fer. O most dear mistress, 

The sun will set before I shall discharge 

What I must strive to do. 
Mir. If you'll sit down, 

I'll bear your logs the while: pray, give me 
that ; 

I'll carry it to the pile. 
Fer. No, precious creature; 25 

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 

Than you should such dishonour undergo, 

While I sit lazy by. 
Mir. It would become me 

As well as it does you: and I should do it 

With much more ease; for my good will is 
to it, 30 

And yours it is against. 
Pros. Poor worm, thou art infected ! 

This visitation shows it. 
Mir. You look wearily. 

Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with 
me 

When you are by at night. I do beseech 
you — 

Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers — 35 

What is your name.'' 
Mir. ]\Iiranda. — O my father, 

. I have broke your best to say so ! 
Fer. Admir'd Miranda ! 

Indeed the top of admiration ! worth 

What's dearest to the world ! Full many a 
lady 

I have eyed with best regard and many a 
time 40 

The harmony of their tongues hath into bond- 
age 

Brought my too diligent ear: for several vir- 
tues 

Have I liked several women; never any 

With so full soul, but some defect in her 

Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed 45 

And put it to the foil : but you, O you, 

So perfect and so peerless, are created 



Of every creature's best! 

Mir. I do not know 

One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, 
Save, from ni}^ glass, mine own; nor have I 
seen 50 

More that I may call men than 3'^ou, good 

friend. 
And my dear father: how features are abroad, 
I am skilless of; but, by my modesty. 
The jewel in m}^ dower, I would not wish 
Any companion in the world but you, 55 

Nor can imagination form a shape. 
Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle 
Something too wildly, and my father's pre- 
cepts 
I therein do forget. 

Fer. I am in my condition 

A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king; 60 
I would, not so ! — and would no more endure 
This wooden slavery than to suffer 
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul 

speak: 
The very instant that I saw you, did 
My heart fly to your service; there resides, 65 
To make me slave to it; and for ^^our sake 
Am I this patient log-man. 

Mir. Do you love me? 

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this 
sound. 
And crown what I profess with kind event 
If ,1 speak true! if hollowly, invert 70 

What best is boded me to mischief ! I 
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world 
Do love, prize, honour you. 

Mir. I am a fool 

To weep at what I am glad of. 

Pros. Fair encounter 

04 two most rare aff'ections ! Heavens rain 
grace 75 

On that which breeds between 'em! 

Fer. Wherefore weep you? 

Mir. At mine unworthiness that dare not off"cr 
What I desire to give, and much less take 
What I shall die to want. But this is trifling; 
And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 80 
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful 

cunning ! 
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
I am your wife, if you will marry me; 
If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow 
You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, 85 
Whether you will or no. 



939 



2^ 



THE TEMPEST 



[act III. SC. I. 



Fer. [Kneeling.'] My mistress, dearest; 

And I thus humble ever. 

Mir. My husband, then.^ 

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 

As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand. 

Mir. And mine, with my heart in't: and now 
farewell 90 

Till half an hour hence. 

Fer. A thousand thousand! 

Exeunt [Fer. and Mir. severally']. 

Pros. So glad of this as they I cannot be. 
Who are surpris'd withal; but my rejoicing 
At nothing can be more, I'll to my book. 
For yet ere supper-time must I perform 95 
Much business appertaining. Exit. 

Scene II, — [Another part of the island.] 
Enter Caliban, Stephana, and Trinculo. 

Ste. Tell not me; when the butt is out, we will 
drink water; not a drop before: therefore 
bear up, and board 'em. Servant-monster, 
drink to me. 4 

Trin. Servant-monster ! the folly of this island ! 
They say there's but five upon this isle: we 
are three of them; if th' other two be brained 
like us, the state totters. 

Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: 
thy eyes are almost set in thy head. 10 

Trin. Where should they be set else ? He were 
a brave monster indeed, if they were set in 
his tail. 

Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue 
in sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown 
me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, 
five and thirty leagues off and on. By this 
light, thou slialt be my lieutenant, monster, 
or my standard. 

Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no 
standard. 20 

Ste. We'll not run, Monsieur Monster. 

Trin. Nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs, 
and 3'et say nothing neither. 

Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou 
beest a good moon-calf. 25 

Cal. How does thy honour.^ Let me lick thy 
shoe. 
I'll not serve him; he is not valiant. 

Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am 
in case to justle a constable. Why, thou de- 
boshed fish, thou, was there ever man a cow- 

940 



ard that hath drunk so much sack as I to- 
day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being 
but half a fish and half a monster.^ 33 

Cal, Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, 
my lord.^ 

Trin. 'Lord' quoth he! That a monster should 
be such a natural ! 

Cal. Lo, lo, again! Bite him to death, I 
prithee. 39 

Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: 
if you prove a mutineer, — the next tree ! 
The poor monster's my subject and he shall 
not suffer indignity. 

Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be 
pleased to hearken once again to the suit I 
made to thee.^ 45 

Ste. Marry, will I: kneel and repeat it; I will 
stand, and so shall Trinculo. 

Enter Ariel, invisible. 

Cal. As I told thee before, I am subject to a 

tyrant, a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath 

cheated me of the island. 50 

Ari. Thou liest. 
Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou: 

I would my valiant master would destroy 

thee ! I do not lie. 
Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in's 

tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of 

your teeth. 
Trin. Why, I said nothing. 
Ste. Mum, then, and no more. Proceed. 
Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle; 60 

From me he got it. If thy greatness will 

Revenge it on him, — for I know thou darest. 

But this thing dare not, — 
Ste. That's most certain. 

Cal. Thou, shalt be lord of it and I'll serve 

thee. 65 

Ste. How now shall this be compassed? Canst 

thou bring me to the party? 
Cal. Yea, yea, my lord: I'll yield him thee 
asleep. 

Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. 
Ari. Thou liest; thou canst not. 70 

Cal. What a pied ninny's this! Thou scurvy 
patch ! 

I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows 

And take his bottle from him: when that's 
gone 

He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not 
show him 



ACT III. SC. 



II.] 



THE TEMPEST 



23 



Where the quick freshes are. 75 

Ste. Tririculo, run into no further danger: in- 
terrupt the monster one word further, and, 
by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out o' doors 
and make a stock-fish of thee. 

Trin. Why, what did I ? I did nothing. I'll 
go farther off. 81 

Ste. Didst thou not say he lied.^ 

Ari. Thou liest. 

Ste. Do I so.? take thou that. [Beats Trin.'] 
As you like this, give me the lie another 
time. 

Trin. I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits 
and hearing too? A pox o' your bottle! 
This can sack and drinking do. A murrain 
on your monster, and the devil take your 
fingers ! 

Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 90 

Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Prithee, 
stand farther ofF. 

Cal. Beat him enough: after a little time 
I'll beat him too. 

Ste. Stand farther. Come, proceed. 

Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with 

him, 95 

I' th' afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst 

brain him. 
Having first seized his books, or with a log 
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake. 
Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remem- 
ber 
First to possess his books; for without them 
He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not loi 

One spirit to command: they all do hate him 
As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. 
He has brave utensils, — for so he calls 

them, — 
Which, when he has a house, he'll deck 
withal. 105 

And that most deeply to consider is 
The beauty of his daughter; he himself 
Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman. 
But only Sycorax my dam and she; 
But she as far surpasseth Sycorax no 

As great'st does least. 

Ste. Is it so brave a lass? 

Cal. Ay, lord ; she will become t*hy bed, I -war- 
rant, 
And bring thee forth brave brood. 

Ste. Monster, I will kill this man: his daugh- 
ter and I will be king and queen, — save our 
graces ! — and Trinculo and thyself shall be 



viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo? 
Trin. Excellent. nS 

Ste. Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat 

thee; but, while thou livest, keep a good 

tongue in thy head. 
Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep: 

Wilt thou destroy him then? 
Ste. ' Ay, on mine honour. 

Ari. This will I tell my master. 
Cal. Thou makest me merry ; I am full of pleas- 
ure : 125 

Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch 

You taught me but while-ere? 
Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, 

any reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. 

{^Sings?) 



*Flout 'em and scout 'em 
And scout 'em and flout 'em ; 
Thought is free.' 



130 



Cal. 



That's not the tune. 
Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe. 
Ste. What is this same? 

Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by 
the picture of Nobody. 136 

Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy 
likeness: if thou beest a devil, take't as thou 
list. 
Trin. O, forgive me my sins ! 
Ste. He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. 
Mercy upon us ! 141 

Cal. Art thou afeard? 
Ste. No, monster, not I. 

Cal. Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises. 

Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and 

hurt not. 145 

Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 

Will hum about mine ears, and sometime 

voices 
That, if I then had waked after long sleep. 
Will make me sleep again : and then, in dream- 
ing. 
The clouds methought would open and show 
riches 150 

Ready to drop upon me, that, when I wak'd, 
I cried to dream again. 
Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, 

where I shall have my music for nothing. 
Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. 155 

Ste. That shall be by and by; I remember 
the story. 



941 



^4 



THE TEMPEST 



[act iii. sc. 11. 



Trin. The sound is going away; let's follow it^ 

and after do our work. 
Ste. Lead, monster; we'll follow. I would I 

could see this taborer; he lays it on. i6o 

Trin. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. 

Exeunt. 



Scene III. — [Another part of the island.'] 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and others 

Gon. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir; 
My old bones ache: here's a maze trod in- 
deed 
Through forth-rights and meanders ! By 

your patience, 
I needs must rest me. 
Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee. 

Who am myself attach'd with weariness, 5 
To the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and 

rest. 
Even here I will put off my hope and keep 

it 
No longer for my flatterer: he is drown'd 
Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea 

mocks 
Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him 
go. ^ 10 

Ant. [Aside to Seb.] I am right glad that he's 
so out of hope. 
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
That you resolv'd to effect. 
Seb. [Aside to Ant.] The next advantage 

Will we take throughly. 
Ant. [Aside to Seb.] Let it be to-night; 

For, now they are oppressed with travel, 

they 15 

Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance 

As when they are fresh. 

Seb. [Aside to Ant.] I say, to-night: no more. 

Solemn and strange music. 

Alon. What harmony is this.^ My good friends, 

hark ! 
Gon. Marvellous sweet music ! 



Enter Prospero on the top, invisible. Enter 
several strange Shapes, bringing in a ban- 
quet; they dance about it with gentle actions 
of salutation; and, inviting the King, ^c. to 
eat, they depart- 

942 



Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What 
were these? 20 

Seb. A living drollery. Now I will believe 
That there are unicorns, that in Arabia 
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne^ one 

phoenix 

At this hour reigning there. 

Ant. I'll believe both; 

And what does else want credit, come to 

me, 25 

And I'll be sworn 'tis true: travellers ne'er 

did lie. 
Though fools at home condemn 'em. 
Gon. If in Naples 

I should report this now, would they believe 

me? 
If I should say, I saw such islanders — • 
For, certes, these are people of the island — 30 
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, 

yet, note. 
Their manners are more gentle^ kind than of 
Our human generation you shall find 
Many, nay, almost any. 
Pros. [Aside.] Honest lord, 

Thou hast said well; for some of you there 

present 35 

Are worse than devils. 

Alon. I cannot too much muse 

Such shapes, such gesture and such sound, 

expressing. 
Although they want the use of tongue, a 

kind 
Of excellent dumb discourse. 
Pros. [Aside.] Praise in departing. 

Fran. They vanish'd strangely. 
Seb. No matter, since 40 

They have left their viands behind; for we 

have stomachs. 
Will't please you taste of what is here? 
Alon. Not I. 

Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we 
were boys. 
Who would believe that there were moun- 
taineers 
Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had 
hanging at 'em 45 

Wallets of flesh? or that there were such 



men 



Whose heads stood in their breasts? which 

now we find 
Each putter-out of five for one will bring ir$ 
Good warrant of. 



ACT III. SC. 



III.] 



THE TEMPEST 



25 



Alon. I will stand to and feed, 

Although my last: no matter, since I feel 50 
The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke, 
Stand to and do as we. 

Ill under arid lightning. Enter Ariel, like a 
harpy; claps his icings upon the table; and, 
with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes. 



Ari. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, 
That hath to instrument this lower world 
And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea 55 
Hath caus'd to belch up you; and on- this 

island 
Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst 

men 
Being most unfit to live. I have made you 

mad; 
And even with such-like valour men hang and 

drown 
Their proper selves. 

[Alon., Seb. (^c. draw their swords.] 

You fools ! I and my fellows 60 
Are ministers of Fate: the elements, 
Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as 

well 
Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at 

stabs 
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 
One dowle that's in my plume: my fellow- 
ministers 65 
Are ^ like invulnerable. If you could hurt. 
Your swords are now too massy for your 

strengths 
And will not be uplifted. But remember — 
For that's my business to you — that you three 
From Milan did supplant good Prospero; 70 
Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, 
Him and his innocent child: for which foul 

deed 
The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 
Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the 

creatures, 
Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, 
They have bereft; and do pronounce by me 76 
Lingering perdition, worse than any death 
Can be at once, shall step by step attend 
You and your ways; whose wraths to guard 

you from — 
Which here, in this most desolate isle, else 

falls 80 

943 



Upon your heads — is nothing but heart-sor- 
row 
And a clear life ensuing. 

He vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music, 
enter the Shapes again, and dance, with 
mocks and mows, and carrying out the table. 

Pros. Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou 

Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devour- 
ing: 

Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated 85 

In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life 

And observation strange, my meaner minis- 
ters 

Their several kinds have done. My high 
charms work 

And these mine enemies are all knit up 

In their distractions; they now are in my 
power ; 90 

And in these fits I leave them, while I visit 

Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is 
drown'd. 

And his and mine lov'd darling. 

[Evcit above.] 
Gon. r the name of something holy, sir, why 
stand you 

In this strange stare? 
Alon. O, it is monstrous, monstrous! 95 

Methought the billows spoke and told me of 
it; 

The winds did sing it to me, and the thun- 
der, 

That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pro- 
nounc'd 

The name of Prosper: it did bass my tres- 
pass. 

Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded, and 

I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet 
sounded loi 

And with him there lie mudded. [Exit.] 

Seb. But one fiend at a time, 

I'll fight their legions o'er. 
Ant. I'll be thy second. 

Exeunt Seb. and Ant. 

Gon. All three of them are desperate: their 

great guilt, 105 

Like poison given to work a great time after. 

Now 'gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech 
you 

That are of suppler joints, follow them 
swiftly 

And hinder them from what this ecstasy 



26 



THE TEMPEST 



[act III. SC. IIIo 



May now provoke them to. 
Adr. Follow, 



pray you. no 
Exeunt. 



ACT FOURTH 

Scene I. — [^Before Prospero's cell.] 
Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 

Pros. If I have too austerely punish'd you, 
Your compensation makes amends, for I 
Have given you here a thrid of mine own life, 
Or that for which I live; who once again 
I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations 5 

Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
Hast strangely stood the test. Here, afore 

Heaven, 
I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 
Do not smile at me that I boast her off. 
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise 
And make it halt behind her. 

Fer. I do believe it 

Against an oracle. 12 

Pros. Then, as my gift and thine own acquisi- 
tion 
Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter. But 
If thou dost break her virgin-knot before 15 
All sanctimonious ceremonies may 
With full and holy rite be minister'd. 
No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall 
To make this contract grow; but barren hate. 
Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew 20 
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly 
That you shall hate it both: therefore take 

heed. 
As Hymen's lamps shall light you. 

Fer. As I hope 

For quiet days, fair issue and long life. 
With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, 
The most opportune place, the strong'st sug- 
gestion 26 
Our worser genius can, shall never melt 
Mine honour into lust, to take away 
The edge of that day's celebration 
When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are 
founder'd, 30 
Or Night kept chain'd below. 

Pros. Fairly spoke. 

Sit then and talk with her; she is thine own. 
What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel! 



Enter Ariel. 

Ari. What would my potent master? 

am. 
Pros. Thou 



Here I 



and thy meaner fellows your last 



service 



Did worthily perform; and I must use you 
In such another trick. Go bring the rabble, 
O'er whom I give thee power, here to this 

place : 
Incite them to quick motion; for I must 
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 40 
Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise. 
And they expect it from me. 
Ari. Presently? 

Pros. Ay, with a twink. 
Ari. Before you can say 'come' and 'go,' 

And breathe twice and cry 'so, so,' 45 

Each one, tripping on his toe. 
Will be here with mop and mow. 
Do you love me, master? no? 
Pros. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not ap- 
proach. 
Till thou dost hear me call. 
Ari. Well, I conceive. Exit. 50 

Pros. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance 
Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are 

straw 
To the iire i' the blood: be more abstemious. 
Or else, good night your vow ! 
Fer. I warrant you, sir; 

The white cold virgin snow upon my heart 55 
Abates the ardour of my liver. 
Pros. Well. * 

Now come, my Ariel ! bring a corollary 
Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly ! 



No tongue ! All eyes ! Be 



Enter Iris. 



silent. 
Soft 



music. 



Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 60 
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease ; 
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling 

sheep. 
And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to 

keep; 
Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims. 
Which spongy April at thy best betrims, 65 
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy 

broom-groves. 
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves. 



L 



944 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



THE TEMPEST 



27 



Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; 
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, 
Where thou thyself dost air; — the queen o' 

the sky, 70 

Whose watery arch and messenger am I, 
Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign 

grace. 
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place. 
To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain : 
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 75 

Enter Ceres. 

Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er 
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; 
Who with thv saffron wings upon my flowers 
Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers. 
And with each end of thy blue bow dost 

crown 80 

My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down, 
Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy 

queen 
Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd 

green ? 
Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate; 
And some donation freely to estate 85 

On the blest lovers. 
Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, 

H Venus or her son, as thou dost know. 
Do now attend the queen.'' Since they did 

plot 
The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, 
Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 90 
I have forsworn. 
Iris. Of her society 

lie not afraid: I met her deity 
Cutting the clouds towards Paphos and her 

son 
Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to 

have done 
Some wanton charm upon this man and maid. 
Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be 

paid 96 

Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but in vain; 
Mars's hot minion is return'd again; 
Her waspish-headed son has broke his ar- 
rows. 
Swears he will shoot no more but play with 

sparrows 100 

And be a boy right out. 
Cer. High'st queen of state, 

Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait. 



Enter Juno. 

Juno. How does my bounteous sister .f* Go with 
me 

To bless this twain, that they may prosper- 
ous be 

And honour'd in their issue. They sing: 105 

Juno. 'Honour, riches, marriage-blessing. 
Long continuance, and increasing. 
Hourly joys be still upon you! 
Juno sings her blessings on you. 

[Cer.] Earth's increase, foison plenty, no 

Barns and garners never empty. 
Vines with clustering bunches growing, 
Plants with goodly burden bowing; 
Spring come to you at the farthest 
In the very end of harvest! ns 

Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 
Ceres' blessing so is on you.' 

Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold 
To think these spirits? 
Pros. Spirits, which by mine art 120 

I have from their confines call'd to enact 
My present fancies. 
Fer. Let me live here ever; 

So rare a wonder'd father and a wife 
Makes this place Paradise. 
Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on em- 
ployment. 
Pros. Sweet, now, silence ! 

Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; 125 

There's something else to do: hush, and be 

mute. 
Or else our spell is marr'd. 
Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wind- 
ring brooks. 
With your sedg'd crowns and ever-harmless 

looks. 
Leave your crisp channels and on this green 
land 130 

Answer your summons; Juno does command: 
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to cele- 
brate 
A contract of true love; be not too late. 

Enter certain Nymphs. 

You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary. 
Come hither from the furrow and be merry: 
Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on 136 



945 



28 



THE TEMPEST 



[act IV. SC. I. 



And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
In country footing. 

Enter certain Reapers, properly habited : they 
join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; 
towards the end whereof Prospero starts sud- 
denly, and speaks; after which, to a strange, 
hollow, and confused noise, they heavily van- 
ish. 

Pros. \^Aside.'] I had forgot that foul con- 
spiracy 
Of the beast Caliban and his confederates 140 
Against my life: the minute of their plot 
Is almost come. [To the Spirits.'] Well 
done ! Avoid ! No more ! 

Fer. This is strange: your father's in some pas- 
sion 
That works him strongly. 

Mir, Never till this day 

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 

Pros. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, 146 
As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir. 
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, 
As I foretold you, were all spirits and 
Are melted into air, into thin air: 150 

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous pal- 
aces. 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 155 
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stufF 
As dreams are made on, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd; 
Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is trou- 
bled: 
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity: 160 

If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell 
And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk. 
To still my beating mind. 

Fer. Mir. We wish your peace. Exeunt. 

Pros. Come with a thought. I thank thee, 
Ariel: come. 

Enter Ariel. 

Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy 

pleasure ? 
Pros. Spirit, 165 

We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 
Ari. Ay, my commander: when I presented 

Ceres, 



I thought to have told thee of it, but I fear'd 
Lest I might anger thee. 
Pros. Say again, where didst thou leave these 
varlets.^ . 170 

Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with 
drinking ; 
So full of valour that they smote the air 
For breathing in their faces; beat the ground 
For kissing of their feet; yet always bending 
Towards their project. Then I beat my ta- 
bor ; 175 
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd 

their ears, 
Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses 
As they smelt music: so I charm'd their ears 
That calf-like they my lowing follow'd 

through 
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss 
and thorns, 180 

Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left 

them 
I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell. 
There dancing up to the chins, that the foul 

lake 
O'erstunk their feet. 
Pros. This was well done, my bird. 

Thy shape invisible retain thou still: 185 

The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither, 
For stale to catch these thieves. 
Ari. I go, I go. Exit. 

Pros. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains. 
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; 190 
And as with age his body uglier grows. 
So his mind cankers. I will plague them all. 
Even to roaring. 

Enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, SfC. 

Come, hang them on this line. 

[Prospero and Ariel remain, invisible.] Enter 
Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet. 

Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole 
may not 

Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell. 195 
Ste. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a 

harmless fairy, has done little better than 

played the Jack with us. 
Tiin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at 

which my nose is in great indignation. 200 

iSte. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If 



946 



ACT IV. SC. I.] 



THE TEMt>EST 



29 



I should take a displeasure against jou, look 

you, — 
Trhi. Thou wert but a lost monster. 
Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. 

Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to 205 

Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore 
speak softly. 

All's hush'd as midnight yet. 
Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, — 
Ste. There is not onW disgrace and dishonour 

in that, monster, but an infinite loss. 210 

Trin. That's more to me than my wetting: yet 

this is your harmless fairy, monster. 
Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er 

ears for my labour. 
CaL Prithee, my king, be quiet. See'st thou 
here, 215 

This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and 
enter. 

Do that good mischief which may make this 
island 

Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 

For aye thy foot-licker. 
Ste. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have 

bloody thoughts. 220 

Trin. O king Stephano ! O peer ! O worthy 

Stephano ! look what a wardrobe here is for 

thee ! 
Cal. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash. 
Trin. O, ho, monster ! we know what belongs 

to a frippery. O king Stephano ! 226 

Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, 

I'll have that gown. 
Trin. Thy grace shall have it. 
Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you 
mean 230 

To dote thus on such luggage? Let's alone 

And do the murder first: if he awake, 

From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with 
pinches, 

Make us strange stuff. 
Ste. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is 

not this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under 

the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your 

hair and prove a bald jerkin. 
Trin. Do, do: we steal by line and level, and't 

like your grace. 240 

Ste. I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment 

for't: wit shall not go unrewarded while I am 

king of this country. 'Steal by line and level' 

is an excellent i)ass of pate; there's another 

garment for't. 245 



Trin. Monster, come, put some lime upon your 
f.^gers, and away with the rest. 

Cal. J will have none on't: we shall lose our 
ti!^e. 
And ^ll be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
With foreheads villainous low. 250 

Ste. Monster, lay-to yoiir fingers: help to bear 
this away where my hogshead of wine is, or 
I'll turn you out of my kingdom: go to, carry 
this. 

Trin. And this. 

Ste. Ay, and this. ■ 255 

A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, 
in shape of dogs and hounds, and hunt them 
about, Prospero and Ariel setting them on. 

Pros. Hey, Mountain, hey! 
Ari. Silver! there it goes. Silver! 
Pros. Fury, Fury ! there. Tyrant, there ! hark ! 
hark! [Cal., Ste., and Trin. are driven out.] 
Go charge my goblins that they grind their 

j oints 
With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews 
With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted 
make them 261 

Than pard or cat o' mountain. 
Ari. Hark, they roar ! 

Pros. Let them be hunted soundly. At this 
hour 
Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : 
Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou 265 
Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little 
Follow, and do me service. Exeunt. 



ACT FIFTH 

Scene I. — [Before Prosperous cell.] 
Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel. 

Pros. Now does my project gather to a head: 
My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and 

time 
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the 
day? 
Ari. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, 

You said our work should cease. 
Pros. I did say so, 5 

When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my 

spirit, 
How fares the king and's followers ? 



947 



so 



THE TEMPEST 



[act v. SC. I. 



Ari. Confin'd together 

In the same fashion as you gave in charge, 
Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir. 
In the line-grove which weather-fen^, your 
cell; ' \i 10 

They cannot budge till your release. The 

king. 
His brother and yours, abide all three dis- 
tracted 
And the remainder mourning over them, 
Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly 
Him that you term'd, sir, 'The good old lord, 
Gonzalo;* 15 

His tears run down his beard, like winter's 

drops 
From eaves of reeds. Your charm so 

strongly works 'em 
That if you now beheld them, your affections 
Would become tender. 
Pros, Dost thou think so, spirit? 

Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. 
Pros, And mine shall. 20 

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feel- 
ing 
Of their afflictions, and shall not myself. 
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply 
Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou 

art? 
Though with their high wrongs I am struck 
to the quick, 25 

Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury 
Do I take part: the rarer action is 
In virtue than in vengeance: they being peni- 
tent. 
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel: 
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll re- 
store, 31 
And they shall be themselves. 
Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. Exit. 
Pros. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes 
and groves. 
And ye that on the. sands with printless foot 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him 35 
When he comes back; you demi-puppets that 
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make. 
Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose 

pastime 
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that re- 

j oice 
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid, 40 
Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd 

948 



The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous 

winds. 
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder 
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
With his own bolt; the strong-bas'd promon- 
tory 46 
Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd 

up 
The pine and cedar: graves at my command 
Have wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and let 'em 

forth 
By my so potent art. But this rough magic 50 
I here abjure, and, when I have required 
Some heavenly music, which even now I do. 
To work mine end upon their senses that 
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff". 
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, 55 

And deeper than did ever plummet sound 
I'll drown my book. Solemn music. 

Here enters Ariel before: then Alonso^ with a 
frantic gesture^ attended by Gonzalo; Sebas- 
tian and Antonio in like manner^ attended by 
Adrian and Francisco: they all enter the circle 
which Prospero had made,, and there stand 
charmed; which Prospero observing, speaks: 

A solemn air and the best comforter 
To an unsettled fancy cure thy brains. 
Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There 
stand, 60 

For you are spell-stopp'd. 
Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, 
Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine. 
Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves 

apace. 
And as the morning steals upon the night, 65 
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo, 
My true preserver, and a loyal sir 
To him thou f ollow'st ! I will pay thy graces 
Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly 
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter: 
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act. yz 

Thou art pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. Flesh 

and blood. 
You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, 
Expell'd remorse and nature; who, with Se- 
bastian, 7^ 
Whose inward pinches therefore are most 
strong. 



ACT V. SC. 



I.] 



THE TEMPEST 



SI 



Would here have kill'd your king; I do for- 
give tliee, 
Unnatural though thou art. Their under- 
standing 
Begins to swell, and the approaching tide 80 
Will shortly fill the reasonable shore 
That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of 

them 
That yet looks on me^ or would know me: 

Ariel, 
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell: 
I will disease me, and myself present 85 

As I was sometime Milan: quickly, spirit; 
Thou shalt ere long be free. 

Ariel sings and helps to attire him. 

'Where the bee sucks, there suck I: 

In a cowslip's bell I lie; 

There I couch w^hen owds do cry. 90 

On the bat's back I do fly 

After summer merrily. 
Merrily, merrily shall I live now 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.' 

Pros. Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall 
miss thee; 95 

But yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, sOo 
To the king's ship, invisible as thou art: 
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
Under the hatches; the master and the boat- 
swain 
Being awake, enforce them to this place, 100 
And presently, I prithee. 

Ari. I drink the air before me, and return 

Or ere your pulse twice beat. Exit. 

Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder and amaze- 
ment 
Inhabits here: some heavenly power guide us 
Out of this fearful country ! 

Pros. Behold, sir king, 106 

The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero: 
For more assurance that a living prince 
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; 
And to thee and tliy company I bid no 

A hearty welcome. 

Alon. Whether thou be'st he or no. 

Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, 
As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse 
Beats as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw 

thee, 
The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
I fear, a madness held me: this must crave, 116 



And if this be at, all, a most strange story. 

Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat 

Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should 

Prospero 
Be living and be here.^ 
Pros. First, noble friend, 120 

Let me embrace thine age, whose honour can 

not. 
Be measur'd or confin'd. 
Gon, Whether this be 

Or be not, I'll not swear. 
Pros. You do yet taste 

Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let 

you 
Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends 
all ! 125 

[Aside to Seb. and Ant.] But you, my brace 

of lords, were I so minded, 
I here could pluck his highness' frown upon 

you 
And justify you traitors: at this time 
I will tell no tales. 
Seb. [Aside] The devil speaks in him. 

Pros. No. 

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call 
brother 130 

Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require 
My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know. 
Thou must restore. 
Alon. If thou be'st Prospero, 

Give us particulars of thy preservation; 135 
How thou hast met us here, who three hours 

since 
Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have 

lost — 
How sharp the point of this remembrance 

is!— 
My dear son Ferdinand. 
Pros. I am woe for't, sir. 

Alon. Irreparable is the loss, and patience 140 

Says it is past her cure. 
Pros. I rather think 

You have not sought her help, of whose soft 

grace 
P'or the like loss I have her sovereign aid 
And rest myself content. 
Alon. You the like loss ! 

Pros. As great to me as late; and, supportable 
To make the dear loss, have I means much 
weaker 146 

Than you may call to comfort you, for I 



949. 



THE TEMPEST 



[act v. sc. 



Have lost my daughter. 
Alon. A daughter? 

heavens^ that they were living both in 
Naples, 

The king and queen there! that they were, I 
wish 150 

Myself were mudded in that oozy bed 
Where my son lies. When did you lose your 
daughter ? 
Pros. In this last tempest. I perceive, these 
lords 
At this encounter do so much admire 
That they devour their reason and scarce 
think 15s 

Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
Are natural breath: but, howsoe'er you have 
Been justled from your senses, know for cer- 
tain 
That I am Prospero and that very duke 
Which was thrust forth of Milan, who most 
strangely 160 

Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was 

landed. 
To be the lord on't. No more yet of this; 
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day. 
Not a relation for a breakfast nor 
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; 165 
This cell's my court: here have I few at- 
tendants 
And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. 
My dukedom since you have given me again, 

1 will requite you with as good a thing; 

At least bring forth a wonder^ to content ye 
As much as me my dukedom. 171 

Here Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Mi- 
randa, playing at chess. 

Mir. Sweet lord, you play me false. 

Fer. No, my dear'st love, 

I would not for the world. 
Mir. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
wrangle. 

And I would call it fair play. 
Alon. If this prove 175 

A vision of the Island, one dear son 

Shall I twice lose. 
Seh. A most high miracle ! 

Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merci- 
ful; 

I have cursed them without cause. [Kneels.'] 
Alon, Now all the blessings 



Of a glad father compass thee about ! 180 

Arise, and say how thou camest here. 

Mir. O, wonder ! 

How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new 

world. 
That has such people in't! 

Pros. 'Tis new to thee. 

Alon. What is this maid with whom thou wast 

at play.^ 185 

Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three 

hours : 
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us. 
And brought us thus together.^ 

Fer. Sir, she is mortal; 

But by immortal Providence she's mine: 
I chose her when I could not ask my father 190 
For his advice, nor thought I had one. She 
Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, 
Of whom so often I have heard renown. 
But never saw before; of whom I have 
Receiv'd a second life; and second father 195 
This lady makes him to me. 

Alon. I am hers: 

But, O, how oddly will it sound that I 
Must ask my child forgiveness ! 

Pros. There, sir, stop: 

Let us not burden our remembrance with 
A heaviness that's gone. 

Gon. I have inly wept, 200 

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, 

you gods. 
And on this couple drop a blessed crown! 
For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way 
Which brought us hither. 

Alon. I say. Amen, Gonzalo ! 

Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his 
issue 205 

Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice 
Beyond a common joy, and set it down 
With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage 
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis 
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife 210 
Where he himself was lost, Prospero his duke- 
dom 
In a poor isle, and all of us ourselves 
When no man was his own. 

Alon. [To Fer. and Mir.] Give me your hands: 
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart 
That doth not wish you j oy ! 

Gon. Be it so ! Amen ! 21s 



950 



ACT V. SC. I.] 



THE TEMPEST 



Enter Ariel, icith the Master and BoatswaiTi 
amazedly following. 

O, look, sir, look, sir ! here is more of us : 
I prophesied, if a gallows were on land. 
This fellow could not drown. Now, blas- 
phemy, 
That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath 

on shore? 
Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the 

news ? 220 

Boats. The best news is, that we have safely 

found 
Our king and company; the next, our ship — 
Which, but three glasses since, we gave out 

split — 
Is tight and yare and bravely rigg'd as when 
We first put out to sea. 
Ari. [Aside to Pros.] Sir, all this service 225 

Have I done since I went. 
Pros. [Aside to Ari.] My tricksy spirit! 

Alon. These are not natural events; they 

strengthen 
From strange to stranger. Say, how came 

you hither? 
Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
I'ld strive to tell you. We were dead of 

sleep, 230 

And — how we know not — all clapp'd under 

hatches ; 
Where but even now with strange and several 

noises 
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling 

chains, 
And moe diversity of sounds, all horrible. 
We were awak'd; straightway, at liberty; 235 
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 
Our royal, good and gallant ship, our master 
Capering to eye her: on a trice, so please you. 
Even in a dream, were we divided from them 
And were brought moping hither. 
Ari. [Aside to Pros.] Was't well done? 240 

Pros. [Aside to Ari.] Bravely, my diligence. 

Thou shalt be free. 
Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men 

trod ; 
And there is in tliis business more than na- 
ture 
Was ever conduct of: some oracle 
Must rectify our knowledge. 
Pros. Sir, my liege, 245 



Do not infest your mind with beating on 

The strangeness of this business; at pick'd 

leisure 
Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you. 
Which to you shall seem probable, of every 
These happen'd accidents ; till when, be cheer- 
ful 250 
And think of each thing well. [Aside to Ari.] 

Come hither, spirit: 
Set Caliban and his companions free ; 
Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my 

gracious sir? 
There are yet missing of your company 
Some few odd lads that you remember not. 255 

Enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano and 
Trinculo, in their stolen apparel. 

Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no 
man take care for himself; for all is but for- 
tune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio ! 

Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my 
head, here's a goodly sight. 260 

Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed! 
How fine my master is ! I am afraid 
He will chastise me. 

Seb. Ha, ha! 

What things are these, my lord Antonio ? 
Will money buy 'em? 

Ant. Very like; one of them 265 

Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. 

Pros. Mark but the badges of these men, my 
lords. 
Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen 

knave. 
His mother was a witch, and one so strong 
That could control the moon, make flows and 
ebbs, 270 

And deal in her command without her power. 
These three have robb'd me ; and this demi- 

devil — - 
For he's a bastard one— had plotted with them 
To take my life. Two of these fellows you 
Must know and own ; this thing of darkness I 
Acknowledge mine. 

Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. 276 

Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? 

Seb. He is drunk now: where had he wine? 

Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where 
should they 
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em? 
How earnest thou in this pickle? 281 



951 



THE TEMPEST 



[act v. SC. I. 



Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I saw 
you last that, I fear me, will never out of my 
bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing. 

Seh. Why, how now, Stephano! 285 

Ste. O, touch me not; I am not StephanOj, but a 
cramp. 

Pros. You'ld be king o' the isle, sirrah? 

Ste. I should have been a sore one then. 

Alon. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd 
on. [Pointing to Caliban.^ 

Pros. He is as disproportion'd in his manners 290 
As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; 
Take with you your companions ; as you look 
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. 

Col. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter 
And seek for grace. What a thrice-double 
ass 295 

Was I, to take this drunkard for a god 
And worship this dull fool! 

Pros. Go to ; away ! 

Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where 
you found it. 

Seh. Or stole it, rather. 

[Exeunt Cat., Ste., and Trin.'] 

Pros. Sir, I invite your highness and your train 

To my poor cell, where you shall take your 

rest 301 

For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste 

With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall 

make it 
Go quick away ; the story of my life 
And the particular accidents gone by 305 

Since I came to this isle : and in the morn 
I'll bring you to your ship and so to Naples, 
Where I have hope to see the nuptial 
Of these our dear-beloved solemnis'd; 
And thence retire me to my Milan, where 310 



Every third thought shall be my grave. 

Alon. I long 

To hear the story of your life, which must 
Take the ear strangely. 

Pros, I'll deliver all; 

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales. 
And sail so expeditious that shall catch 315 
Your royal fleet far off. [Aside to Ari.] My 

Ariel, chick. 
That is thy charge : then to the elements 
Be free, and fare thou well! Please you, 
draw near. Exeunt, 

EPILOGUE 

Spoken by Prospero. 

Now my charms are all o'erthrown. 
And what strength I have's mine own. 
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true, 
I must be here confin'd by you. 
Or sent to Naples. Let me not, 5 

Since I have my dukedom got 
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell 
In this bare island by your spell; 
But release me from my bands 
With the help of your good "hands : 10 

Gentle breath of yours my sails 
Must fill, or else my project fails, 
Which was to please. Now I want 
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant. 
And my ending is despair, is 

Unless I be relieved by prayer, 
Which pierces so that it assaults 
Mercy itself and frees all faults. 
As you from crimes would pardon'd be. 
Let your indulgence set me free. 20 

Exit. 



PINIS 



952 



THE TEMPEST 



35 



NOTES 



be 



The 'names of the actors,' or, as we should say, 
the characters, are given in the First Folio at the 
end of the play. 

ACT I 

i. Lord Mulgrave, an authority on seamanship, com- 
mended this scene for the accuracy and skill of 
its sea-craft. 'The succession of events is strictly 
observed in the natural progress of the distress 
described; the expedients adopted are the most 
proper that could have been devised for a chance 
of safety.' 

3 Good, probably a contraction for 'good fellow,' 
as in line 16. It is not an answer to the Boat- 
swain's question. It may be an interjection equiv- 
alent to 'well.' 

4 yarely, quickly, nimbly. Cf. 'yare' in line 7. 

8 Blow. This sentence is addressed to the wind. 
The Boatswain does not care how hard it blows so 
long as they have sea-room. 

15 assist the storm, i. e., by engaging our attention 
and getting in our way. 

18 roarers, roaring billows. The use of the singu- 
lar verb is not uncommon with a plural subject 
following. 

25 present, i. e., time, hand, handle. 
30-36 Gonzalo's speech elaborates the old 

'He that is born to be hanged will never 

drowned.' 
38 to try with main-course, to sail as close as 

possible to the wind by means of the mainsail. 

40 office, words of command, 

52 a-hold, close to the wind, two courses, foresail 
and mainsail. 

59 merely, absolutely. 

60 wide-chapp'd, big-mouthed. 

61 ten tides. A pirate's body, after hanging at 
low water mark, was left for three tides. 

63 glut, swallow up. 

ii. 1-13 The versification of this speech, with its 
light, weak, and double endings, is characteristic 
of Shakespeare's last period. 
4 welkin, the massed clouds, the sky. 
6 brave, fine, handsome. 

13 fraughting-, on board. 

14 amazement, consternation, piteous, pitiful. 

16 thee. Prosper© uses the singular of affection; 
;Miranda the plural of respectful address. 

19 better, nobler, of higher rank. 
28 provision, foresight. 

31 Betid, befallen, happened. 

41 Out, altogether, quite. 

63 holp, helped. 

64 teen, grief, trouble. 

70 manage, management. The involved structure of 
this sentence is characteristic both of Prospero and 
of his creator's latest style. 

81 trash, check- 



83 key, used in a double sense. 

90 closeness, privacy. 

97 lorded, enriched, endowed. 
100-102 Many emendations of this difl&cult passage 
have been proposed, the change of into to unto 
being the simplest. The meaning is clear: An- 
tonio falsified his memory by telling the lie so 
frequently that he came to regard it as the 
truth. 
103-104 From being the substitute and representa- 
tive of royalty. 

107 this part he played, the dukedom. 

108 him he play'd it for, himself. 

109 me, for me. 

112 dry, thirsty, eager. 

117 condition, agreement, event, outcome. 

118 but, otherwise than. 

123 in lieu of the premises, in return for the offer. 
134 hint, theftie, subject, as in II. i. 3. 
138 impertinent, irrelevant, its original meaning. 
144 In few, in short, as in Hamlet I. iii. 126. 
146 boat, Rowe] ; Butt F. 
155 deck'd, covered. 
157 stomach, courage. 

165 steaded much, stood us in good stead. 
173 princess, used as a plural. 

188 Ariel is compounded of the elements of air and 
fire; Caliban of the other two — earth and water. 

193 quality, fellows of the same profession. 

194 to point, exactly. 

196 beak, figurehead. 

197 waist, between quarterdeck and forecastle. 

200 flame distinctly, separately. William Strachy 
in his True Repertory (see Introduction) says: 
'Upon the Thursday night Sir George Somers being 
upon the watch had an apparition of a little round 
light, like a faint star, trembling and stream- 
ing along with a sparkling blaze, half the height 
upon the mainmast, and shooting sometimes from 
shroud to shroud, attempting to settle as it were 
upon any of the four shrouds; and for three or 
four hours together, or rather more, half the night 
it kept with us, running sometimes along the main- 
yard to the very end and then returning.' This 
description, though written in 1610, was not pub- 
lished, so far as we know, till 1625; but there is 
a similar passage in Hakluyt's Vo^iages (1598); 
'This light continued aboard our ship about three 
hours, flying from mast to mast, and from top to 
top; and sometimes it would be in two or three 
places at once.' 

207 coil, tumult, confusion, as in A Midsummer 
Night's Dream III. ii. 339 and Hamlet III. i. 67. 

213 up-staring, standing up straight. 

218 sustaining, holding them up in the sea. 

223 odd angle, out of the way corner. 

229 Bermoothes (three syllables), an attempt to re- 
produce phonetically the name of the Spanish dis- 
coverer of the islands, Bermudez (1515). They 



95S 



S6 



THE TEMPEST 



were little known until the wreck of 1609, which 
was immediately followed by their occupation and 
settlement by the English. 

still- vex'd refers to the storms which up to that 
time had given the islands an evil reputation. 
234" Mediterranean flote, sea. This is the nearest 
indication we have of the whereabouts of the un- 
inhabited island. Evidently it is not one of the 
Bermudas, as Ariel is sent there; and though Ariel, 
like Puck, might 'put a girdle round about the 
earth in forty minutes,' the Neapolitan fleet would 
be less speedy, and must be supposed near the 
Mediterranean at the time of the storm. But all 
attempts to locate the scene of The Tempest are 
futile. An old ballad, founded on the play, says: — 

*From that day forth the Isle has been 
By wandering sailors never seen. 

Some say 'tis buried deep 
Beneath the sea, which breaks and roars 
Above its savage-, rocky shores 
Nor e'er is known to sleep.' 

This does not, of course, invalidate the supposi- 
tion that Shakespeare made use of the circumstances 
of the Bermuda wreck. The violence of the storm, 
the separation of the Sea Adventure from the rest 
of the fleet, the apparently miraculous escape of 
those on board, and the character of the island on 
which they landed establish a parallel of unmis- 
takable significance. See Introduction. 

240 two glasses, two o'clock. The time of the ac- 
tion is about equivalent to that of the representa- 
tion. Cf. V. i. 4 and 223. 

242 pains, toil. Cf. 'to take pains.' 

252 ooze, at the bottom of the sea. 

257 Prospero is said by modern commentators to 
speak lines such as this and 2^85 'playfully.' One 
would like to think so; but Shakespeare evidently 
intended to endow Prospero with a certain severity 
of disposition, perhaps conceived as necessary for 
the exercise of his power over Ariel. 

261 Arg-ier, Algiers. 

269 blue-eyed, with blue lids, as in As You Like It 
III. ii. 393. 

273 earthy, gross. 

274 hests, behests, commands. 
282 she] Rowe; he F. 

299 discharge, dismiss, release. 

311 miss, do without. 

312 offices, duties. 

314 Thou, repeated, the singular of address to an 
inferior. 

earth, the predominant element in Caliban's com- 
position, as air in that of Ariel. 

316 When? an exclamation of impatience. 

317 quaint, dainty, as in A Midsummer Night's 
Dream II. ii. 7. 

323 southwest wind, supposed to bring corruption 
and disease, 

326 urchins, hobgoblins, whose time of visitation is 
the night. 

332-344 This passage has been interpreted by Pro- 
fessor Moulton as a parable of the relations be- 
tween the aborigines of the New World and the 
first European settlers. 



333 madest] Rowe; made F. 

344-362 This is the colonist's view of the savage. 

364 rid, destroy. 

369 old, intensive, as in The Merchant of Venice IV. 
ii. 15 and Macbeth II. iii. 2. 

370 aches, pronounced like the plural of the let- 
ter 'h.' 

374 Setebos, mentioned in Eden's History of Travel 
(1577) as the 'great devil' of the Patagonians. 

378 kiss'd. Kissing dances were popular, and a kiss 
was a common preliminary to a dance. Cf. Romeo 
and Juliet I. v. 95-98 and Henry VIII. I. iv. 95-98. 

379 whist, hushed. 

380 featly, gracefully, delicately. 

381 the burden bear] Dryden; beare the burthen F. 

382 dispersedly, from various parts of the stage. It 
may be that 'Bow-wow' and 'Cock-a-diddle-dow' 
were cries made from behind or underneath the 
stage. 

392 passion, suffering. 

399-401 These lines are the epitaph on Shelley's grave 

at Rome. 
405 ditty, words of a song. 

remember, recall, commemorate. See line 243 

above. 
407 owes, owns, as in line 454. 

414 but, except that. 

415 canker, the worm that eats the flower, as in 
A Midsummer Night's Dream II. ii. 3. 

432 single, simple, weak, as in Macbeth I. vi. 16. 

438 brave son. This is the only reference to An- 
tonio's son. Staunton would identify him with 
Francisco (see 'names of the actors') who has a 
speech of ten lines in II. i. 113-122, and three 
words in III. iii. 40. But see note on II. i. 232. 

443 some wrong, by representing yourself as King 
of Naples. See 453-454. 

471 ward, posture of defense, as in 1 Henry IV. I. 
ii. 211 and II. iv. 215. 

484 nerves, sinews. 

ACT II 

1. 5 merchant, used first in the sense of vessel, and 

then of the person. 

11 visitor, offering consolation to the sick. 
15 tell, count. 
18 dollar, first coined in 1518. Sebastian takes 

entertainer in a sense other than meant, a public 

entertainer, the landlord of an inn. 
36 So, you're paid] Theobald; Ant. So you're 

paid F. 
40 miss't, do without it, as in I. ii. 311. 

42 temperance, temperature. 

43 Temperance, here used as a proper name. 

55 eye, shade; the *green eye' secondarily meant is 
of course Gonzalo. 

56 misses not much, is not far wrong. 
60 vouched, asserted, guaranteed. 

65 pockets, havi^ig a mouth, or, perhaps, having 

sand or mud in it. 
75 to, as. 

82 of that, about that. 
87 harp, of Amphion, whicn raised the walls of 

Thebes, or of Apollo, those of Troy. 



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37 



107 stomach of my sense, the inclination of my feel- 
ings and reason. 

109 rate, opinion. 

133 Moe. more. 

140 chirurgeonly, like a surgeon. 

143 plantation, settlement, colonization, the usual 
Elizabethan meaning. Antonio purposely misun- 
derstands. 

147-164 This Avas obviously suggested by Florio's 
translation of the chapter in Montaigne's Essays 
Of the CanibaUes, a passage from which reads 
as follows: — 'It is a nation — that hath no kind 
of traffic, no knowledge of letters, no intelligence 
of numbers, no name of magistrate, nor of politic 
superiority; no use of service, of riches, or of 
poverty; no contracts, no successions, no parti- 
tions, no occupation but idle; no respect of kin- 
dred, but common, no apparel but natural, no 
manuring of lands, no use of wine, corn, or metal. 
The very words that import lying, falsehood, trea- 
son, dissimulations, covetousness, envy, detraction, 
and pardon were never heard of amongst them.* 

151 succession, inheritance. 

152 Bourn, boundary, as in Hamlet III. i. 79. 

154 all men idle. Shakespeare has misunderstood 
Florio, who correctly translates Montaigne 'no oc- 
cupation but idle,' i. e., no occupations but those 
of leisure. The original reads: 'nuUes occupations 
qu'oysives,' the gender of the last word putting the 
meaning Ijeyond doubt. But Shakespeare evidently 
had not the original before him. 

161 engine, of war, as in Othello III. iii. 355. 

163 it, its. foison, plenty. 

174 sensible, sensitive. 

178 to, in comparison with. 

181 and, if, flat-long, with the flat of the sword. 

183 sphere, orbit, as in A Midsummer Night's Dream 
IT. i. 153. 

185 bat-fowling-, birdcatching in the dark. 

187 adventure, risk. 

188 discretion, reputation for good sense. 

190 hear us, laugh (understood) perhaps; but the 
meaning is doubtful. 

194 Take advantage of the offered drowsiness. 

207 speaks, calls to. 

216 wink'st, closest thine eyes. 

221 Trebles thee o'er, triples thy greatness. 

standing water, ready to move in either direc- 
tion. Cf. Tirelfth Night I. v. 168. 

225 stripping it, of obscurity. 

226 invest it, with probabiliiy. 

Ebbing men, on a declining tide of fortune. 

231 throes, pains, yield, bring forth. 

232 lord of weak remembrance, Francisco. See 
above, lines 113-122^. This seems to contradict 
Staunton's supposition identifying Francisco as 
Antonio's son. 

235-236 Persuasion is his only profession. 

242 wink, the least moment oV particle. 

243 doubt discovery, cannot doubt discovery of a 
crown. This interpretation, among many offered, 
gives the best sense. 

250 from whom, coming from whom. 

251 cast, up on shore. 

259 us, the cubits referred to as speakers in 257. 



266 chough, commonly used of the jackdaw. 
273 feater, more gracefully. See above I. ii. 380. 
276 kibe, chilblain, heel-sore, as in Lear I. v. 9. 
279 candied, congealed. 

285 wink, sleep. See note on line 216 above. 

286 ancient morsel, Gonzalo. 

288 suggestion, evil prompting as in Macbeth I. iii. 
134. 

289 tell, count, as in line 15 above. 

306-309 The arrangement of these lines is that of 

Staunton and Dyce. F ascribes Why how now . . . 

looking to Alonso, and What's the matter? to 

Gonzalo. 
316 a whole herd of lions. Note the confusion of 

guilt in the varying accounts given. 
324 these beasts. Possibly Gonzalo is not taken in 

by the story, and has in mind, not the lions, but 

Sebastian and Antonio. 

ii. 3 inch-meal, inch by inch. 

5 urchin-shows, goblin-apparitions. See I. ii. 326. 

9 mow, make faces. 
22 bombard, a large wine-vessel, as in 1 Henry IV 

II. iv. 497. 
28 Poor-John, salted hake. See Romeo and Juliet 

I. i. 37. 
30 painted, as a sign outside a booth. 

32 make a man, make his fortune. 

33 doit, a very small coin, less than a farthing. 

35 fins like arms. Purchas (II. 1556) describes a 
sea monster found in Africa about 1590 with 'arms 
like a man without hair, and at the elbows great 
fins like a fish.' 'The Caffirs seeing our slaves slay 
him fell upon him and ate him; which they which 
spare nothing had not done before, because they 
thought him (they said) the son of the devil (hav- 
ing never seen the like), the rather because he 
made a noise which might be heard half a league 
off.' 

40 gaberdine, a long loose rain-cloak. 

43 dregs, of the bumbard above, line 22. 

73 neat's-leather, oxhide. Cf. Julius Ccesar I. 1. 29. 

80 too much, ironical. 

85 ways, possibly a nautical expression for 'side,' 
i, e., turn over; but probably it means simply 
'come on.' 

86 cat. There is an old proverb, 'Good liquor will 
make a cat speak.' 

98 Amen! An exclamation to bring Caliban's drink 
to an end. 
103 long spoon, in allusion to another proverb, given 
in full in The Comedy of Errors IV. iii. 64-65: 
'Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat 
with the devil.' 

110 siege, seat. 

111 moon-calf, monstrosity. 
150 drawn, drunk. 

176 scamels, some kind of rock-bird or shellfish not 

positively identified. 
187 trencher] Pope; Trenchering F. 

ACT III 

i. 2 sets off. makes up for; Delight is the subject. 
15 Most busy least when I do it. Furness records 



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twelve large pages of discussion as to the inter- 
pretation or emendation of this line. It seems 
to mean simply 'My thoughts are busiest when I 
do least work.' 

37 hest, behest, command, as in I. ii. 274. 

46 the foil, defeat. 

63 blow, infect. 

79 to want, through lacking. 

80 it, love. 

89 of, accepted of. 

94 book, of magic. See V. i. 57. 

ii. 10 set, fixed. 
18 standard, standard-bearer, ensign. 

29 in case, in a mood. 

30 deboshed, debauched. 
37 natural, idiot. 

71 pied, in the fool's motley, patch, fool. 
75 quick freshes, springs of fresh water. 
79 stock-fish, dried cod, which had to be beaten be- 
fore it was boiled. 
89 murrain, plague. 
99 wezand, windpipe. 
101 sot, fool. French sot. 

104 utensils (accented on first syllable), instru- 
ments. 

126 troll, sing in succession, catch, round, part- 
song. 

127 while-era, a short time ago. 
133 S. D. tabor, a small drum. 

136 picture of Nobody, a popular comic engraving 

of the time, 
iii. 1 lakin, Ladykin, the Virgin, as in A Midsummer 

Night's Dream III. i. 14. 

5 attach'd, attacked, seized. 
10 frustrate, Latin past participle. 
21 drollery, puppet-show. 
36 muse, wonder at. 
39 Praise in departing, a proverbial expression, 

meaning 'Keep back your praises till you see how 

your entertainment will end.' 

45 Dewlapp'd like bulls, afflicted with goitre. Cf. 
A Midsummer Night's Dream IV. i. 126. 

46 heads ... in their breasts. Cf. Othello I. iii. 
144-145: 'Men whose heads Do grow beneath their 
shoulders.' 

48 putter-out of five for one, traveler who staked 
a sum of money on condition that he received five 
times the amount on his return; if he did not re- 
turn, the holder retained the stake. This kind of 
'inverted life-insurance' was common at the time. 

54 to, for, as in II. i. 75. 

64 still-closing', constantly closing after division. 

65 dowle, feathery thread. 

71 requit, requited, punished (by the storm). 
82 S. D. mows, grimaces, as in II. ii 9 and IV. i. 47. 
109 ecstasy, alienation of mind caused by violent 
emotion. 

ACT IV 

2 Your compensation, received by you. 

3 thrid] Tollett; third F. thrid is found else- 
where in Elizabethan literature meaning 'fibre.' 

7 strangely, wonderfully, surprisingly well. 



9 off, in parting with her; of Fj. 
14 purchas'd, obtained. 
16 sanctimonious, sacred. 
18 aspersion, in its original sense of 'sprinkling.' 

26 suggestion, temptation, as in II. i. 288. 

27 genius, attendant spirit. 

37 rabble, company of spirits (no contempt im- 
plied). 
43 with a twink, in the twinkling of an eye. 
47 mop, mock. mow. See 82 S. D. above. 

56 liver, supposed the seat of passion. 

57 corollary, a surplus number, more than enough. 

58 pertly, quickly, cheerfully, as in A Midsummer 
Night's Dream I. i. 13. 

59 Silence was required for charms. See Macbeth 
IV. i. 70. 

63 stover, fodder for cattle. 

64 pioned and twilled, trenched and ridged, or, less 
probably, adorned with peonies and reeds. 

65 spongy, wet. 

68 pole-clipt, with vine-clasped poles. 

70 queen o' the sky, Juno, who had the rainbow 

(Iris) as her messenger. 
81 bosky, wooded. 
85 estate, bestow, as in A Midsummer Night's Dream 

I. i. 98. 
89 Dusky Dis, Pluto, the god of the lower world, 
who carried off Proserpina, the daughter of Ceres, 
to be his queen. 
93 Paphos, the favorite resort of Venus, 
98 minion, darling. 

101 right out, and nothing else, no longer a god. 
110 earth's, pronounced 'earthes.' 

foison plenty, plentiful abundance. 
114 spring, sowing time. 
118 charmingly, magically. 

123 rare a wonder'd, rarely gifted to perform won- 
ders. 
127 windring, winding or meandering; not found 

elsewhere; perhaps a misprint for 'winding.' 
130 crisp, with curling waves, 
142 Avoid, depart. 
154 inherit, possess. 

156 rack, a cloud-drift. There is a remarkable 
parallel to this justly celebrated passage in an 
earlier play by William of Alexander, afterwards 
Earl of Sterling, The Tragedy of Darius: — 

'Let greatness of her glassy sceptres vaunt — 

Not sceptres, no — ^but reeds, soon bruised, soon 
broken ; 
And let this worldly pomp our wits enchant. 

All fades, and scarcely leaves behind a token. 
Those golden palaces, those gorgeous halls. 

With furniture superfluously fair: 
Those stately courts, those sky-encountering walls 

Evanish all like vapours in the air.' 

180 goss, gorse. 
187 stale, decoy. 
189 Nurture, education. 
198 Jack, knave. 

206 hoodwink, cover up, make you forget. 
221-222 An allusion to an old ballad a stanza of 
which is sung by lago in Othello II. iii. 92-93? 
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39 



'King Stephen was a worthy peer. His breeches 

cost liini but a crown.' 
226 frippery, old clothes shop. 
237 lose your hair. Sailors shave the heads of novices 

when they pass 'under the line' of the equator. 
239 line and level, the plumbline and spirit level 

used by craftsmen. 
244 pass* of pate, stroke of wit. 
246 lime, birdlime. 

261 aged cramps, such as afflict age. pinchspotted, 
marked with pinches. 

262 pard, leopard, cat o' mountain, wild cat. 

ACT V 

3 carriage, what he has to carry. 

10 line-grove, of limetrees. weather -fends, shelters. 

11 your release, you release them, i. e., from the 
ciiarni. 

23 relish, feel, all as, quite as. sharply, keenly. 

24 passion, suffering. 

33-50 This speech of Prospero's bears a close re- 
semblance to Ovid's description of Medea's incan- 
tation, Metamorphoses VII. 197-206, as translated 
by Arthur Golding (1567). Ovid was a favorite 
author of the Elizabethans, and Shakespeare took 
from him the motto of Venus and Adonis, which is 
O vidian in subject and style. Meres, in speaking 
of Shakespeare in 1598, compared him to Ovid. 

36 demi-puppets, fairies half the size of dolls. 

37 ringlets, fairy circles. See A Midsummer Night's 
Dream II. i, 9. 

60 boil'd] Rowe; boile F. 

63 sociable, svmpathetic. 

64 Fall, let fall, fellowly, in fellowship. 

70 pay thy graces, reward thy kindness. 

71 Home, fully, to the uttermost. 

76 remorse, pity, nature, natural affection. 

81 reasonable, of reason. 

82 lies] F3 F,; ly F, F^. 



86 sometime Milan, once upon a time Duke of 
Milan. 
112 abuse, deceive. 
128 justify, prove. 
139 woe, sorry. 
154 admire, wonder. 
213 his own, master of his senses. 
218 blasphemy, blasphemer. 

223 glasses, hours. 

224 yare, ready. 

236 her] Thirlby; our F. 
238 to eye her, at the sight of her. 
240 moping, as if bereft of our senses. 
244 conduct, conductor, guide. 

oracle, supernatural explanation. 
248 single, alone, by ourselves. 

resolve, give an explanation. 
267 badges, worn by Stephano and Trinculo as serv- 
ants of the royal house of Naples. 
271 power, authority, permission. 

279 ripe, drunk. 

280 gilded (Elizabethan slang), intoxicated. 
298 luggage, the 'frippery' taken from the line. 
302 waste, spend, as in Merchant of Venice III. iv. 

12. 

310-311 The commentators discern in these lines an 
allusion to Shakespeare's withdrawal from the stage 
and retirement to Stratford. 

318 Please you, draw near. Prosper© evidently 
shows his guests to the cell, 'which is behind the cur- 
tains at the back of the stage, and returns to the 
front to speak the Epilogue. 

EPILOGUE 

10 good hands, applause. 

18 Mercy, the All-Merciful, frees, frees from. 

19-20 An allusion to the verse of the Lord's Prayer 
'Forgive us our trespasses.' With this serious and 
exalted note Shakespeare closes his last play. 



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